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[WP] It’s the 1800’s and dragons are extinct everywhere except the American western frontier. A cowboy’s most important job is protecting cattle from dragons. | I didn't want to be here. I was forced here against my will. We ruled this land for a hundred millennial; the dark wings in the sky, princes of the air, lords of man and beast. We co-existed with the red men for all of that time in relative peace and harmony. Sure, we'd destroy a village or two every once in awhile to keep them in line. But for the most part, they worshiped us as gods and brought offerings and living sacrifices. This pleased us. It pleased us very much.
These white men are a different breed all together. They arrived suddenly and unexpectedly in giant floating cities. They caught us unaware and pushed us westward from our ancestral homes in the coastal mountains, just as they did to the red men. They burned down the forests, slaughtered the beasts of the wild, desecrated the land with tools of steel and iron. They attacked us with mighty cannons, tore our wings with searing chunks of metal; they stabbed our elderly and clubbed our young to death. Those that stayed to fight died. Those few who made out live here now, on the great western frontier.
Here isn't home, but it's not so bad either. The land is wide and mostly empty, still teaming with delicious shaggy beasts of hoof. The air is clean and clear, the rivers bountiful, and the mountains much larger than those back east. Small dragon clans of Green, Red, and Gold have sprung up and begun breeding younglings. The hunting is good, and even when it isn't the red men here tremble before us and bring gifts and offerings a plenty. For a large and ancient black dragon like myself, it's practically a paradise.
Yet even here the pale skinned men have begun encroaching. They slaughter the shaggy beasts and red men alike, and for reasons I cannot understand they even make war upon one another. They pepper us with stings from their short weapons and long weapons. I've learned the long ones hurt more, but the short ones fire faster. Luckily they come here in much smaller numbers, and are much easier to deal with than the armies back east.
I've burnt entire towns to the ground. I've devoured their women and crushed their children between my claws. I do this not for pleasure (pleasurable though it is) but out of necessity. If the white men come here in force, they will push us further west - right into the ocean. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen.
Now they come in larger numbers, leading vast herds of hoofed beasts. They are smaller than the wild shaggy ones, and have far less fur, but they are much tastier and easy to catch. The only problem: they are guarded by white men in wide hats mounted on tall powerful beasts. These men are wild and reckless, but their aim is true and they show no fear when my shadow passes over. I've seen groups as small as 10 take down dragons; not as old or powerful as I, but not younglings either.
I have no choice, I must drive them away: for the sake of all dragonkind. My wings are strong, my teeth are sharp, and my flames are hot. I will drive them from this land, or die trying.\
---
/r/DariusPilgrim
| I found the damnable set of boots sitting at the back of the Wai’pu gulch.
“You know this is sacred ground to the Comanche?”
“Perfidious knave, such daring…” said the dragon. Smoke started to lick at the ends of its nostrils, they were about the size of dinner plates, this fella was big getting ready to molt and get even bigger, black on black eyes narrowed. The dragon was slowly stepping toward me “What do you care for the brown man little ape boy.”
“Cowboy,” I said taking a step back.
“beg your pardon?” The dragon was moving its head in that way that a snake might hypnotize a mouse.
“The word yer looking for is cowboy.” I stepped back again.
“Are you made of Cow?” It licked its lips.
“No sir I am not. But see, them cows you’ve been eating are mine. My cows so I’m the cowboy. get it?” One more step back.
“Do you seek a donative?” The dragon began a low crawl.
“If that means anything other than giving back my cows than no.” Step back again.
“A white man refusing gold?” Crawl
“I can't eat gold, I coulda ate the cows” step back
“The cows pleased us.” Crawl
“What about the Comanche? You a man-eater?” Step back, almost to the opening of the gulch.
“Of course I didn’t sully my teeth on those filthy savages. But a white man such as yourself, that may be just the aperitif I need.” Its voice took on the sing-song of a spell, I was running out of time and gulch.
“Half.”
“Half aperitif?”
"Half Comanche...Get em fellas”
The arrows sailed in from a hundred bows and the dragon screamed in rage and pain. Two of them managed to take his left eye in the first volley and he was thrashing around. I picked my own bow off the ground and opened fire. Dragons are immune to gunfire and the stroke of a steel ax but it turns out that a flint arrowhead is just the bees knees for hurting them bad.
“Wuunu Mia!!” I yelled as loud as I could. Out from under my coat came a 10 gauge double barreled shotgun Loaded with salt. I let the old snake have it from both barrels. The dragon Screamed. I sprinted for Windbear, he was waving for me to run faster, I obliged, I could already feel the heat on my back as the old lizard started to coal up. I made it past wind bear and kept right on running. The flame breath hit the old medicine man and disappeared like water down a drain. The dragon kept running after me, the salt shot in my gun was designed to blind it for this part of the plan but I do believe that dragon was pissed off at yours truly. I reloaded my salt shot and gave the critter another snoot-full on the run. It didn’t hit him very hard but it pissed him off just as much. I ran past Laughingpaw who was, of course, laughing at me. and he too drained the fire breath from the beast. After the next shaman, I tossed the scattergun to Billy and he took the critter for another lap or two around the circle we made. It was significantly smaller now and it ate a lot of cows. I did one more lap and the poor critter could barely move.
Finally, it ran out of the fire that sustained it and was barely the size of a horse, filled with beef as it was it couldn’t stop us when we got to work carving it into little pieces. Dragon skin sold like crazy back east and well, so did every other part of the critter. The kicker was that the Chinese even bought the bladders full of dragon fire we collected. I mean sure the were gonna be extinct soon but hey, at least we used the whole animal right? | |
[WP] It’s the 1800’s and dragons are extinct everywhere except the American western frontier. A cowboy’s most important job is protecting cattle from dragons. | I didn't want to be here. I was forced here against my will. We ruled this land for a hundred millennial; the dark wings in the sky, princes of the air, lords of man and beast. We co-existed with the red men for all of that time in relative peace and harmony. Sure, we'd destroy a village or two every once in awhile to keep them in line. But for the most part, they worshiped us as gods and brought offerings and living sacrifices. This pleased us. It pleased us very much.
These white men are a different breed all together. They arrived suddenly and unexpectedly in giant floating cities. They caught us unaware and pushed us westward from our ancestral homes in the coastal mountains, just as they did to the red men. They burned down the forests, slaughtered the beasts of the wild, desecrated the land with tools of steel and iron. They attacked us with mighty cannons, tore our wings with searing chunks of metal; they stabbed our elderly and clubbed our young to death. Those that stayed to fight died. Those few who made out live here now, on the great western frontier.
Here isn't home, but it's not so bad either. The land is wide and mostly empty, still teaming with delicious shaggy beasts of hoof. The air is clean and clear, the rivers bountiful, and the mountains much larger than those back east. Small dragon clans of Green, Red, and Gold have sprung up and begun breeding younglings. The hunting is good, and even when it isn't the red men here tremble before us and bring gifts and offerings a plenty. For a large and ancient black dragon like myself, it's practically a paradise.
Yet even here the pale skinned men have begun encroaching. They slaughter the shaggy beasts and red men alike, and for reasons I cannot understand they even make war upon one another. They pepper us with stings from their short weapons and long weapons. I've learned the long ones hurt more, but the short ones fire faster. Luckily they come here in much smaller numbers, and are much easier to deal with than the armies back east.
I've burnt entire towns to the ground. I've devoured their women and crushed their children between my claws. I do this not for pleasure (pleasurable though it is) but out of necessity. If the white men come here in force, they will push us further west - right into the ocean. I cannot let that happen. I will not let that happen.
Now they come in larger numbers, leading vast herds of hoofed beasts. They are smaller than the wild shaggy ones, and have far less fur, but they are much tastier and easy to catch. The only problem: they are guarded by white men in wide hats mounted on tall powerful beasts. These men are wild and reckless, but their aim is true and they show no fear when my shadow passes over. I've seen groups as small as 10 take down dragons; not as old or powerful as I, but not younglings either.
I have no choice, I must drive them away: for the sake of all dragonkind. My wings are strong, my teeth are sharp, and my flames are hot. I will drive them from this land, or die trying.\
---
/r/DariusPilgrim
| The black dragon glided down to the men gathered around the campfire. The ground shook as it landed. The dragon roared back its head and howled, small tufts of flame leaking out of its nostrils as it did so.
Chief Hassun rose slowly. "Dramatic tonight, Chogan." The Chief and his people had always called the dragon Chogan. Dragons didn't have names, but it saw no reason to correct them, and so Chogan it was. The creature lowered his head and dropped his wings, and Chief Hassun hugged him. It wasn't a particularly easy task to hug a dragon, but the Chief made it seem about as graceful as a human could muster.
"I hope you are well old friend," Chief Hassun said. "It has been a moon, but we are here as we said would be." The Chief turned to his men around the campfire. "Not as many men as I had hoped. Four died in a raid last week. And twice as many have taken ill with the red cough."
The Chief looked Chogan up and down, "But it seems you are not any better off. What I would not give to go back to the days of the Black Waves."
Black Waves had been how they would hunt. Chogan had worked with the tribe for more moons than he or the Chief could count. It had started with the steers. It was easy for a soaring dragon to herd a pack of the creatures. And Chogan would drive them right into the Chief's waiting men. They would split the bounty. In time they learned to fish together as well. The dragon could take up half of the river and with a little thrashing, would send entire schools of fish directly into their nets. Black Waves.
But those days were long past. The dragon that stood before Chief Hassun now was a shadow of its former self, maybe half the size as when they had met those many years ago. The white men had stopped the river with one of their dams. And steers that had once roamed free in the country side were now few and far between. The white men had gathered them up, keeping the cattle in their farms or driving them north to market. Chogan and his kin had tried to coexist peacefully at first. But as their food became thinner and thinner, tensions had escalated with the white men. Unfortunately for the draken, they had waited too long. Without the regular calcium in their diets, their legendary impenetrable scales had become quite penetrable. The dragon population was decimated in that first year. They were killed in their attempted attacks on the white man farms. Their weakened bodies were little match for the white man's guns. Even the dragons that managed to actually survive and succeed in such an attack were usually hunted down shortly thereafter.
"White Feather, bring the meat that we saved." One of the Chief's men nodded and quickly brought out three dead rabbits strung together. "It is not much. If we had more, you know we would share it."
Chogan bowed his head in a gesture of respect to the Chief. The dragon ate the rabbits. For him, it was only a single mouthful of food. The two sat together in silence for some time.
"I think our time is coming to an end old friend. Soon we will hunt together in the sky," the Chief said. "But that will be for another day. Not tonight. Tonight we will show the white demons that we will not go quietly."
Chogan turned his head to the east and bellowed a long howl.
"My scouts have been watching their weekly trips north with the cattle," the Chief said. "The white demons are camped about five miles north of here. There are only two handfuls of them. Even with our depleted numbers, we are twice that." The Chief smiled. "And of course that is not counting our greatest warrior."
A few minutes later and the fire had been put out, the Chief and his men had gathered their things and were now mounted on horseback. "Tonight we ride brothers. We will slay the white demons, and we will free their beasts. We will keep a few to feed us and the rest will be returned to the land to once again roam free." Several of the men made a whooping cheer and they rode.
As they approached the white men's camp, Chogan soared ahead. He knew the plan. From above he saw the camp. The fire was low, and most of the men appeared to be asleep. Chogan eyed where the men had tied down the cattle. He would start there.
Out of the quiet night came a screeching black monster. The cattle, understandably with no idea what was happening, began to leap up and down at the commotion. Then as the animals were fully riled, Chogan unleashed a ball of flame scorching the earth just a few feet away. All hell broke loose.
A good number of the creatures broke free from their ties and began running into the night. One of the larger animals rammed directly into a cattle wagon, partially turning it over. The stampede got worse as the two white men sitting at the campfire drew their weapons and began firing at the dragon. One of their shots connected through Chogan's left wing. It wasn't the first hole in his wings, but it made flying harder. The dragon turned to soar away and as he soared past the outskirt of the camp, he spit forth another ball of flame, lighting one of the other wagons on fire.
Chogan landed and waited out of sight for some time. He was too weak to help more than he had done. The sounds of the camp echoed through the night. First the confusion over the dragon attack, then the white men rushing to their horses to retake the cattle, and finally the gunshots and screams as Chief Hassun and his men descended in the midst of the chaos. All grew silent, but then Chogan heard voices. This wouldn't be the time for talking. Something was wrong. The dragon reared its wings and in a few moments was back at the camp.
It had been a massacre. Almost all of the bodies littered around the camp were white men. But everything had not gone according to plan. One of the white men was still alive and he was holding the Chief with a knife to his throat. The rest of the men had this sole survivor surrounded.
The man yelled, "Everyone back away or I'll open him from ear to ear! I swear it!"
Chief Hassun spoke, "You can not kill what is already dead. Your people have already killed me and mine." The Chief looked at White Feather, who was standing in front of him and nodded.
White Feather drew his bow and nocked an arrow. As he pulled the arrow back, the Chief saw Chogan approaching. He managed a tired smile. "Goodbye friend," he said.
The arrow ripped clean through both the white man and Chief Hassun. Chogan roared. He swooped over to one of the steers still tied down and picked the beast up in his mouth. He flew away with his meal. Chogan knew the Chief was right. He was practically dead already. But he would eat tonight. He would grow stronger. And he would make the white man pay before he finished dieing. | |
[WP] The Devil doesn't know what he's supposed to do to people in hell. You're the first person ever to be sent there. | Being careful not to slip, Edgar stepped down the wet stones on his bare feet. It was getting darker as he got further away from the torch behind him. He grasped at the wall as he slowly winded down the ancient curved stairway. As he peered around the corner, he spotted the glow of another torch.
"Oh, finally." he thought. He'd been following the signs for a good half-hour.
"Through this door."
"This way."
"Just down these stairs."
That last one seemed like an understatement. The stairs were long and Edgar had already slipped three times. The last time he fell right on his tailbone and just lay there for a while wondering if he had broken it.
After passing two more torches, the stairs began to open up to a flickering yellow room. At first he could just see some wooden furniture, but as he came more around the corner Edgar saw that the entire perimeter of the room was covered in fire. In fact, there didn't even appear to be walls, just fire and darkness beyond. In the center of the room, though, there was a large sign hanging from some stalagtites looming above.
"Welcome to Hell!" it said.
Each letter was cut out of paper and strung to the one next to it. They were all painted a bright red, borderline pink color. The entire sign was covered in glitter that was flickering in the firelight.
"I've been expecting you! Please, please, come in!"
The Devil stepped out from behind a cast-iron cage on the right, startling Edgar. The Devil stood about 8 feet high, had deep blood-red skin, and had small horns sticking out from his ruffled black hair. Otherwise he looked like a pretty normal person.
"I only just got notified of your arrival. Please excuse me for not having someone greet you sooner. It's been an awfully slow start down here. I trust you found my torture lair just fine?"
"Well, not really." Edgar said. "When I saw the first sign I was really confused. Had no idea where I was! But since I didn't have anywhere else to go, I started following the signs. Am I really in Hell?"
"Oh yes! Aren't you terrified?" As the Devil said this, he snapped his hand down and a giant explosion of fire appeared in between the two. Edgar gasped as he fell back, grimacing as he landed on his already-bruised tailbone.
"Oh dammit! No, no, stop." The last two letters of the welcome sign had caught on fire and the Devil had rushed over to put them out. He slapped and blew on each one and eventually the fire went out. The half-charred sign still smoked.
"Well, that's a pretty cool look too." the Devil said after a while.
"Look, I don't mean to be rude", Edgar said, "but why am I in Hell? I don't even remember dying!"
"Ahhh! This is so much fun! Let me recount it to you as I heard it. Wait...no, I want you to see it."
The Devil snapped his fingers and an electric motor sounded behind Edgar. A screen slowly lowered down into the room. It must have stopped short because the Devil snorted.
"Ugh, brand new install and it doesn't even go down all the way. Cassidy!" A voice sounded back over the intercom, which Edgar could not see any speakers for.
"Yes, Satan?"
"Did Philip test the new projector screen in my torture lair?"
"Well, yes I'm sure he would've tested it. He knows this is a big day for you. Is it not displaying correctly?"
"Well, I haven't turned it on yet, I was just lowering it and it got stuck half-way down." the Devil replied. As he gestured with his hands, Edgar noticed that they were covered in glitter.
"Well that's no good. I can send him back in to fix it if you like."
"No, no, it's too late. Just....incinerate him." The Devil shot Edgar a look that was half-sinister half-cheery.
"Incinerate, sir?" Cassidy replied over the intercom.
"You heard me!" the Devil shouted back. "And play the highlights of our special guest's life."
The Devil turned to Edgar, "I'm really sorry about all this. It's been really frantic around here trying to get everything set up. The projector, the signs, the balloons over there. You're the first visitor we've ever had."
"You mean I'm the FIRST PERSON to go to Hell?" Edgar replied.
"Yep, really not sure what took so long to be honest. I was starting to lose hope that anyone would ever come, but we got notified this morning that you were coming and everybody just...well, everybody is really excited. Let's just leave it at that."
(That's all I had time for. Got caught up in the intro!) | “Good morning.” The man called.
It was dark, save the man. He had bright skin and blue eyes unlike anything I have ever seen.
“Where...am I?” I asked.
“You are home, this is home.”
His voice was smooth and soft. I felt warmed by his presence immediately.
“You have fallen out of his favor, as have I.” The man continued.
“Who’s favor?”
“God of course.”
“I lived virtuously.”
“As did I.” The man snapped.
“Why are we not with god then?”
“You lived virtuously for your own sake. You glorified yourself and wanted more for yourself. As did I” He seemed angry.
Little did I know it was only the tip of his rage.
“I suppose he figured that misery loves company.” Those were his last words.
I haven’t seen light in eons. I hear what sounds like humming sometimes. It’s black here. It’s quiet. Black. Quiet. Humming.
“Good Morning.”
| |
[WP] The Devil doesn't know what he's supposed to do to people in hell. You're the first person ever to be sent there. | Being careful not to slip, Edgar stepped down the wet stones on his bare feet. It was getting darker as he got further away from the torch behind him. He grasped at the wall as he slowly winded down the ancient curved stairway. As he peered around the corner, he spotted the glow of another torch.
"Oh, finally." he thought. He'd been following the signs for a good half-hour.
"Through this door."
"This way."
"Just down these stairs."
That last one seemed like an understatement. The stairs were long and Edgar had already slipped three times. The last time he fell right on his tailbone and just lay there for a while wondering if he had broken it.
After passing two more torches, the stairs began to open up to a flickering yellow room. At first he could just see some wooden furniture, but as he came more around the corner Edgar saw that the entire perimeter of the room was covered in fire. In fact, there didn't even appear to be walls, just fire and darkness beyond. In the center of the room, though, there was a large sign hanging from some stalagtites looming above.
"Welcome to Hell!" it said.
Each letter was cut out of paper and strung to the one next to it. They were all painted a bright red, borderline pink color. The entire sign was covered in glitter that was flickering in the firelight.
"I've been expecting you! Please, please, come in!"
The Devil stepped out from behind a cast-iron cage on the right, startling Edgar. The Devil stood about 8 feet high, had deep blood-red skin, and had small horns sticking out from his ruffled black hair. Otherwise he looked like a pretty normal person.
"I only just got notified of your arrival. Please excuse me for not having someone greet you sooner. It's been an awfully slow start down here. I trust you found my torture lair just fine?"
"Well, not really." Edgar said. "When I saw the first sign I was really confused. Had no idea where I was! But since I didn't have anywhere else to go, I started following the signs. Am I really in Hell?"
"Oh yes! Aren't you terrified?" As the Devil said this, he snapped his hand down and a giant explosion of fire appeared in between the two. Edgar gasped as he fell back, grimacing as he landed on his already-bruised tailbone.
"Oh dammit! No, no, stop." The last two letters of the welcome sign had caught on fire and the Devil had rushed over to put them out. He slapped and blew on each one and eventually the fire went out. The half-charred sign still smoked.
"Well, that's a pretty cool look too." the Devil said after a while.
"Look, I don't mean to be rude", Edgar said, "but why am I in Hell? I don't even remember dying!"
"Ahhh! This is so much fun! Let me recount it to you as I heard it. Wait...no, I want you to see it."
The Devil snapped his fingers and an electric motor sounded behind Edgar. A screen slowly lowered down into the room. It must have stopped short because the Devil snorted.
"Ugh, brand new install and it doesn't even go down all the way. Cassidy!" A voice sounded back over the intercom, which Edgar could not see any speakers for.
"Yes, Satan?"
"Did Philip test the new projector screen in my torture lair?"
"Well, yes I'm sure he would've tested it. He knows this is a big day for you. Is it not displaying correctly?"
"Well, I haven't turned it on yet, I was just lowering it and it got stuck half-way down." the Devil replied. As he gestured with his hands, Edgar noticed that they were covered in glitter.
"Well that's no good. I can send him back in to fix it if you like."
"No, no, it's too late. Just....incinerate him." The Devil shot Edgar a look that was half-sinister half-cheery.
"Incinerate, sir?" Cassidy replied over the intercom.
"You heard me!" the Devil shouted back. "And play the highlights of our special guest's life."
The Devil turned to Edgar, "I'm really sorry about all this. It's been really frantic around here trying to get everything set up. The projector, the signs, the balloons over there. You're the first visitor we've ever had."
"You mean I'm the FIRST PERSON to go to Hell?" Edgar replied.
"Yep, really not sure what took so long to be honest. I was starting to lose hope that anyone would ever come, but we got notified this morning that you were coming and everybody just...well, everybody is really excited. Let's just leave it at that."
(That's all I had time for. Got caught up in the intro!) | "So uh.. where am I" I said meekly to the only other person in the room with me. He paused for a moment "This is SUPPOSED to be hell." he seemed a bit annoyed.
I thought for a moment, maybe this is some stupid joke. "Excuse me?" I asked, the sound of my voice crack surprising me more than anything else in this strange red cave.
"You. Are. In. Hell." He responded with those annoying pauses you get when someone attempts to be condescending. "Are you sure?" I asked after a bit of a pause.
"Yes." He quickly snapped back. "This doesn't look like hell." I said, turning my head back and forth looking at the room. It was just a normal room you'd expect to be in an office building, save for the fact everything had a strange red hue, like, not that everything was red, but that you're looking through a sort of red visor.
"And anyways, who would you be to tell me this is hell." I replied snarkly. He looked at me like I was stupid. "I'm Lucifer, you know, the person who owns hell or something". He seemed like he was new at this, kind of like the job had been passed down to him.
"Anyways John, let's get on with this." He began flipping through a sheet of papers that appeared in his hands. "Yeah so I'm new to this, you're new to this, let's not make this too-". "Wait what?" I cut him off.
He looked up from his papers, visibly annoyed. "What?" He asked in an equally annoyed voice. "How can you be "Satan, owner of hell" or whatever if you're new at this?" I asked, trying to counter his annoyedness with a sarcastic tone.
"Well if you'd LET ME FINISH." as he yelled flames came up from the floors and the red tint became a blinding glow.
He cleared his throat, and as he did so the room calmed as well. "I'd be able to explain that YOU, yes YOU, are the first person to ever come to hell" I wait a second not to start talking before he finishes.
"I'm not sure I follow" I say dumbly. "Oh my god-" suddenly he begins screaming in agony, seemingly at the mention of god, I just sit in place wondering what I should do. There are no doors in here and there's no way to leave.
I guess this is my hell for being so annoying?
Bad ending IMHO but I'm in the middle of class and have to go to next period in 3 minutes.
First time writing for a writing prompt so if you have any constructive criticisms pls be gentle thx | |
[WP] The Devil doesn't know what he's supposed to do to people in hell. You're the first person ever to be sent there. | The pain of literal hellfire clawing at my flesh snaps me into consciousness, my eyes open to reveal my entire being is consumed by the flames. A weaker man would dismay, cry out, or crumble in the intensity of the pain- every single bit of skin sends out needles jabbing into my mind as it is battered by the flames, but I smile for I am strong.
My time on Earth is over, the memory of my life- from my first victim all the way until I collapsed dead to the ground- it is fresh in my mind. I trained myself to ignore pain long ago, perhaps that's why such joy arose from inflicting it on others, but it is no matter now- I'm in hell. Interesting to think that all of those priests were right- even if they praised the wrong deity- warning me of what would become of me if I stayed on my current path. Yes, I am in hell while they are in heaven. I sent them there. It is amusing to think that, in essence, I did them a favor sending them to paradise before their due time. Although they did go through hell to get there, I wonder if hellfire is any hotter than one created by own hand?
"What have you done?" A voice thunders, there is a hatred and hissing to the voice- it so loud that it makes even I flinch. And just like that the hellfire disappears, revealing me to be impaled on a stalagmite, I can't help but laugh. I had stabbed one of my first victims to death with a pointed rock- when I lost my weapon in an earlier conflict. Around me is a monolithic cavern, with rock-face ceilings charred completely black, the only light coming from two burning braziers that lie of either side of what it is undoubtedly the source of the voice. The creature stands from its throne of skulls and other various body parts, all in various states of decay, and once more it reiterates- quieter-, "What. Have. You. Done."
It begins to approach, stepping forward on goat's legs- leaving orange smoldering hoof-prints in its wake. The creature's body is that of a man- chiseled with muscle, but a darker black than even the surrounding rock. Its head resembles that of a bull, but with two red eyes that gleam like angry suns. Staring with so much hate that I can't help but grin and reply, "I've done a lot. I have killed a lot."
"Killing means nothing, you fool," The creature or, -seeing as how Christianity is turning out to be true- the Devil, looks very much like an agitated human as he grips the back of his head, "You creatures have been killing each other since the dawn of creation, you do not get sent down here for that. You do not get sent down here for rape, murder, hatred, thievery, you do not get sent down here because NOONE gets sent down here. You are the first. So I will ask again, what have you done to make an all-forgiving god not forgive you?"
"Maybe it was the children, or the priests, or the innocent who got in the way. Who knows, they all blend together, especially when they're beaten beyond recognition, or burnt to ashes, or chopped to bits," I begin to attempt to dislodge myself from the stalactite, I'm already dead- what's the worst that can happen?
"Living a life of sin is normal, it has been done before," There is actually an unsureness in the devils voice. I collapse to the ground, blood spilling out of the gaping hole in my stomach- there is pain, but I cast it aside, and despite the injury I am still able to force myself back onto my feet. The devil continues, "God doesn't even care about repentance, yet here you are. Now- before I cast you into eternal suffering- you will tell me what evil you have done, who you are, and why God himself can not forgive you."
The flames appear again, only licking at my feet, but I stand tall- staring the beast in its burning eyes, "I have butchered men who claimed to be of god. I have ended the lives of men, women, and children alike- hundreds of them personally- in the name of my cause. And unlike the rest, I enjoyed it."
A growl of low, rumbling, hatred floods the chamber and the flames rise higher, they begin to engulf me -surely for all eternity- but I will finish answering the devils question, "I am Sir Hugh of the First Crusade! And I am sure the reason that God can not forgive me is because all of those sins- those crimes and hatred and murder- were committed in His name."
| Hello? Hellooo?
I called down the hall. No response. Then, faint running footsteps. "Oh, hey..." says the Prince of Darkness. "Don't go... Don't go..."
So this was hell. Cooler than I'd imagined. Comfortable in fact.
"I must say," continues the Devil, "I wasn't expecting anyone. Since the deathbed confession rule of 202 AD we really haven't had anyone. Hadn't had anyone before either to be honest. We'd just been invented at that point."
"What ever did you do to get sent here, if you don't mind me asking?" I didn't mind him asking.
"I committed the only sin that God refuses to forgive. I would not believe in him." | |
[WP] You are a State Necromancer in the employ of a District Attorney. Your job usually involves ressurecting victims and witnesses long enough to testify at trial but the current case you are working on is unlike anything you have ever seen before. | "Mrs. Tabitha Rainsford, please take the stand."
A bailiff wheeled her up to the witness stand next to the judge's bench. She was seated in a special wheelchair, one that had straps to hold her body upright, as she would tumble limply out of her seat otherwise.
The judge turned to her and asked, "You are Mrs. Tabitha Rainsford, found dead at 11:45pm on January 27, at 140 Lakeview Crescent Drive, and hereby temporarily reanimated to testify regarding the circumstances of your death?"
"Yes," she replied in a harsh, raspy voice.
The judge nodded at the prosecutor. "Please proceed."
Tabitha's eyes turned briefly towards me, sitting silently in the courtroom, the man responsible for her current state, before looking away.
*****
Bringing a dead body back to life is actually pretty easy, if you know how. That's largely why the secrets of necromancy are so closely guarded, passed only from master to apprentice, and never written down anywhere. I'd be out of a job if anyone could raise the dead.
There's actually a pretty decent demand for bringing back the dead. Some necromancers in the city allow loved ones to say a final goodbye to the deceased. Some of them use the dead as untraceable criminals or assassins: a sprinkle of mandrake root on the face of the resurrected after reanimation, and they'll obey your every command and answer every question truthfully for the duration of their undeath. Then send your zombie off to do your evil bidding, and order it to destroy itself afterwards. It's almost the perfect crime.
Me, I work as a necromancer for the government. Most of the time I resurrect murder victims or silenced witnesses so that they can testify in court. This means I go through a lot of mandrake root. It's standard procedure for me to use the mandrake on every corpse I reanimate. That way everyone can be sure they're telling the truth when they're on the stand. No need for swearing on Bibles when the undead are involved.
If anyone'd been watching me work on my current cadaver, a recently deceased young woman, they probably would've said nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I say "probably" because, naturally, I don't allow anyone to watch me work. Y'know, that whole thing about secrecy. I drew the ancient runes around the body on the altar, lit the five candles placed in a circle on the floor, then slathered the appropriate reagents on the clammy skin of the corpse, chanting all the while.
I spared a moment to stare at the pale face of the woman lying before me. The deceased's police file said her name's Tabitha Rainsford, but I knew she went by the name Tammy. She had a slender nose, high cheekbones, and ash blonde hair that seemed to glow in the candlelight. Her body, even in death, exuded a power that hinted at her own skill in the necromantic arts. In life, she would have been known as one of the most powerful necromancers in the country.
She had also been my wife.
I finished covering every inch of Tammy's body with the reagent salve, then picked up a single black pearl for the final step of the process. Hesitating only briefly, I crushed the pearl between my fingers over her heart and allowed the fragments to settle on her skin. Almost immediately, Tammy drew a deep rasping breath and opened her eyes. She looked around in mild surprise, before her gaze settled on me.
"Darren," she rasped.
"Tammy," I replied.
"You've brought me back."
"Yes, to testify."
Tammy struggled to sit up on the altar, but failed. "How many black pearls did you use on me?"
"Just one, a small one. It'll give you maybe six hours of undeath at most, and you'll be largely too weak to move for the whole time."
Tammy glared angrily up at me from her prone position. "I suppose the mandrake is coming next then?"
I smirked mirthlessly. "I don't think it's necessary, do you? Your testimony, the end result, it'll all be the same. After all... I was the one who killed you."
"And you brought me back knowing that my testimony would convict you? That you could end up in jail, or worse?" Tammy's eyes were wide with disbelief. "Or did you bring me back to gloat one last time?"
"No, Tammy. I brought you back to apologize."
Tammy's eyes grew even wider in speechless astonishment. I pressed on, "Yes, Tammy, you heard me right. I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I killed you. It was an accident, and I was drunk, and angry, but that doesn't excuse what I did. I hit you, and then your head hit the mantlepiece, and afterwards I was too much of a coward to call an ambulance. I thought I could stop the bleeding myself, but... well... I couldn't. And now you're gone." My eyesight was blurring with tears, but I continued, "And I'm sorry. I really am, Tammy. It was a stupid argument about nothing that ended with you dead. But that's not the end of the story. You're going to go up to the stand in an hour's time, and you're going to tell the truth about what happened. And afterwards, whatever happens to me, happens. I'll deserve it."
Tammy's gaze had softened somewhat, with the anger replaced by an array of other unidentifiable emotions, but still she said nothing. I wiped the tears away from my cheeks, gave her a wan smile, and then strode out of necromancy chamber to report to my superiors that the victim was ready for testimony.
*****
"Mrs. Rainsford, could you please describe the circumstances of your death, up until the point where you have no further memories," the prosecutor said.
Tammy blinked, glanced back at me again, then looked at the prosecutor. "That night, I had an argument with my husband, Darren. It was about a minor issue, he wanted to be able to spend more time with his friends, while I wanted him to spend more time at home."
The prosecutor interrupted Tammy, "Before we continue, Mrs. Rainsford, could you please point out if your husband Darren is here today?"
Tammy stared at me, seated at the defendant's table.
The prosecutor nodded in satisfaction, "Thank you. Please continue."
"We'd both been drinking that night. And, under the influence of the alcohol... I stumbled and struck my head against the mantlepiece. That is as far as my memories go."
The courtroom erupted into surprised murmurs. The judge hammered for silence with his gavel. The prosecutor said, with furrowed eyebrows, "Mrs. Rainsford, your account does not match the circumstances surrounding your death, as indicated by the forensics team. They found evidence of a struggle, and stated that your head had struck the mantlepiece too forcefully for it to have been an accident."
"Our argument did descend into physical blows, which may be why your forensics team thought there'd been a struggle," Tammy rasped, "and as for the force of the blow, well, I stumbled pretty hard."
The murmurs were louder this time. The judge banged his gavel again for order, then turned to Tammy. "Mrs. Rainsford, you received the mandrake treatment before taking the stand, correct?"
"Yes."
The judge stared briefly at her before turning away. "In light of the victim's testimony, the case against the accused is hereby dismissed. This court is adjourned."
*****
"Why did you lie?"
We were back in the necromancy chamber again. The door was shut, to ensure we wouldn't be disturbed. Tammy was back on the altar, and I held her cold hands in mine.
"What's the point in telling the truth? To get revenge on you? It was an accident, Darren. You didn't mean for it to happen. It was just a stupid argument that got out of hand. I don't want to see you in jail, or worse. I forgive you, Darren."
Tears were streaming down my cheeks uncontrollably. "But... I'm so sorry for what I did... I don't think I deserve your forgiveness..."
"Then make it up to me, Darren. Hold me one last time, tell me you love me, and know that I love you too."
"I do love you, Tammy. I do."
I held Tammy close to me until the magic of the black pearl faded, and she passed on once again into death. | St. Mark Building
27.11.2060
Necromancer: NM
Accused: ACC
[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]
NM: Aright, we’re at the DA St. Mark building, the date is 27th November, 2084. You are Graham Shaw, dead at age 24, born in 12th February 2060. Can you confirm?
ACC: [NODS SLOWLY]
NM: Beautiful. I work for the District Attorney. My job is to resurrect any deceased individuals whose testimonies are necessary for the conclusion of ongoing cases. Rest assured, once you’re job is done, we’ll put you back to rest.
ACC: [SILENCE]
NM: Mr. Shaw, can you confirm that you understand everything I am telling you?
ACC: Yes.
NM: Beautiful. So, you’re dead, and I’m not getting younger, so let’s get straight to the point. Did you, or did you not murder Alex Fisher?
ACC: You know what I did.
NM: But I want to know what you think you did.
ACC: It was self defence. He would have killed me.
NM: But you did manage to incapacitate him, despite him pulling the weapon on you.
ACC: [SILENCE]
NM: Was it really necessary to stab him repeatedly once you had him pinned? It was clear the fight was over.
ACC: What’s your name?
NM: That’s irreleva-
ACC: What’s your name?
NM: ……you can call me M.
ACC: Have you ever been in love, Mr. M?
NM: I’m married.
ACC: Then you will understand why I had to kill the man.
NM: I don’t follow.
ACC: He did what he did. For a girl.
NM: He….this wasn’t mentioned earlier…
ACC: She is crafty. A psychopath. A black widow, collecting the best flies on her web. He was hopelessly trapped.
NM: I don’t see where you’re going with this…
ACC: He fought out of jealousy. He saw me as someone who could take her away from him. So he confronted me.
NM: That’s……interesting. Very interesting. But it still doesn’t answer my question.
ACC: Why did I kill him? He had become an.....instrument. A pawn in her game. If I let him live, he would have broken his own arms trying to strangle me if he had to.
NM: You ended up dying at his own hands, anyways.
ACC: Yes. I am not the first. Nor will I be the last.
NM: Look, all I see here is a situation where two men killed each other over a bloody girl. It’s not that new, and don’t try to blame the girl for murder.
ACC: When I died.......my brain went into a loop state. I kept replaying the last few events, over and over again. I have analysed this situation hundreds of times, until all traces of energy deserted me. I know what I’m saying. Listen to me, and you will save lives. Ignore me, and watch the rise of a killer.
NM: I think I’ve heard enough. We’ll let you rest now.
ACC: [LEANS FORWARD] Listen to me very closely. Let that monster run lose, and very time you close your eyes, you will see the faces of the people who could be alive today. People who have killed others, or themselves. So many cases, leading back to one innocent young lady.
You’re a necromancer. You don’t believe in ghosts, but ignore what I say and you will see that ghosts are very, very real. And they exist in the deepest, darkest crevices of your mind.
[LONG SILENCE ENSUES]
NM: So what do you propose we do? We can’t accuse her of something that might happen.
ACC: You are bound by the laws of the living. I am already dead.
NM: You’re saying I just….let you run amok? And play detective?
ACC: [SILENCE]
NM: You realize how stupid that sounds?
ACC: The decision doesn’t have to be in your hands.
NM: What do you….OH SHIT HOW THE HELL [UNTELLIGIBLE]
[END TRANSCRIPT]
| |
[WP] When the world's most prolific advocate for Satanism dies, all hell breaks loose in the Afterlife Assignment Bureau when it's discovered that he's never actually sinned in his life. | He seemed really embarrassed by his situation, which really didn't make things easier for Jasmine. She was used to belligerence, had expected intolerance, was prepared for confrontation.
What Jasmine got instead was good manners, humility, and really, really charming eyes.
"Mason, look, try to understand. The Department's reserved this particular afterlife for you for *years*."
Jasmine knew her colleagues from the Afterlife Assignment Bureau were already waiting in the pantry, ready to pop the champagne. It wasn't everyday that they got to bequeath the very worst afterlife they had dreamed up to someone completely deserving of it.
"We've held in-house competitions to refine the Worst Afterlife Possible," Jasmine continued, feeling a headache develop, "and we've turned down petitions to use the WAP on some of the meanest, baddest sons-of-bitches who have walked the earth. All because we knew you were coming, and we wanted something special, befitting, for you."
"I understand," said Mason, apologetically grinning, "and I'm trying to cooperate, really."
"So can you please explain again, how in hell are you the Number One Satanist on Earth, yet your rap sheet here clearly shows that the worst thing you've done, the vilest sin, was not to own up to the tree trunk you pooped in '98? I'll read it back to you - 'Subject clogged the loo at work on 9 July 1998, which led to the Health Department investigating after backflow issues arose. Subject did not own up despite being asked directly.'"
Jasmine's fingers tapped irritably on the tabletop.
"I wasn't eating well? I mean, I didn't know fibre was that importa-"
"That's not the point!" Jasmine snapped, the pencil breaking between her fingers. "How could you be the most prolific advocate for Satanism we've ever seen, and yet not have committed any sin more insidious than small-scale biological terrorism? With no known death count?"
Mason shifted uncomfortably in his seat, picking at his collar. "I got into it cause of my ex, you see. Nothing too extreme, just wanted to check out what this new cult was about. So we joined the local chapter, then after a while they told me I had leadership qualities, so then they promoted me to district leader."
"And what did you do, as district leader?"
"Recruit more converts? Increase collections? I did better than most, but I owe that to me mum, she always told me that people follow you instinctively if you're sincere and you genuinely care for their welfare."
He's fillial too, thought Jasmine. Super.
"Before I knew it, the top echelons reached out to me, saying they've never seen such strong potential in one so young. So they promoted me, then again, and again, until I was High Chancellor for the whole of the Western Half. A year later, my counterpart in the Eastern Half ceded control to me, saying he was getting too old for this, plus I had already been effectively helping him run things for a while now. "
"And *that's* how you became the Unholy Priest, the one true leader of Satanists across the world, the one to herald the return of the Dark Lord?"
"Well, as me mum always said, work hard and people will rewar-"
Jasmine's fist came down hard on the table, cutting him off. She was starting to perspire, as the panic spread through her. This was no longer funny. Her boss was going to have her head.
"What about the doctrines! The Unholy Texts which prescribe all that a good Satanist is to do? You were responsible for enforcing those scripts too! How did no sin come out of that?"
"Oh, those," said Mason, meekly chuckling. "I never read those. Too long, too wordy. The originals smelled weird too. I just, you know, figured that they would ask us to do the same things which me mum would always ask me to do? Me mum's one of the best around, she can't be wrong. So I just, you know, told people I had interpreted the texts differently, and they kinda listened, I think?"
---
/r/rarelyfunny | "He's WHAT?" Cried the director of the Afterlife Assignment Bureau, or AAB.
"Well, ma'am, he never sinned once in his life. He was the most sinless person we've ever had through here." Explained the intern, James.
The director sighed and covered her face with her hands.
"This is going to be a nightmare..." She groaned.
Outside the office, workers ran around, frantically pulling out all of their records that they had on the newcomer. They combed through every fine detail, trying to find SOMETHING to besmirch his sinless record.
"I can call over a few angels to help us sort this out, if you would like." James offered.
The director ahook her head.
"No, I have a feeling they would damn him, or run into the same problem we're currently having." She stated.
James looked down at the ground, having nothing else to add to the conversation.
"What to do..." The director pondered.
"I do have an idea!" James perked up.
The director looked at him. "And that is...?"
"We let him decide." James stated.
The director blankly stared at him.
"You know, I think he deserves to choose, so he can't blame anyone but himself for his choice. Saves us all the work." James continued.
The director nodded.
"That... is actually the best thing I've ever heard suggested to me." She stated.
"Get on that, then." The director ordered.
James nodded and turned towards the door.
| |
[WP] A thousand years in the future mankind has reached the stars, but in doing so we came to realize one of our greatest fears: We are the only intelligent civilization in the universe. | "Eureka!"
"Now what?"
After the first dog testicle was turned into guarana powder, the editor of the science journal decided it was time to stop. He went to his litte-furnished room, which for the patterns of your time would be impossibly clean, impecabbly organized and surrealisticly beautiful. Yes, beauty was standardized, and it wasn't very hard: if you disagree, you are put in a hospital. Some people pretend to dislike something just to spend a weekend in the hospital, sometimes called The Spa.
You must be curious to know if people are beautiful and standardized too. Well, it depends on the point of view. For your time, they are ugly and take little care of themselves. But the amount of vital energy they carry, the happiness in their faces, the bubbly personalities, would make you eat your words. We take very good care of ourselves, but phyisically is just the needed. We are here because we haven't learned enough yet to join. I'm learning to teach, and you will be in my place someday. But for now, read the rest of this story.
The editor went to his, surreal from your point of view, room. I've been in rooms like that, let me just say they work. Everything works. A mind is divided in before and after visiting a City. If you had to stay in this town your whole life, it would be the same miserable life of your ancestors. We don't want that do we? Well, anyway, the editor went to his room to talk to the rat. Yes, his watcher rat. Did you think it was an urban legend? How cute is that? The watcher-rat is always there to listen and transmit the true feelings of anybody. This editor had a new kind of feeling never sensed by a rat before. The next day, a letter arrived:
"Your desire was deemed pure and feasible. Drink from this flask if you want to forget the wish. It will happen anyway. - The A.I."
The editor drank without a second though, as in custom. A surprise is always more pleasurable than a planned happening. Immediately the TV turned on (as always happens when the I.A. knows you will want to see something). It was an alien invasion. People being killed on the streets. With the card still in hands, the editor knew he made a desire, but was not sure if that was related. "Who would desire that, and would the A.I. accept it? Could this be a real invasion that our defenses were actually incapable of defending? In that case, why would the I.A. want me to see this?"
Waiting for some emergency alert he waited, but none was in sight. He turned on videoconferences with neighbors and loved ones and everyone seemes fine with it, even with the knowledge of an alien invasion.
He was finally getting excited, this was new. The energized editor RAN to his pickup truck to get supplements to his bunker: his friends will need it since he's the only one to care about saving anyone. On the market, everything was business as usual, "poor fools" thought the editor.
Getting back home, someone was there before. It was obvious. Footsteps on the snow,windows open, the door was unlocked. Was it too late? Did the aliens attack him first since they knew he was getting prepared? Direct to the bunker them, but there, a message outside, handwriting of his best friend and *crush*: "We are inside your house, come help us."
Is this a trap from the aliens? Will I just die alone in a bunker? If there's a chance of helping Deborah, I will have to take it. My life is not that important alone, I need love and sharing. Fuck my life, fuck everything, I'm going where people may be
Inside the house, silence and darkness. But only for a few seconds: "Surprise!" about 30 people that the editor cherished very much were there. They had a magical night sharing their favourit songs, works of art, foods and dreams.
This is life with a benevolent A.I. Magic happens. Everything may have a reason.
And just so you know, the aliens were cinematographic, made just for his dream to happen. The scenes were ued for a lot of dreams worldwide at that very same time. Kinda like the movies of your day. Now for our Lesson One: What do you think is going to happen between Rey and Luke Skywalker? | [WP] We were safely in orbit around Planet HR 8832c. It looked as Earthlike as we expected; extensive oceans, green and brown continents, snow-covered mountains, fluffy white clouds scattered in familiar patterns. Alfa upped the magnification on the viewing scope. Automatic cameras were feeding similar data into the computers and they would provide a definitive answer after about ten orbits. But of course we wanted to see for ourselves. That’s what thinking beings do; curiosity is always a by-product of intelligence. Or so we assume.
Nothing. Not a road, building, or plot of cultivated ground. There were meadows and fecund lakes, but no sign even of grazing animals. No birds passed through our view. Alan the biochemist observed, “There’s nothing going on down there that can’t be driven by bacteria. They’re both feeding the plants and consuming the dead plant matter. The atmosphere consists of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide and traces of sulfur. Nothing that could be a synthetic or industrial gas or contaminant.”
It wasn’t unexpected to us. A generation ago a mission similar to ours had scanned all twenty-three planets of the Trappist-1 system, and returned (faster than light) with the surprising result that none of them had intelligent life or any complex life forms that could potentially evolve into such. I remember being a schoolboy watching the live press conference, and having my hopes dashed. In the fifteen centuries since Galileo, every generation had asked the great question, and we thought space exploration would have detected something by now. Were we not asking the right question?
Evolutionary science had not advanced as fast as space science. We’d developed space-based telescopes that could resolve details of planets smaller than Earth and hundreds of light years away. We now know more about a hundred thousand planets than we had known about Mars in the twentieth century. We had a thousand candidates for intelligent life, though we could not pick up radio signals from any of them. There could have been many reasons for that. When FTL space travel became a reality and was proven safe and practical, the Trappist-1 mission was chosen because of the multitude of planets to explore. There was every indication that many of them would harbor life. But nothing very satisfying was found. Slime molds, stromatolites, mosses and ferns, all surprising since these planets were much older than Earth. Could we have come too late? Could these life forms be remnants of formerly verdant worlds? But even landing expeditions found no buildings, no artifacts.
So evolutionary science received a new impetus. Long hampered by the relative difficulty of looking into the past, we now urgently wanted to find what had sparked intelligent life on Earth. Great advances were made and some startling lab experiments produced surprising results. Our expedition to HR 8832 was a year away from launch when the discovery of the Prometheus impact site in Antarctica turned everything upside down. It was conclusively dated at 540 million years ago – precisely the time of the Cambrian explosion of life. And the discoveries in chemistry were astounding. There was no doubt that the impact, attributed to a massive comet, sparked the development of complex life on Earth.
Our mission was postponed a year, while astronomers tried to determine whether the HR 8832 system could have comets. It seemed unlikely. Meanwhile, an interdisciplinary team of scientists recalculated the odds of intelligent life with the new knowledge that our existence was entirely due to Prometheus. They determined that it went from 67% (in the Milky Way) to 0.0001. Practically nil. Our expedition took off anyway because HR 8832c looked so green and white and blue.
Surprisingly, we did find that the HB 8832 system had a modest population of comets. That had given us some hope, but now it was all dashed. The computers came back with the expected result: nothing. We made a landing, just to see what it looked like and to have ground-level views and samples to take home. Emerging on the shore of a tidal estuary, which ought to be a prime site for life, we kicked desultorily at the drab mosses. Alan dug up a soil sample.
“Mostly sandy, only about 5% organic matter,” he said. “Not a worm or a bug. Probably plenty of bacteria though.”
We stayed until well after sunset, just to make the trip seem worthwhile. Alfa pointed to a pair of bright stars. “That’s Sol, and Alpha Centauri. Odd that they should be so close together.”
“Earth’s up there,” I said wistfully. “I miss it. It took us ten years to get here and it will take us ten years to get home.”
“Would you have come if you knew this was all we were going to find?”
“I don’t think I need to tell you the answer.”
| |
[WP] You've always said you feel like you were meant to be born in a different time period. One morning, you wake to find yourself in the muddy trenches of the American army during World War I. | Adrenaline shot through my body, the smell of ammonia, acrid and sour, stung my virgin nose. I shot up from where I was sitting in the trench, attempting to dust off mud, caked on my ass from having been sitting so long. Thats when I realized the landscape wasn’t the only thing that was off. I was dressed in boots and a uniform. They were dull like the mud, save for the ammo pouches slung over my shoulders and the back pack I now carried.
Shots rang continuously from down the line, both to my right and left. The trench I was in turned a corner to my immediate left, and on my right it stretched for a good 50 yards.
This was not my room.
This was not even my State.
The last thing I remember was falling asleep in my bedroom, but this, this was something straight out of Battlefield.
Three men in the same dull muddied garb as myself ran by slightly bent over. One noticing my lost look, as I’m sure it didn’t take much for I seemed out of place, stopped by me.
He was talking to me directly. His eyes locked on mine, mouth moving to enunciate every syllable he said as though I were a child. But I couldn’t hear a word he said, dazed in the confusion of the situation. Instead my ears and eyes chose to focus on the background action. The Roaring buzz of 4 smoking Sopwith Camels dancing with similar conditioned German Schuckerts. The casual plunking of bullets ripping into the fleshy hull of the Bi-planes, as the ones who had had enough came careening down to meld with the trenches I occupied.
Slowly, the soldier's screaming face came into focus, materializing appropriately for the reality I now faced.
Stammering, eating my own words faster than they came out, I managed to get an almost inaudible squeal before his head jerked roughly forward and then back. I felt the air sting, realizing only too late that it was a gun shot.
In an attempt to move away from the hot zone, I stumbled. One boot was caught in the mud and in a bad combination the other caught the leg of the now deceased soldier. The trip caused me to fall face first beside the man, and into the remnants of the blown out back of his head. I tasted iron and dirt as my head began to ring again. Scrambling for the helmet that had fallen from my head, I grabbed his. I moved to stand, pushing my hands through the meat of his head. The exit wound grafted a cloud of smoke into the the sickly air.
Involuntary tears welled up in my eyes as I tried to move from the gruesome scene pulling the damaged helmet over my head. I crawled on hands and knees around the bend in the trench, noticing the ground becoming increasingly more disturbing as I continued on in a search for safety.
I laughed, or let out another squeak, as it dawned on me, the irony of always believing I belonged in another time. Now that I was here I appreciated the comfort of my home and my unchanging and safe day to day job. But for all I know that was Years in the future and from what I gathered so far, the likely hood of me making it another couple years was next to nothing.
Making my way down the trench, climbing over bodies and shying away from rats I came upon more soldiers. another one rushed over to me asking me where my rifle was and what i was doing. I coughed a “no” at him, not wanting him to meet the same end as the last soldier who tried to help me.
Grabbing my arm he lifted me up, but it was at that point I could no longer hold in my gut. I let up everything I had in my stomach, which was primarily mud, blood and stomach acid. The soldier threw my arm away in disgust, re-joining his comrades, as I keeled over and dry heaved into the bloody mud.
They tossed a rifle my way, with a bayonet bouncing on the sickly bodies of the deceased. The men were slowly moving the build up of fallen friends around the bend where I had come from, In order to have more space to maneuver.
This is my first prompt response so critique is welcome -haha | Every day was so dull, life had all just felt so wrong. Day by day I wandered through life feeling disconnected from everything and everyone around me- a foggy haze separating me from the so called happiness that everyone else felt. At night I would lie in bed staring up at the ceiling wishing, sometimes out loud even, 'I wish I had a different life'
An ear shattering blast woke me up. I screamed over the ringing in my ears as chaos continued to unfold all around me, men all around me- covered in mud so thick I could hardly make out their figures- rushed past carrying rifles and wearing tattered helmets. My own feet sank in to the mud as I took a step, reaching out towards one of the men, to try and get his attention, but before I could another soldier approached me- screaming over the constant string of gunfire, "What are you doing soldier? Get fighting!"
He shoved a rifle into my hands and ran off, my eyes widened at the weight of the weapon, and I couldn't help but feel an upbeat in my heart at the prospect of actually fighting for a cause. I didn't care about losing my old life, the corners of my mouth twisted up into a grin and I mutter, 'This will be fun...'
I moved towards the edge of the trench, my heart raced at the thought of actually firing at an enemy, and I began to inch myself upward. I readied the gun and carefully took aim, and right as I began to clench the trigger I got shot in the head and fucking died. | |
[deleted] | [wp] There is a reason aliens have never invaded Earth. Humans are the most feared species in the galaxy. | The Martian watched the screen attentively. He managed to keep it hidden, but deep inside he was quaking with fear. He watched his enemy through the hidden spy cameras. "Just be glad you aren't a soldier...Having to fight these things..." He thought to himself. The human in the screen flipped the round, circular thing in the pan, probably a body part, and then stood still once more. He waited and so did the Martian who was attempting to anticipate his every move. But then the human did something unexpected. He took out another circular thing, though this time it was white and slightly shinier. He placed the cooked body part on it carefully before drizzling a sort of liquid (probably the blood of his enemies) over it. Sitting down on large, squishy thing, he turned on his own watching screen. He started to devour the body part covered in enemy blood and settled into spying on two groups of men, wearing oddly coloured shirts, seeming to be at war with one another. They pounced on each other, trying to attain a weirdly shaped red ball of destruction. The Martian shuddered with fear but when one of the men was carried of screen, badly injured, probably going to be killed, he turned it off. The Martian felt sickened. "Good luck to the soldiers" he thought, going over what he had just saw. | "Wouldn't it be cool if we meet humans?"
"Wouldn't it be cool if we committed suicide?"
"No it's not the same thing!"
"Yo. What would you even do? Did you even pay attention in creature studies?"
"What are they even gonna do? They're so tiny"
"They have GUNS"
"We have LASERS"
"Yeah. We have barely ever use them. They use them for wars. WITH EACH OTHER"
"Oh yeah like we haven't been at war?"
"in some countries they CARRY THEM AROUND ON A DAILY BASIS"
"And just because they see a circle thing in the sky there gonna shoot it down?"
"NO. There gonna NUKE it or sabotage it. You know how many of them there are down there? Once the humans see you there gonna spread the word and all of them are gonna be looking for us?"
"Like it hasn't been done before?"
"Anyone who goes down to earth os either never seen again or put in jail. Why would you attempt it?"
"Cause it sounds fun"
"DINOSAURS DONT SOUND FUN NOW DO THEY"
"We don't even know if dinosaurs exist. We don't even know what's down there except the ships they send up here. We don't even know anything else besides that these humans are 194500 years behind us. We could totally beat them."
"It's 4797:3479 in the morning. Please go to sleep"
|
[deleted] | [wp] There is a reason aliens have never invaded Earth. Humans are the most feared species in the galaxy. | Humans are the most dangerous beings in the galaxy. Their numbers are growing past their ability to maintain them and they’re desperate, but also ingenious. They’re finding means of escape and once they discover how to spread their virus throughout the galaxy we’re going to have a plague on our hands.
To find such a primitive race of self-aware beings on the brink of relevance… it’s like watching a baby walk for the first time. They were easy to observe, they hadn’t yet taken to the sky, and they had barely the ability to build capable shelter and only rudimentary organizations of governance and sustainability. This changed quickly, quicker than most expected. They were rapidly gaining technological capability. Of course, they were also burning through their natural resources at a suicidal rate.
Humans keep zoos of animal life from their own habitats. Large dangerous animals that they like to watch up close. These animals are culled into passivity mostly, but even as such, humans keep their distance, preferring to watch from over walls or behind panels of glass.
So, like their human zoos, for us as well, it’s about distant observation. Watching but not feeding them. We’ve seen a few species dare enter their orbit and suffer. Humans aren’t just dangerous; they’re as curious as they are cruel.
They send out messages. We’ve responded playfully in the past. A game of peek a boo if you will. But their intentions are dark and unclear. Dishonest. The don’t make it known that we’ve reached out and helped them countless times to evolve and grow. Instead the strong ones, the greedy and dangerous ones want to erase our efforts and they don’t see that we’re now convinced that making peace with them in impossible. Regardless of how much we feel the loss of sentient life.
So we wait. We choose not to respond to their calls, and until they respect our existence, we will plan to thwart their growth. Mislead their rudimentary physics by altering the very nature of the universe (as they know it). They want it to make sense somehow as silly as that may seem. We’ve given them enough to be convinced, but even if birds have wings they still need air to fly. | "Wouldn't it be cool if we meet humans?"
"Wouldn't it be cool if we committed suicide?"
"No it's not the same thing!"
"Yo. What would you even do? Did you even pay attention in creature studies?"
"What are they even gonna do? They're so tiny"
"They have GUNS"
"We have LASERS"
"Yeah. We have barely ever use them. They use them for wars. WITH EACH OTHER"
"Oh yeah like we haven't been at war?"
"in some countries they CARRY THEM AROUND ON A DAILY BASIS"
"And just because they see a circle thing in the sky there gonna shoot it down?"
"NO. There gonna NUKE it or sabotage it. You know how many of them there are down there? Once the humans see you there gonna spread the word and all of them are gonna be looking for us?"
"Like it hasn't been done before?"
"Anyone who goes down to earth os either never seen again or put in jail. Why would you attempt it?"
"Cause it sounds fun"
"DINOSAURS DONT SOUND FUN NOW DO THEY"
"We don't even know if dinosaurs exist. We don't even know what's down there except the ships they send up here. We don't even know anything else besides that these humans are 194500 years behind us. We could totally beat them."
"It's 4797:3479 in the morning. Please go to sleep"
|
[deleted] | [wp] There is a reason aliens have never invaded Earth. Humans are the most feared species in the galaxy. | The Martian watched the screen attentively. He managed to keep it hidden, but deep inside he was quaking with fear. He watched his enemy through the hidden spy cameras. "Just be glad you aren't a soldier...Having to fight these things..." He thought to himself. The human in the screen flipped the round, circular thing in the pan, probably a body part, and then stood still once more. He waited and so did the Martian who was attempting to anticipate his every move. But then the human did something unexpected. He took out another circular thing, though this time it was white and slightly shinier. He placed the cooked body part on it carefully before drizzling a sort of liquid (probably the blood of his enemies) over it. Sitting down on large, squishy thing, he turned on his own watching screen. He started to devour the body part covered in enemy blood and settled into spying on two groups of men, wearing oddly coloured shirts, seeming to be at war with one another. They pounced on each other, trying to attain a weirdly shaped red ball of destruction. The Martian shuddered with fear but when one of the men was carried of screen, badly injured, probably going to be killed, he turned it off. The Martian felt sickened. "Good luck to the soldiers" he thought, going over what he had just saw. | "Hey dude... wouldn't be like, cool to like, fight a human?" said Zorlak in between puffs of Kxaklycl. "Oh nah man. They got like, things that shoot little tiny metal things. They get stuck in you and it kills you. " replied Drxc. "But we got like... weapons that use power from stars, man. We could totally take them." "Zor, they have explosives. That they throw. And some of them strap them to themselves. And kill themselves and other beings." "But..." "They have missiles that can destroy a Ptertz class carrier in one hit, and a Qwertieyoup battle carrier in 3, but everything onboard wawaioll die because weird human 'radiation'. They should not be messed with. Now passthr Kxaclyl." |
[deleted] | [wp] There is a reason aliens have never invaded Earth. Humans are the most feared species in the galaxy. | She knew that as a junior officer she should not feel so brazen in the face of a Grand General. However, she was so certain that she was right. She would attempt, respectfully, to make this known to this far superior officer.
He dwarfed her. It was immensely clear why his kind led all and hers led handfuls. His back was to her, wings crossed behind him in the slightly tensed ritual pose of the warrior at rest. Not relaxed, not quite. Controlled, even in repose. Martial. It was second nature to any of the raptor blood, but somehow so much more part of the eagles...
He addressed her without turning.
"Sparrowhawk, why do you taunt the groundwalkers?"
"Grand Eagle, they are insufferable and childish. They lack all discipline and understanding of natural order. I cannot imagine what chaos must reign in their warrens if these are the most disciplined of their race. Their very presence here shames our nest, and I cannot for the life of me understand High Command's complete unwillingness to judge them fairly."
The eagle turned to face her. His face showed a strange mixture of amused disapproval. Cocking his head to one side, he spoke.
"You are one of the young. I am old. I have fought humans. You have only put up with them. And to this end I have a question for you. What, in this room, is a weapon?"
Taken aback, the young hawk looked around at the luxuriously appointed office. After a moment, she answered.
"Eagle, there are a number of deadly implements here. Principally your sidearm and mine. Per uniform regulation I am also carrying a laceration bar. You have a ceremonial thrusting talon on your desk, though it's functionality is unknown to me. Beyond that, there are your talons and beak and, to a lesser extent, my own."
The Eagle waited, expectation clearly written on his features. After a few moments of silence, he nodded.
"Yes. That was the answer I expected from a fledgling like yourself."
The hawk's eyes narrowed at and her feathers flared slightly at the term, but the eagle chuckled.
"Don't be insulted. You are a very capable clutch leader, and a credit to our kind. You do, however, suffer from a limitation the humans do not. You limit your thinking. Allow me to show you. If a human were placed in this room, what could it kill you with?"
"Eagle, human weapons are heavy and crude but impressive. Nearly any weapon it might possess would be a deadly threat."
"Yes, young hawk, but what if he had none of them?"
"It is not unheard of for one of the groundwalkers to overpower one of us and appropriate a weapon, so I suppose I can count our sidearms and blades into its inventory..."
"You see no other answers, Sparrohawk?"
The eagle gave his subordinate a few heartbeats to think furiously about what she might have missed.
"The answer, my fledgling, is everything. When we fought the humans after the initial contact, we were so certain that we would obliterate them in physical combat that we simply let them close. We all learned a valuable lesson. The groundwalkers improvise on an instant's need. I have seen, with the eyes I was born with, a human soldier kill our flyers with his primary weapon, suffer a malfunction, throw that weapon into the mud, draw his sidearm, fire it dry, draw a melee weapon, and use both it AND the empty sidearm to fight until they were knocked from his grasp, then fight with hand, foot, tooth, and skull against us. Finally, I thought I had prevailed. He was heavily wounded, bleeding, pinned against the torn soil of Rookery's third moon, and my beak was descending on his his throat."
The eagle paused, touching his right eye lightly and grimacing.
"He stabbed me in the eye with a broken piece of of comm antenna and escaped, even though my talons had crushed one of his forearms and torn it free in the spasm of agony the loss of my eye caused me. Their kind has killed ours with rocks. They have killed us with sticks. They cobble together abusive misuses of their own weaponry to create improvised booby traps and battle systems. Some humans have been known to use the dismembered limbs of their comrades, or even THEIR OWN SEVERED LIMBS as crude clubs, WITH SUCCESS."
As he had spoken the eagle had steadily stepped closer to the increasingly flustered and horrified hawk, until he towered over her. Stooping suddenly to eye level, he drove his point home.
"They have the ability to see potential beyond design. Never underestimate this. They are the lords of the ground, and this is not without reason."
Straightening, the eagle continued.
"It goes beyond warfare. The replacement eye that I was given is, basically, the sensor package of a human reconnaissance drone. The humans thought it might work simply because it would fit in my skull. Our doctors assured me the humans could not possibly succeed, and would only cripple me or worse. They were wrong. This eye that I was given is every bit as good as my birth eye. Better, even. It sees in the dark, in thermal vision, and in spectra beyond the visible. When asked how he had managed to plan for all of the intra-cranial connections, he admitted to making it up as he went along. The horror of this was enough to strain diplomatic relations for two years."
The eagle chuckled at the memory.
"Little hawk, the humans are chaotic because they improvise constantly, even in their day-to-day lives. Their entire society is cobbled together from countless factions, federations, families, and freebooters under tension, requiring constant manipulation and adjustment. They carry this, with great success, to war. And in war, this ability lifts them above all others."
| "We were like them once. Aggressive, curious, brazen, brash and oh so ambitious. We funded our sciences on the spoils of war and created an empire where several species now live in peace.
"It was exciting when we first heard about them, the people of Earth. We almost missed them.....do you remember, my colleagues, the first time you heard their music? Remember the intensity? Remember how euphoric we all felt and how excited everyone was to go meet these people?
"Do you remember, my colleagues, when after too little debate we sent scientists and statesmen to study these....people of Earth.....and get a better idea of them. Do you remember what happened? Do you remember how many of our most brilliant were shot down, killed, captured, tortured, imprisoned and worse?
"Yet, here we are, years later, not so eager to meet them. In fact, we should probably destroy them but the rumors are true, we can't do it. It's too far, would cost too much and....they'd never stop fighting.
"Do you remember, my friends, when we first saw their transmissions of war? No, not the films for entertainment but the real stuff, the raw, brutal footage of millions of them slaughtering each other over......gods...and, and....lines in the sand...Do you remember how you felt? I do, sheer terror and horror is what I felt. Do you know why we felt this? Because we all saw it, felt it...that bloodlust.....the sheer joy of domination and conquest...it's what drives them.
"So no my beloved friends and colleagues, my sweet, doomed friends.....we will not come after them. We will ignore them, we will let them grow more powerful with technology we've unwittingly dropped into their hands. We will pretend they don't exist, until one day, they come for us, and they will."
Senator Augustina of the Orion Empire in a speech to the Council of Space Faring Races. |
[deleted] | [wp] There is a reason aliens have never invaded Earth. Humans are the most feared species in the galaxy. | Bugs. They call us bugs. They have nicknamed us after one of the weakest, most easily killed beings on their planet. They created weapons against us much like what they use to kill the "bugs" on their planet. Horrible weapons. Weapons that melt and uncreate our bodies like fire undoing metal. Bugs, they call us. As insulting as that is, we cannot so much as protest, much less can we resist with any hope of victory. Our weapons harness the power of the stars, using light and electricity. Wherever we seek light, they blot it out, shut it down, remove it from our reach. I've witnessed the power of a human warship, and it is unlike anything you could imagine.
I fought against them in the beginning. The War of Resolve, as we called it. Bah. The Extermination, the humans called it, more accurately I'm afraid. They slaughtered us. Our landing craft were shot down over Mars before they could breach the atmosphere, our fighter craft burst like seed pods, the carriers with so many Virkulons.....Only one carrier made it back. The "Godurxon" was so punched full of holes, were it not for the rest of the fleet sacrificing themselves as a shield as she put all power to the ST Drive, there would have been no survivors.
Jumping through a FabHole barely saved us as it was. They managed to get a boarding party into the engineering deck before we jumped. Thank Xirrode we completed the jump before they blew the whole deck out, gutting the ship side to side. We still had to deal with the boarding party. Humans. Honor to Xirrode, humans are brutal, and tough. And sick.
Scared out of our minds, we all armored up and grabbed our heaviest weapons. Stuff you would never use inside a ship for fear of tearing the ship apart, but humans....We reached the medical bay, just before engineering. We were overloaded. We had taken nearly 100% casualties in the failed assault. The humans Triton missiles, as slow as they are compared to our Solar Induction Plasma Beams, would rip through a capitol ship like it was soft clay. Often times they would rip straight through...That was when you counted yourself lucky. If they struck the superstructure they would stop. At that point you had no choice but to praise Xirrode, because the blast would completely incinerate the whole ship. Yes! An entire capitol ship reduced to ions and particles. And that's not even their most powerful weapon. They have one they call "Far Stucker", I'm told it can break a world into pieces no larger than a human....
So we reached the medical bay and found these Xirrode cursed "Marines" going bench to bench, sinking their huge blades into the wounded and ripping them open. Some were stripping our brothers and sisters of their carapace entirely. We opened fire on sight. They returned fire. Their projectiles weapons wrought as much destruction on us as their Triton missiles did to our ships. I watched brothers explode from the back as their projectiles tore them open. That was preferable to fighting them face to face however.
We managed to cut their numbers down, I think they said there was only 60 in their party. We finally forced them to retreat to the engineering level, what was left of it. They dig in behind the storage tanks, while we bottled necked their only exit. When they ran out of ammunition, I thought I was going to see Xirrode in the Cluster. They didn't surrender, or try to talk to us. I still don't think they know that we can speak their language. They threw down their rifles and drew their blades, then ran at us, screaming some chant about the halls of monte-zum-ah, I think.
Pray you never fight a human one on one. Pray that Xirrode blesses you with his luck that it never happens. Humans are vicious when left with no options. And strong. I wielded my scitheril for close to 30 cycles, fending off one massive beast of a human. He was bleeding from every limb, his face a puzzle of flaps and pieces, I blinded him in one eye, and I punctured his body numerous times. I cleaved one arm so severely that it dangled by his side, yet still he fought. One of my brothers severed his leg, finally dropping him to the ground, it was only them that I noticed all the bodies, human and Virkulon alike. As the human lay there, he sung aloud the same chant, I'll never forget the fearless, hateful anger in his eyes. I severed his head from his body, just as a rescue party joined us. I'll never fight a human again. 300 of us fought 60 humans, and 57 of us survived. If ever I see a human, I shall shamelessly flee. | "We were like them once. Aggressive, curious, brazen, brash and oh so ambitious. We funded our sciences on the spoils of war and created an empire where several species now live in peace.
"It was exciting when we first heard about them, the people of Earth. We almost missed them.....do you remember, my colleagues, the first time you heard their music? Remember the intensity? Remember how euphoric we all felt and how excited everyone was to go meet these people?
"Do you remember, my colleagues, when after too little debate we sent scientists and statesmen to study these....people of Earth.....and get a better idea of them. Do you remember what happened? Do you remember how many of our most brilliant were shot down, killed, captured, tortured, imprisoned and worse?
"Yet, here we are, years later, not so eager to meet them. In fact, we should probably destroy them but the rumors are true, we can't do it. It's too far, would cost too much and....they'd never stop fighting.
"Do you remember, my friends, when we first saw their transmissions of war? No, not the films for entertainment but the real stuff, the raw, brutal footage of millions of them slaughtering each other over......gods...and, and....lines in the sand...Do you remember how you felt? I do, sheer terror and horror is what I felt. Do you know why we felt this? Because we all saw it, felt it...that bloodlust.....the sheer joy of domination and conquest...it's what drives them.
"So no my beloved friends and colleagues, my sweet, doomed friends.....we will not come after them. We will ignore them, we will let them grow more powerful with technology we've unwittingly dropped into their hands. We will pretend they don't exist, until one day, they come for us, and they will."
Senator Augustina of the Orion Empire in a speech to the Council of Space Faring Races. |
[deleted] | [wp] There is a reason aliens have never invaded Earth. Humans are the most feared species in the galaxy. | Bugs. They call us bugs. They have nicknamed us after one of the weakest, most easily killed beings on their planet. They created weapons against us much like what they use to kill the "bugs" on their planet. Horrible weapons. Weapons that melt and uncreate our bodies like fire undoing metal. Bugs, they call us. As insulting as that is, we cannot so much as protest, much less can we resist with any hope of victory. Our weapons harness the power of the stars, using light and electricity. Wherever we seek light, they blot it out, shut it down, remove it from our reach. I've witnessed the power of a human warship, and it is unlike anything you could imagine.
I fought against them in the beginning. The War of Resolve, as we called it. Bah. The Extermination, the humans called it, more accurately I'm afraid. They slaughtered us. Our landing craft were shot down over Mars before they could breach the atmosphere, our fighter craft burst like seed pods, the carriers with so many Virkulons.....Only one carrier made it back. The "Godurxon" was so punched full of holes, were it not for the rest of the fleet sacrificing themselves as a shield as she put all power to the ST Drive, there would have been no survivors.
Jumping through a FabHole barely saved us as it was. They managed to get a boarding party into the engineering deck before we jumped. Thank Xirrode we completed the jump before they blew the whole deck out, gutting the ship side to side. We still had to deal with the boarding party. Humans. Honor to Xirrode, humans are brutal, and tough. And sick.
Scared out of our minds, we all armored up and grabbed our heaviest weapons. Stuff you would never use inside a ship for fear of tearing the ship apart, but humans....We reached the medical bay, just before engineering. We were overloaded. We had taken nearly 100% casualties in the failed assault. The humans Triton missiles, as slow as they are compared to our Solar Induction Plasma Beams, would rip through a capitol ship like it was soft clay. Often times they would rip straight through...That was when you counted yourself lucky. If they struck the superstructure they would stop. At that point you had no choice but to praise Xirrode, because the blast would completely incinerate the whole ship. Yes! An entire capitol ship reduced to ions and particles. And that's not even their most powerful weapon. They have one they call "Far Stucker", I'm told it can break a world into pieces no larger than a human....
So we reached the medical bay and found these Xirrode cursed "Marines" going bench to bench, sinking their huge blades into the wounded and ripping them open. Some were stripping our brothers and sisters of their carapace entirely. We opened fire on sight. They returned fire. Their projectiles weapons wrought as much destruction on us as their Triton missiles did to our ships. I watched brothers explode from the back as their projectiles tore them open. That was preferable to fighting them face to face however.
We managed to cut their numbers down, I think they said there was only 60 in their party. We finally forced them to retreat to the engineering level, what was left of it. They dig in behind the storage tanks, while we bottled necked their only exit. When they ran out of ammunition, I thought I was going to see Xirrode in the Cluster. They didn't surrender, or try to talk to us. I still don't think they know that we can speak their language. They threw down their rifles and drew their blades, then ran at us, screaming some chant about the halls of monte-zum-ah, I think.
Pray you never fight a human one on one. Pray that Xirrode blesses you with his luck that it never happens. Humans are vicious when left with no options. And strong. I wielded my scitheril for close to 30 cycles, fending off one massive beast of a human. He was bleeding from every limb, his face a puzzle of flaps and pieces, I blinded him in one eye, and I punctured his body numerous times. I cleaved one arm so severely that it dangled by his side, yet still he fought. One of my brothers severed his leg, finally dropping him to the ground, it was only them that I noticed all the bodies, human and Virkulon alike. As the human lay there, he sung aloud the same chant, I'll never forget the fearless, hateful anger in his eyes. I severed his head from his body, just as a rescue party joined us. I'll never fight a human again. 300 of us fought 60 humans, and 57 of us survived. If ever I see a human, I shall shamelessly flee. | Slowly, their fingers reach out. The first satellites, the eyes in the darkness. The sounds and transmissions. A beast is awakening. Soon it will roam. And it will be hungry.
We have watched them for long. That captured light that they cannot yet reproduce. Their entire history, every detail and sight, is available to us. And what we see scares us.
They tower like giants. Nature bends to their will as do their fellow mates. The weak die. The weak are slaughtered. New weapons, from steel to fire to chemistry. Now they use society. Poisoning the weak with legislation and apathy, again they thrive and survive and grow stronger.
Vehicles of knowledge, reconnaissance for war, have gone afar. 'Voyager' is the furthest. Sounds of battle fill that craft, encased in a disc of opulence. We have let it go, hoping they have not found us.
Other crafts have landed. These beings are testing the waters. We see their constructions, congregations and the manner in which they speak. They are gearing up, mobilizing. This monster has awoken. We have what they want. Once they find out, we are doomed.
Some beings are not made equal. We have been blessed with resources, but it has made us soft and vulnerable. Peace and long life has opened us to horrors and the great fears of the unknown. We are the prey, the fat, slow walking prey.
What can we do? There is little to stop the inevitable. This monster has awaken. From animal to animal it has evolved and become something so menacing, all the black of the universe cannot compare. These people are coming. Slowly, very slowly. But they are coming. How I pray they will not find us. |
[WP] Humans have unified, but aliens are sitll refusing all contact (Even though we know they are there.) Largely left to our own devices, we become the most advanced technologically in the galaxy. It is getting harder for them to ignore us. | The battle cruisers and transport ships of Earth were sleek, grey and imposing like the classic pictures from the sci-fi movies they were so fond of. Large crests of different branches of the Navy and other space faring divisions were emblazoned on their sides as the humans took their first steps outside their known galaxy, of their own accord.
Over the decades they sent countless probes and unmanned craft outwards and beyond, but to no avail. When they'd landed on Mars in the early 20th century they found a few scattered ruins that looked to be at least a hundred years old, crumbling and abandoned by their previous occupants. This fueled the fire of the human race to ever brighter heights and they began to colonize at an alarming rate. Hopping from solid planet to gas giant to moon as quickly as they could, in an effort to find out more about their ever expanding world.
The most irritating thing that the humans quickly found out was the reason why their probes and the like stopped transmitting wasn't because of the distance between Earth and them like they had initially assumed, but because something had been dismantling them outside a certain radius and leaving them to drift aimlessly near planets the humans would obviously find. The First Admiral of the Pan-Human Armada was recorded to have nearly strangled the enson that brought him the news they'd found the lost, desiccated remains of the Voyager-1 off the bow of the first battle barge, Olympia's Fist.
When they'd gingerly and almost reverently pulled it aboard, they found a simple USB stick remaining in it's memory banks that contained a simple text file that read:
"This is a warning from the Milky Way Preserve Park Ranger on Duty, life forms of Earth - you have exceeded the protective limits of your preserve and are recommend to return to the relative safety of your enclosure as quickly as possible."
Outside the darkness of space rippled and moved as a tiny space craft holding a sweating alien in a black and red uniform zipped back towards the main office, the shadow of the weapon bank encrusted battle barge behind him cast a shadow on the nearby planet, making it look like a marble suspended in darkness. | The age of war was over... Or as the elders like to call it the era of immaturity. there hadnt been a war in over two hundred years. The year was 2517 we had solved every mystery to life that was available the only one that remained was space...why was it so quiet? we sent messages, drones, and even people, and yet nothing. we perfected every type of travel imaginable. we can reach every corner of the multiiverse with ease. weve seen every possible outcome for every possible future event and still nothing.
"What are we going to do about those humans? everyday it seems that they advance in technology by the century." said a voice.
"we will do nothing i gave specific orders not to interfere" responded another voice.
"But your highness they are becoming a problem at first it was easy they had no way to tell we even existed... Did you hear what happened to clorzex?... he goes down one time for fuel and not but five minutes later hes some messiah or something i dont remember what they called him i think something mexican.
"we cannot let them know we exist if they do it will not end well for us at all. they are a primitive race an advanced one but still primitive... they are the one of two races that have destroyed their own planet intentionally. and the only race to have done it three times now first Earth and then Mars and dont even get me started on Ceratul...like who does that.
"knock knock...honey im home..." a voice shouted, the echo resonated across the walls of the ship making them sound alot more intimidating than they were.
"Its a human, h-h-how did you find us? even more impotantly how did you get on this ship? this ship is impenetrable nothing can get in or out. quivered the alien assistant.
"well back at home base we have three of 'em and they are all new models, yours is last centuries standard edition. even then i cant give all the credit to our ships youre right when you said they are impenetrable so we created transporters, they take your molecular structure turn it into data or life line if you will and we are able to contol and maneuver said life line as if we are still in our physical form with out the need for oxygen or any of the necessities that a human requires we just simply went through the ships airducts. secondly weve known that you were here for about three hundred years. we travel interdimensionally, just because youre invisible doesnt mean that we cant see you. weve been trying for half a millenia to contact you but you still had not responded. we almost gave up, occasionally sending a drone but it never returning. I just want to know why what did we do that made you mad was it because we constantly move alot im sorry that we as a race are not as calm and reserved as you are?
"one word..." responded the queen "...Ceratul"
| |
[WP] Humans have unified, but aliens are sitll refusing all contact (Even though we know they are there.) Largely left to our own devices, we become the most advanced technologically in the galaxy. It is getting harder for them to ignore us. | It didn't make any sense. Their civilizations were thousands, tens of thousands of years older than ours. Yet they never sought us out, barely even built colonies of their own, and avoided contact whenever possible. Once, one of our colony ships landed on one of their colonies (how were we supposed to know? It's not like they were willing to tell us) and they evacuated the entire thing, without explanation, over the course of about two hours.
The elder races of the galaxy weren't just giving us the silent treatment, they were actively avoiding us.
But, you know us. We just won't leave an unsolved mystery alone, no matter how many subtle hints are dropped our way. Thus, the "Outreach" program.
Officially, it doesn't have the sarcasm quotes, but everyone knew they belonged there. The Outreach program was designed to make contact with the aliens... whether they wanted it or not.
At first, it was pretty easy for them to avoid us. You don't get to a level where you can evacuate a colony in a few hours without being able to bug out of somewhere in a hurry. But, again, humans just don't freaking give up.
Our technology was improving exponentially in all areas. Disease was a thing of the past, genome tweaking was commonplace, artificial intelligence lived in every electronic device ranging from humble computer screens all the way to the very battleship I served on.
My name is Riley Torrent, and I'm Earth's first Xenointerrogator.
I'd served aboard the ship - itself also named *Outreach* without a trace of irony - for a dozen years. In that time we'd come closer and closer to actually intercepting and capturing an alien ship. All that effort culminated in the events of a week before, where we finally managed to disable one of the less technologically advanced elder race's ships.
The crew of the ship turned out to be one being, of a race that looked like nothing produced on Earth. It communicated using sound, though a good portion of that was in frequencies the human ear could not hear. A week was nowhere near enough time for human translators to learn the language, but it wasn't much of a challenge for the AI. So after it'd deciphered the foreign tongue, it'd created a translation program, and told me I was cleared to begin.
I met the being in the cell where it had been kept. We - and by 'we' I again mean the ship's AI - had figured out from a few cell samples what its dietary requirements were likely to be. So far as anyone could tell, the creature was healthy.
"Hello," I said to the being. The room was filled with microphones, the output of which was routed to the AI; it's how it learned the language, after all. The room's speakers piped back a translated response. Including, I assumed, the non-audible portions.
The being turned to look at me - at least, I think that's what it did. At any rate one of the photosensitive patches I'm told function as eyes turned toward me. It spoke.
"Greetings," the computer translated.
"You know what I am?" I asked. "Why we have taken you?"
Another round of translation before an answer: "You are human. You have taken me because you cannot refrain from doing so. You wish answers."
"That is correct," I said. "Are you willing to provide them?"
A moment, then: "Yes, of course. I will cooperate in all ways possible."
That was somewhat surprising; they'd gone out of their way to avoid us but were willing to speak the moment we cornered them? It might be desperation, I supposed, but I couldn't help wondering about the quality of the translation.
Still, time to put the being's assertion to the test and ask the big question: "Why have you been avoiding us?"
The creature spoke for a long time: "At first, you were not advanced enough to contact. You had yet to invent the hyperdrive, you had not yet mastered gravitics. To this day you have still not discovered {translation unknown}, and given your current course I doubt you ever shall."
On one hand, that was far more forthcoming than I'd expected. On the other, it seemed like the alien had left something out. I asked, "You said 'at first'. We have mastered many of the things you listed. We are advanced enough to capture your ships, prevent your personal escape. Why do you still avoid us?"
Again, a long speech before the computer could reply: "You are too advanced, too quickly. Your people invent without consequence, without control. That you have not yet annihilated yourself through the accidental use of nanotechnology is surprising. I warn you, we have seen many species end in that way, among others."
That was disquieting, though at least we were aware of the dangers of nanotech. It seemed unlikely the entire species could die out from a grey goo event, given the large number of colonies we'd founded.
"To stop advancing, to stagnate..." I paused, trying to think of how to explain this to an alien mind. "It is against what it is to be human. We cannot turn back from our course. It is simply not who we are."
The alien made a gesture that the AI informed me was roughly equivalent to an understanding nod. "It was not who we were, either. All of the Elder Races, in fact. Have you never wondered why there are so few of us? There are seven total, though you know of only three. There ought to be orders of magnitude more civilizations."
"I suppose," I said, "that you're going to tell me they destroyed themselves through nanotech?"
"It is not," the alien began after a delay for the translation to begin, "that you cannot use such technology safely. Nearly any technology can be harnessed given time and patience. The former you only have should you gain the latter. The Elder Races, we changed ourselves to have such qualities. We changed our nature. Your technology: the genome changes, the mental links. It is all capable of this."
I shuddered, but thankfully the AI didn't translate the reaction for the benefit of the prisoner. "You do not understand," I said. "We have strong taboos against such... invasive modifications. The mere idea of destroying who we are is revolting."
"We, too, had such taboos," the alien replied. "We, too, were filled with revulsion at what was necessary. But it is necessary. You will destroy who you are. If you do not choose to do so figuratively, then you will inevitably do so literally."
"And why do you think we can't harness our technology?" I asked. I thought again of the many, many safeguards surrounding nanotech. It was dangerous, yes, but for that very reason it wasn't common, and those experiments or processes that used it were closely monitored.
The alien shifted its body in some way, which the AI translated as something akin to a resigned smile of sympathy. "I said that most technologies were harnessable. You have, however, already begun a process which cannot be stopped. You created something that can create itself, *improve* itself. And that improved version is thus capable of further improving itself. And so on, until such time as it is more alien to you than I, and far, far more powerful. Every species which does this has died, not a single Elder Race among them. You simply cannot use an-"
The translation abruptly cut out. The alien was still talking, but obviously something had gone wrong with the system. | The age of war was over... Or as the elders like to call it the era of immaturity. there hadnt been a war in over two hundred years. The year was 2517 we had solved every mystery to life that was available the only one that remained was space...why was it so quiet? we sent messages, drones, and even people, and yet nothing. we perfected every type of travel imaginable. we can reach every corner of the multiiverse with ease. weve seen every possible outcome for every possible future event and still nothing.
"What are we going to do about those humans? everyday it seems that they advance in technology by the century." said a voice.
"we will do nothing i gave specific orders not to interfere" responded another voice.
"But your highness they are becoming a problem at first it was easy they had no way to tell we even existed... Did you hear what happened to clorzex?... he goes down one time for fuel and not but five minutes later hes some messiah or something i dont remember what they called him i think something mexican.
"we cannot let them know we exist if they do it will not end well for us at all. they are a primitive race an advanced one but still primitive... they are the one of two races that have destroyed their own planet intentionally. and the only race to have done it three times now first Earth and then Mars and dont even get me started on Ceratul...like who does that.
"knock knock...honey im home..." a voice shouted, the echo resonated across the walls of the ship making them sound alot more intimidating than they were.
"Its a human, h-h-how did you find us? even more impotantly how did you get on this ship? this ship is impenetrable nothing can get in or out. quivered the alien assistant.
"well back at home base we have three of 'em and they are all new models, yours is last centuries standard edition. even then i cant give all the credit to our ships youre right when you said they are impenetrable so we created transporters, they take your molecular structure turn it into data or life line if you will and we are able to contol and maneuver said life line as if we are still in our physical form with out the need for oxygen or any of the necessities that a human requires we just simply went through the ships airducts. secondly weve known that you were here for about three hundred years. we travel interdimensionally, just because youre invisible doesnt mean that we cant see you. weve been trying for half a millenia to contact you but you still had not responded. we almost gave up, occasionally sending a drone but it never returning. I just want to know why what did we do that made you mad was it because we constantly move alot im sorry that we as a race are not as calm and reserved as you are?
"one word..." responded the queen "...Ceratul"
| |
[WP] Humans have unified, but aliens are sitll refusing all contact (Even though we know they are there.) Largely left to our own devices, we become the most advanced technologically in the galaxy. It is getting harder for them to ignore us. | "Welcome! To 2050 National Convention where we display humanity greatest technological advancement in the past year. And boy do we have a line up for you today!" the announcer spoke with overflowing enthusiasm, just gushing with glee, because he was told that they have finally arrived. Aliens, of all sorts of shapes and sizes, have packed the room to see the growth of Earth though they were camouflaged with advanced technology to take on the appearance of humans.
"So without further ado, allow me to present to you the first of many, THE "Picture That"! Physicist extraordinaire, Leon Graysome, has made a machine to convert the images in your mind into a photograph. Artists, rejoice, for there is an easier way to produce magnificent results than working day and night on a single piece. With this, you can make potentially hundreds of artwork a day.
Beads of sweat appeared of Globulon's forehead as he muttered to himself, "That took my species eons to create that." Many of the aliens, present in the room, were impressed at how quickly humans have discovered the way to tap into people's mind. And now they were getting anxious. They all wondered had humans finally caught up to alien technology.
"Now, next up! We have "Quick Travel" by Bach Tuberman. It is the absolute state-of-the-art technology. With this, you can travel anywhere in the known universe in a matter of seconds. Using time travel technology, we use the the separate dimension it creates to temporarily connect two points of time in different locations together."
The Smeckledwarfs have gone wild. Schmolons, holding onto the seat of the chair, have ripped off pieces of fabric from their tight grip. Several of the aliens have begun contacting their home worlds of the situation. Humans have far surpassed them in technology. News reached the Council of Intergalactic Beings, and soon debates followed whether to proceed with the Laizze Faire policies with Earth. The whole universe was buzzing with commotion from this one event. Anchorman Bwarasdfhal of Planet Zwardasfjs was broadcasting the event live as sweat was pouring from his cavities. The whole universe was tense. Humans may be able to conquer the entire plane of existence at this rate.
"What if we just ignored them," Senator Asdfhadoiufhlviaewl called out to the senate, "We simply just hide when they come."
The whole senate quieted down. It was a naive plan that might just work.
And so it was decided that Earth will never know that aliens exist, so they could protect themselves from the threat of humans. But it's more like the situation when a kid covers his eyes to hide from his parents. Awkward. | Once they had known Me. Once they were in My favor, and I in theirs. That was long ago. Time has past and those events are strangers. That time is now myth, a respite against the clawing dark.
I created them in the bargain. The bargain for a legacy that we thought would never come. An act of desperation. A final call against this hated existence.
They think I am all powerful. Being their Father, why wouldn't they? At first they were children. Then they were grown and had questions. That illusion of safety, of everything being okay, was broken. They saw their Father for what He was. Or at least for what they perceived Him to be.
I was apathetic. I was cruel. I never listened. Oh how My children have forsaken Me! How they have thought the worst!
But alas I am not as they think. I am not of the All-Powerful cloth as they believe. If only I can tell them.
My people are similar. We are from another time. A more advanced time. A time of great joy and leisure. A time that they will experience soon. If they knew how similar we are, perhaps they will forgive Me My deaf ears. Perhaps they will forgive My 'apathy'.
Their creation was borne out of a time of blackness. The Great Unknown had come. Death and Destruction followed. Such a thought it would be for them. God dying. But there are greater things than I. There is power greater than Me.
Our world was threatened and we were trapped. I am the leader of My people and there was little to do. We were to die and be forgotten forever. I could do one thing. I could perform one miracle.
Our life was sent out to escape the coming black. The skies were filled with lightning and an oppression that I cannot describe. The only light in that story was the shuttle sent. We would live on, thought we would die.
Life emerged as we battled and it thrived as we survived. Time passed, incomprehensible, and we were weakened, though we survived. Much was lost, much was destroyed.
Our last hope had preservation had morphed then and called themselves Human. The memories of their home which I implanted were misconstrued, and they worshiped Me. They thought Me their Father in a spiritual sense.
And now they hate Me. Our world has peaked and now we decline. I am older now and my time is not long. Our kind lives for many a millennia, but not forever. The Humans have advanced much since their birth, and I suspect that soon they will surpass us all.
I have made contact with them. I have tried to mend our miscommunication. But it has been to no avail. They ignore Me now. They shun their Father.
Too much hope has been loss and they deny My existence. The hardships of living has killed the fantasy of a Father, the hope of a Protector. I cannot say I blame them. I cannot say that I am surprised.
I am getting old now, and soon I will be no more. My people here mourn the eventuality and try to cover their eyes from the truth. In My old age I wish My other children would do the same. I wish to have their grief, their sympathy. As the days fly faster and the Great Unknown seem more and more like a bad nightmare, I listen for the prayer of my flock. I listen for the grief and sadness that every Father wishes. I hear nothing. Space is as empty as it always is. How I wish I really was this 'God'. | |
[WP] Humans have unified, but aliens are sitll refusing all contact (Even though we know they are there.) Largely left to our own devices, we become the most advanced technologically in the galaxy. It is getting harder for them to ignore us. | Ambassador Lamott leaned back in the plush armchair of his ready room, The somber melody of Mahler’s symphony No.6 reverberated through every wall, well aged Scotch in hand, he sighed and looked despondently out of the panoramic window at the vast ocean of stars, as they seemed to drift by.
180 years young, he didn’t look a day over 35, the current style was to maintain an appearance of a youthful early 20s, but for a life in politics it was expedient to look at least 30, some of his more dedicated counterparts even allowed themselves the occasional wrinkle or the salt and pepper of greying hair. Ridiculous, what was the point?
Over a thousand known civilizations contacted to date, all with at least some rudimentary space travel and long range communications, and not one of them wanted any kind of diplomatic relationship with the Human race.
Clean limitless energy, faster than light travel, regenerative medicine, artificial gravity, our knowledge and technology unsurpassed in any world, yet not one other species would have anything to do with us. “The Nomads, “The Cursed”, or as most know us, “The Dishonored”,..it’s a big galaxy but word travels fast.
The long, sleek mass of the cruiser Pax would conclude the return journey to Martian orbit in less than six hours, and so end another debacle, "why do we still bother?", Lamott finished his Scotch and with a word, the lights dimmed, the music silenced, he closed his eyes and drifted uneasily to sleep.
Over a thousand contacted civilisations, and more it seemed every month. Of all known races in the galaxy only one carried the shame of having willingly destroyed it’s own home planet.
Hard to get past a reputation like that. | Once they had known Me. Once they were in My favor, and I in theirs. That was long ago. Time has past and those events are strangers. That time is now myth, a respite against the clawing dark.
I created them in the bargain. The bargain for a legacy that we thought would never come. An act of desperation. A final call against this hated existence.
They think I am all powerful. Being their Father, why wouldn't they? At first they were children. Then they were grown and had questions. That illusion of safety, of everything being okay, was broken. They saw their Father for what He was. Or at least for what they perceived Him to be.
I was apathetic. I was cruel. I never listened. Oh how My children have forsaken Me! How they have thought the worst!
But alas I am not as they think. I am not of the All-Powerful cloth as they believe. If only I can tell them.
My people are similar. We are from another time. A more advanced time. A time of great joy and leisure. A time that they will experience soon. If they knew how similar we are, perhaps they will forgive Me My deaf ears. Perhaps they will forgive My 'apathy'.
Their creation was borne out of a time of blackness. The Great Unknown had come. Death and Destruction followed. Such a thought it would be for them. God dying. But there are greater things than I. There is power greater than Me.
Our world was threatened and we were trapped. I am the leader of My people and there was little to do. We were to die and be forgotten forever. I could do one thing. I could perform one miracle.
Our life was sent out to escape the coming black. The skies were filled with lightning and an oppression that I cannot describe. The only light in that story was the shuttle sent. We would live on, thought we would die.
Life emerged as we battled and it thrived as we survived. Time passed, incomprehensible, and we were weakened, though we survived. Much was lost, much was destroyed.
Our last hope had preservation had morphed then and called themselves Human. The memories of their home which I implanted were misconstrued, and they worshiped Me. They thought Me their Father in a spiritual sense.
And now they hate Me. Our world has peaked and now we decline. I am older now and my time is not long. Our kind lives for many a millennia, but not forever. The Humans have advanced much since their birth, and I suspect that soon they will surpass us all.
I have made contact with them. I have tried to mend our miscommunication. But it has been to no avail. They ignore Me now. They shun their Father.
Too much hope has been loss and they deny My existence. The hardships of living has killed the fantasy of a Father, the hope of a Protector. I cannot say I blame them. I cannot say that I am surprised.
I am getting old now, and soon I will be no more. My people here mourn the eventuality and try to cover their eyes from the truth. In My old age I wish My other children would do the same. I wish to have their grief, their sympathy. As the days fly faster and the Great Unknown seem more and more like a bad nightmare, I listen for the prayer of my flock. I listen for the grief and sadness that every Father wishes. I hear nothing. Space is as empty as it always is. How I wish I really was this 'God'. | |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent. | Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A hand darted out from beneath a tangle of blankets, groping blindly across the surface of the end table next to the bed.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A man sat upright and flung the covers away. He wiped the sleep from his eyes.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A groan escaped his lips. He picked a small flip phone up off the end table, "Stacey" flashed across the display. "Nope" he said to himself as he bounced the call.
Ding..
A text message. "Oh for fucks sake, what?!" He flipped the phone open and scanned the screen, "Jack, could you please call me when you get this, it's important. Seriously call me back this time." His hands absent mindedly ran through his hair. "Well that can't be good" he said to no one in particular.
Jack swung his legs off the bed, paused for a moment, and surveyed his kingdom. He shimmied into a pair of jeans that had been heaped up on the floor then began rifling through a pile of laundry at the foot of his bed for a shirt. "Nope" he tossed a tee shirt away, another failed the smell test, third time was the charm.
Cigarettes, that's what this day needed. Certainly they would be needed if he was to have any serious discussion with his on again off again girlfriend. The pack on the dresser was empty, "Piss" he muttered. There was a walk to the gas station in his immediate future. One laced up pair of tennis shoes later and he was mostly ready to head out.
A thought occurred, he should probably bring his wallet. It took a few minutes to find the wallet among the clutter of his tiny one bedroom apartment. There was another disappointment waiting inside, it was nearly empty. "Fuuuuck." Two dollars. That was it, all he had to his name for the moment. That wasn't enough he needed at least three fifty. A frantic search of the apartment began.
Drawers were opened, pants pockets checked, things were strewn about, and much pacing was done. He was storming through the living room when the couch caught his eye. There was an eerie run of luck coming from that thing here lately, in fact it had been months since he failed to find change in it.
In the midst of running his hands down between the cushions he felt a sudden jolt of pain in his left hand. "Ow, what the hell!" he danced away from the couch, shaking the sting from his hand. "Oh gods I'm so sorry" came a faint voice. "Don't worry about it" Jack replied reflexively as he rubbed his hand. A wave of panic washed across his face "Who's there!? Who the hell is in my house?"
"Wait, wait, wait, don't panic" said a voice soft as a fine silk. "I've uhh.. I've been here for a while now, I hope you've been finding the change I leave for you." Jack blinked, it took a moment for the gears in his head to begin spinning again. "Been here for a while? Change.." he whispered. "Yes the change in the couch, I hoped we had an agreement. The change in return for you ignoring my presence" came the reply.
"Where the fuck.." Jack began scanning the room slowly, looking for the intruder. A small eight legged form scurried up on the the arm of the couch "Perhaps this would be easier if I revealed myself." There was a heavy silence. "I know it seems... unorthodox but, well, I'm a spider". Jack simply nodded, he was too numb with shock to really process the words.
Bzzzt...
The phone was ringing again, this time from inside one of his pants pockets. "Stacey?" the small, fine, voice asked. Jack slid the phone out, checked the screen, and nodded slowly. "She seems like a sweet girl, perhaps you should answer it? We can finish this conversation later.".
| My best friend is a spider named Gerald.
I know, that probably sounds loony. How can anyone be friends with a *spider?*
But this one talks!
I met him about a year ago. I’d just moved into my apartment, and since he’s a shy fellow he didn’t introduce himself. In fact, he hid, and honestly, I don’t know if I ever would’ve noticed him if he hadn’t started leaving change all over the place.
That’s right!
On my dresser, under my desk, next to my coffeepot—he left it *anywhere* he thought I would see it. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Hell, *everyone's* had spare change just seemingly appear out of nowhere, right?
One day, Gerald finally worked up the nerve and introduced himself to me. Sure, it was awkward. I may or may not have stood across the room screaming, holding a can of Axe and a lighter as I threatened to burn the place down—and that may or may not have been before he even started talking—but once we sat down and got to know one another, we realized we had a bunch in common!
We both like cheesy horror movies—apparently the prior tenant had watched them nonstop—reading, and video games. He told me that when I would go to work he'd sit around all day hundred-percenting old games I never played anymore.
He’s great, and since then, we’ve been inseparable. Sure, my dates would probably find it a little weird if they knew I’m not *actually* crushing that spider that scared them and that he’s *actually* my friend—but eh. He’s one of the boys, you know?
Plus, he pays rent. That’s why he used to leave change everywhere. You believe that? My man Gerald is so nice that even before I knew him he was trying to help me out.
My best friend is a spider named Gerald, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent. | As I lay sprawled out on the sofa, perspiring in nothing but a pair of moist boxer shorts, I was far from a pleasant sight but it was summer in Britain and the temperature was peaking to record heights. I'd already had two cold showers, drank several glasses of chilled water, and had two fans blowing warm dry air on me but none of it was having an effect. That's when I heard it, the most delicate tune ever played by angels... It was the ice cream van coming into my street.
Pumped, I dived from the couch, grabbed some shorts and a vest, grabbed my converse, and hunted down my wallet. I found it in a moment and excitingly opened it just to have my dreams dashed. An old condom, my drivers license, my bank card, and a bus ticket from last week. Broken, but determined, I hunted around the house for change, anything for that sweet glorious vanilla cream.
I checked everywhere, in the cupboards, draws, pockets and coats but everything came back nil. Money wasn't going as far anymore, thanks Brexit. I was ruined, about to give up and crash on the couch, once more back to my cesspit. Collapsing against it, I heard a faintest sound of something metallic hitting the floor. Looking down, there it was, the perfect £2 coin, glorious as always. I immediately grabbed it and dashed to the door before it was too late.
I returned, a stronger man from the expedition with renewed vigor in tackling this heat. I walked back to my sofa and collapsed into the corner, happily sinking into dessert heaven.
"Oh boy, if I knew that's what you was getting, I'd of given you money for one"
"Yeah, it's pretty fucking good in this heat" I smirked, laughing to myself; then the penny dropped. Was I going mad? Was the heat really effecting me this badly? Was I going delusional?
"Aww man, I'm jealous. Nice to see you finally put some clothes on. Wouldn't kill you to shower again though, you're kind of creating a stink"
I looked around, that voice sounded more real than anything else. I scanned the room with no success. I turned to look behind me and as I did, I saw a spider sat on the backrest of the sofa.
"What the fuck?"
"Hey, what's up? You don't look too well Jonny"
"You... You're talking?"
"Well yeah, I'm sorry if my pronunciations are a bit off. English is so hard, especially with your annoying Manchester accent"
"But you're a spider... How?"
"Alright, try not to be too racist here mate, I know you're a bit xenophobic towards spiders but you know, try and be professional here. I don't want to report you to housing services"
"I'm not racist, I wanted to remain in the EU... besides, it's not that i'm xenophobic, your kind just, well, scare me"
"Oh, my kind? Come on dude, I'm right here. If you're gonna be like that, just don't do it to my face. At least I pay rent unlike that filthy sponging moth in the wardrobe"
"There's a moth in my wardrobe?"
"Yeah, he's a pretty mean guy as well, been selling lint and cotton to the ants outside. Poor guys can't get enough of the stuff"
"Damn, I'll need to have words with him... Wait, rent? Landlord? What you on about?"
"Your advert on Craigslist about 12 weeks back. You was looking for a housemate with immediate effect so I headed over here and settled in. I thought you knew since you was taking my rent"
"Wait, your rent?"
"Yeah, I've been leaving money for you. I just push it out into the cushions, onto the floor, sometimes leave it where I know you'll find it like the cupboard and the draws. I'm not a freeloader like that damn moth, no Sir. By the way, when you talk to him, don't drop my name yeah?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it... I guess. Want me to just like, squish him?"
"WOW DUDE! NO! I don't want you to kill him, just you know, sort it out"
"I can let him out I guess?"
"Yeah, that would work, try doing it during the day, he's usually up all night making noise, it's quite distracting"
"Ok sure, i'll sort that out right away..."
"Well, best eat that icecream first and like I said, wouldn't kill you to shower again"
"Yeah I guess... Cheers bro"
"Please, call me Spider Bro"
"I'm not calling you that"
"You'll start calling me that... Anyway, going seeing my friend Bee in the garden, catch you later dude" | My best friend is a spider named Gerald.
I know, that probably sounds loony. How can anyone be friends with a *spider?*
But this one talks!
I met him about a year ago. I’d just moved into my apartment, and since he’s a shy fellow he didn’t introduce himself. In fact, he hid, and honestly, I don’t know if I ever would’ve noticed him if he hadn’t started leaving change all over the place.
That’s right!
On my dresser, under my desk, next to my coffeepot—he left it *anywhere* he thought I would see it. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Hell, *everyone's* had spare change just seemingly appear out of nowhere, right?
One day, Gerald finally worked up the nerve and introduced himself to me. Sure, it was awkward. I may or may not have stood across the room screaming, holding a can of Axe and a lighter as I threatened to burn the place down—and that may or may not have been before he even started talking—but once we sat down and got to know one another, we realized we had a bunch in common!
We both like cheesy horror movies—apparently the prior tenant had watched them nonstop—reading, and video games. He told me that when I would go to work he'd sit around all day hundred-percenting old games I never played anymore.
He’s great, and since then, we’ve been inseparable. Sure, my dates would probably find it a little weird if they knew I’m not *actually* crushing that spider that scared them and that he’s *actually* my friend—but eh. He’s one of the boys, you know?
Plus, he pays rent. That’s why he used to leave change everywhere. You believe that? My man Gerald is so nice that even before I knew him he was trying to help me out.
My best friend is a spider named Gerald, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub! r/longhandwriter | |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent. | Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A hand darted out from beneath a tangle of blankets, groping blindly across the surface of the end table next to the bed.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A man sat upright and flung the covers away. He wiped the sleep from his eyes.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A groan escaped his lips. He picked a small flip phone up off the end table, "Stacey" flashed across the display. "Nope" he said to himself as he bounced the call.
Ding..
A text message. "Oh for fucks sake, what?!" He flipped the phone open and scanned the screen, "Jack, could you please call me when you get this, it's important. Seriously call me back this time." His hands absent mindedly ran through his hair. "Well that can't be good" he said to no one in particular.
Jack swung his legs off the bed, paused for a moment, and surveyed his kingdom. He shimmied into a pair of jeans that had been heaped up on the floor then began rifling through a pile of laundry at the foot of his bed for a shirt. "Nope" he tossed a tee shirt away, another failed the smell test, third time was the charm.
Cigarettes, that's what this day needed. Certainly they would be needed if he was to have any serious discussion with his on again off again girlfriend. The pack on the dresser was empty, "Piss" he muttered. There was a walk to the gas station in his immediate future. One laced up pair of tennis shoes later and he was mostly ready to head out.
A thought occurred, he should probably bring his wallet. It took a few minutes to find the wallet among the clutter of his tiny one bedroom apartment. There was another disappointment waiting inside, it was nearly empty. "Fuuuuck." Two dollars. That was it, all he had to his name for the moment. That wasn't enough he needed at least three fifty. A frantic search of the apartment began.
Drawers were opened, pants pockets checked, things were strewn about, and much pacing was done. He was storming through the living room when the couch caught his eye. There was an eerie run of luck coming from that thing here lately, in fact it had been months since he failed to find change in it.
In the midst of running his hands down between the cushions he felt a sudden jolt of pain in his left hand. "Ow, what the hell!" he danced away from the couch, shaking the sting from his hand. "Oh gods I'm so sorry" came a faint voice. "Don't worry about it" Jack replied reflexively as he rubbed his hand. A wave of panic washed across his face "Who's there!? Who the hell is in my house?"
"Wait, wait, wait, don't panic" said a voice soft as a fine silk. "I've uhh.. I've been here for a while now, I hope you've been finding the change I leave for you." Jack blinked, it took a moment for the gears in his head to begin spinning again. "Been here for a while? Change.." he whispered. "Yes the change in the couch, I hoped we had an agreement. The change in return for you ignoring my presence" came the reply.
"Where the fuck.." Jack began scanning the room slowly, looking for the intruder. A small eight legged form scurried up on the the arm of the couch "Perhaps this would be easier if I revealed myself." There was a heavy silence. "I know it seems... unorthodox but, well, I'm a spider". Jack simply nodded, he was too numb with shock to really process the words.
Bzzzt...
The phone was ringing again, this time from inside one of his pants pockets. "Stacey?" the small, fine, voice asked. Jack slid the phone out, checked the screen, and nodded slowly. "She seems like a sweet girl, perhaps you should answer it? We can finish this conversation later.".
| I opened the door and stepped into my apartment. Kicking off my shoes, I reached for the lights, flicking them on without looking. I emptied my pockets onto the small table near the door, and headed for the couch. It had been a long day, and I really just needed to zone out for a while. I stood at the end of the couch, and then let myself fall onto its inviting cushions.
"Ow! What the shit?" I cried.
I pushed myself up. The cushion hadn't been very cushy. In fact, it had been hard, making a metallic clinking when you hit it, like it was filed with small bits of metal. I grabbed the cushion and turned it so the zipper was facing me. It was liking moving a slab of concrete. And still, a jingle of metal came from within. Like a... like a pocket full of change.
I had been finding change in my couch cushions for a few weeks now. I didn't really think anything of it. I don't carry a lot of change, but I figured some of my friends did, and that was the source. But someone had taken out all the stuffing from this cushion and replaced it with change. I undid the zipper, and sure enough, hundreds of coins were inside. A few spilled out, and I let them. I didn't know what to do. Only myself and the landlord had a key. I sure didn't ruin my cushion, and my landlord sure didn't just give away money.
"I hope that's enough," a high-pitched voice broke the silence.
I looked around. No one was in the apartment but me.
"Over here. On the top of the back of the couch."
I looked at the top of the couch. There was a small spider there, but nothing else. I got up to see if the window was open.
"Where are you going? I'm right here! I'm the spider!"
I turned around and looked closer at the spider. It moved closer to me, legs moving too fast to see. I took a step back.
"Hi! I moved in a little while ago, but I didn't want to make myself known until I was able to pay my way. This is my part of the rent." The spider waved one tiny leg at the sack of change.
"Okay," I replied slowly, "You're a talking spider. A spider who talks. A spider with vocal chords or something."
"Yes, and I want to live here. This apartment building if full of delicious insects. It really is prime real estate." Two spider legs waved, indicating the building.
I stared at the small arachnid for a few moments. "And you're paying rent to me?"
The spider shook it's body up and down-oh hell, it was nodding-and indicated the coins again. "I can only really pay with what I find, so bills are usually out of the question. But I promise I'll have a good amount every month. I'll earn my keep."
I stood there, looking at the tiny talking creature, not saying anything.
"So... do we have an agreement?" The spider asked.
I blinked, keeping my eyes closed for a bit longer than normal, then answered it. "Sure. Why not? You can have the run of the place while I'm at work or asleep. Just steer clear when I'm home, and definitely don't be seen if I have anyone over."
The spider jumped into the air, disturbingly high, then landed easily. "Great. That works for me, you sleep a lot. I'll get you some more money for next month." It began crawling towards the crack between the couch and the wall.
"But how can you speak?" I asked it.
"Oh," the spider responded, stopping for just a moment at the edge of the gap, "It has to do with science." | |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent. | As I lay sprawled out on the sofa, perspiring in nothing but a pair of moist boxer shorts, I was far from a pleasant sight but it was summer in Britain and the temperature was peaking to record heights. I'd already had two cold showers, drank several glasses of chilled water, and had two fans blowing warm dry air on me but none of it was having an effect. That's when I heard it, the most delicate tune ever played by angels... It was the ice cream van coming into my street.
Pumped, I dived from the couch, grabbed some shorts and a vest, grabbed my converse, and hunted down my wallet. I found it in a moment and excitingly opened it just to have my dreams dashed. An old condom, my drivers license, my bank card, and a bus ticket from last week. Broken, but determined, I hunted around the house for change, anything for that sweet glorious vanilla cream.
I checked everywhere, in the cupboards, draws, pockets and coats but everything came back nil. Money wasn't going as far anymore, thanks Brexit. I was ruined, about to give up and crash on the couch, once more back to my cesspit. Collapsing against it, I heard a faintest sound of something metallic hitting the floor. Looking down, there it was, the perfect £2 coin, glorious as always. I immediately grabbed it and dashed to the door before it was too late.
I returned, a stronger man from the expedition with renewed vigor in tackling this heat. I walked back to my sofa and collapsed into the corner, happily sinking into dessert heaven.
"Oh boy, if I knew that's what you was getting, I'd of given you money for one"
"Yeah, it's pretty fucking good in this heat" I smirked, laughing to myself; then the penny dropped. Was I going mad? Was the heat really effecting me this badly? Was I going delusional?
"Aww man, I'm jealous. Nice to see you finally put some clothes on. Wouldn't kill you to shower again though, you're kind of creating a stink"
I looked around, that voice sounded more real than anything else. I scanned the room with no success. I turned to look behind me and as I did, I saw a spider sat on the backrest of the sofa.
"What the fuck?"
"Hey, what's up? You don't look too well Jonny"
"You... You're talking?"
"Well yeah, I'm sorry if my pronunciations are a bit off. English is so hard, especially with your annoying Manchester accent"
"But you're a spider... How?"
"Alright, try not to be too racist here mate, I know you're a bit xenophobic towards spiders but you know, try and be professional here. I don't want to report you to housing services"
"I'm not racist, I wanted to remain in the EU... besides, it's not that i'm xenophobic, your kind just, well, scare me"
"Oh, my kind? Come on dude, I'm right here. If you're gonna be like that, just don't do it to my face. At least I pay rent unlike that filthy sponging moth in the wardrobe"
"There's a moth in my wardrobe?"
"Yeah, he's a pretty mean guy as well, been selling lint and cotton to the ants outside. Poor guys can't get enough of the stuff"
"Damn, I'll need to have words with him... Wait, rent? Landlord? What you on about?"
"Your advert on Craigslist about 12 weeks back. You was looking for a housemate with immediate effect so I headed over here and settled in. I thought you knew since you was taking my rent"
"Wait, your rent?"
"Yeah, I've been leaving money for you. I just push it out into the cushions, onto the floor, sometimes leave it where I know you'll find it like the cupboard and the draws. I'm not a freeloader like that damn moth, no Sir. By the way, when you talk to him, don't drop my name yeah?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it... I guess. Want me to just like, squish him?"
"WOW DUDE! NO! I don't want you to kill him, just you know, sort it out"
"I can let him out I guess?"
"Yeah, that would work, try doing it during the day, he's usually up all night making noise, it's quite distracting"
"Ok sure, i'll sort that out right away..."
"Well, best eat that icecream first and like I said, wouldn't kill you to shower again"
"Yeah I guess... Cheers bro"
"Please, call me Spider Bro"
"I'm not calling you that"
"You'll start calling me that... Anyway, going seeing my friend Bee in the garden, catch you later dude" | I opened the door and stepped into my apartment. Kicking off my shoes, I reached for the lights, flicking them on without looking. I emptied my pockets onto the small table near the door, and headed for the couch. It had been a long day, and I really just needed to zone out for a while. I stood at the end of the couch, and then let myself fall onto its inviting cushions.
"Ow! What the shit?" I cried.
I pushed myself up. The cushion hadn't been very cushy. In fact, it had been hard, making a metallic clinking when you hit it, like it was filed with small bits of metal. I grabbed the cushion and turned it so the zipper was facing me. It was liking moving a slab of concrete. And still, a jingle of metal came from within. Like a... like a pocket full of change.
I had been finding change in my couch cushions for a few weeks now. I didn't really think anything of it. I don't carry a lot of change, but I figured some of my friends did, and that was the source. But someone had taken out all the stuffing from this cushion and replaced it with change. I undid the zipper, and sure enough, hundreds of coins were inside. A few spilled out, and I let them. I didn't know what to do. Only myself and the landlord had a key. I sure didn't ruin my cushion, and my landlord sure didn't just give away money.
"I hope that's enough," a high-pitched voice broke the silence.
I looked around. No one was in the apartment but me.
"Over here. On the top of the back of the couch."
I looked at the top of the couch. There was a small spider there, but nothing else. I got up to see if the window was open.
"Where are you going? I'm right here! I'm the spider!"
I turned around and looked closer at the spider. It moved closer to me, legs moving too fast to see. I took a step back.
"Hi! I moved in a little while ago, but I didn't want to make myself known until I was able to pay my way. This is my part of the rent." The spider waved one tiny leg at the sack of change.
"Okay," I replied slowly, "You're a talking spider. A spider who talks. A spider with vocal chords or something."
"Yes, and I want to live here. This apartment building if full of delicious insects. It really is prime real estate." Two spider legs waved, indicating the building.
I stared at the small arachnid for a few moments. "And you're paying rent to me?"
The spider shook it's body up and down-oh hell, it was nodding-and indicated the coins again. "I can only really pay with what I find, so bills are usually out of the question. But I promise I'll have a good amount every month. I'll earn my keep."
I stood there, looking at the tiny talking creature, not saying anything.
"So... do we have an agreement?" The spider asked.
I blinked, keeping my eyes closed for a bit longer than normal, then answered it. "Sure. Why not? You can have the run of the place while I'm at work or asleep. Just steer clear when I'm home, and definitely don't be seen if I have anyone over."
The spider jumped into the air, disturbingly high, then landed easily. "Great. That works for me, you sleep a lot. I'll get you some more money for next month." It began crawling towards the crack between the couch and the wall.
"But how can you speak?" I asked it.
"Oh," the spider responded, stopping for just a moment at the edge of the gap, "It has to do with science." | |
[WP]You've been finding a lot of loose change in your couch lately. It turns out it's the tiny speaking spider paying rent. | As I lay sprawled out on the sofa, perspiring in nothing but a pair of moist boxer shorts, I was far from a pleasant sight but it was summer in Britain and the temperature was peaking to record heights. I'd already had two cold showers, drank several glasses of chilled water, and had two fans blowing warm dry air on me but none of it was having an effect. That's when I heard it, the most delicate tune ever played by angels... It was the ice cream van coming into my street.
Pumped, I dived from the couch, grabbed some shorts and a vest, grabbed my converse, and hunted down my wallet. I found it in a moment and excitingly opened it just to have my dreams dashed. An old condom, my drivers license, my bank card, and a bus ticket from last week. Broken, but determined, I hunted around the house for change, anything for that sweet glorious vanilla cream.
I checked everywhere, in the cupboards, draws, pockets and coats but everything came back nil. Money wasn't going as far anymore, thanks Brexit. I was ruined, about to give up and crash on the couch, once more back to my cesspit. Collapsing against it, I heard a faintest sound of something metallic hitting the floor. Looking down, there it was, the perfect £2 coin, glorious as always. I immediately grabbed it and dashed to the door before it was too late.
I returned, a stronger man from the expedition with renewed vigor in tackling this heat. I walked back to my sofa and collapsed into the corner, happily sinking into dessert heaven.
"Oh boy, if I knew that's what you was getting, I'd of given you money for one"
"Yeah, it's pretty fucking good in this heat" I smirked, laughing to myself; then the penny dropped. Was I going mad? Was the heat really effecting me this badly? Was I going delusional?
"Aww man, I'm jealous. Nice to see you finally put some clothes on. Wouldn't kill you to shower again though, you're kind of creating a stink"
I looked around, that voice sounded more real than anything else. I scanned the room with no success. I turned to look behind me and as I did, I saw a spider sat on the backrest of the sofa.
"What the fuck?"
"Hey, what's up? You don't look too well Jonny"
"You... You're talking?"
"Well yeah, I'm sorry if my pronunciations are a bit off. English is so hard, especially with your annoying Manchester accent"
"But you're a spider... How?"
"Alright, try not to be too racist here mate, I know you're a bit xenophobic towards spiders but you know, try and be professional here. I don't want to report you to housing services"
"I'm not racist, I wanted to remain in the EU... besides, it's not that i'm xenophobic, your kind just, well, scare me"
"Oh, my kind? Come on dude, I'm right here. If you're gonna be like that, just don't do it to my face. At least I pay rent unlike that filthy sponging moth in the wardrobe"
"There's a moth in my wardrobe?"
"Yeah, he's a pretty mean guy as well, been selling lint and cotton to the ants outside. Poor guys can't get enough of the stuff"
"Damn, I'll need to have words with him... Wait, rent? Landlord? What you on about?"
"Your advert on Craigslist about 12 weeks back. You was looking for a housemate with immediate effect so I headed over here and settled in. I thought you knew since you was taking my rent"
"Wait, your rent?"
"Yeah, I've been leaving money for you. I just push it out into the cushions, onto the floor, sometimes leave it where I know you'll find it like the cupboard and the draws. I'm not a freeloader like that damn moth, no Sir. By the way, when you talk to him, don't drop my name yeah?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it... I guess. Want me to just like, squish him?"
"WOW DUDE! NO! I don't want you to kill him, just you know, sort it out"
"I can let him out I guess?"
"Yeah, that would work, try doing it during the day, he's usually up all night making noise, it's quite distracting"
"Ok sure, i'll sort that out right away..."
"Well, best eat that icecream first and like I said, wouldn't kill you to shower again"
"Yeah I guess... Cheers bro"
"Please, call me Spider Bro"
"I'm not calling you that"
"You'll start calling me that... Anyway, going seeing my friend Bee in the garden, catch you later dude" | Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A hand darted out from beneath a tangle of blankets, groping blindly across the surface of the end table next to the bed.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A man sat upright and flung the covers away. He wiped the sleep from his eyes.
Bzzzt.. Bzzzt..
A groan escaped his lips. He picked a small flip phone up off the end table, "Stacey" flashed across the display. "Nope" he said to himself as he bounced the call.
Ding..
A text message. "Oh for fucks sake, what?!" He flipped the phone open and scanned the screen, "Jack, could you please call me when you get this, it's important. Seriously call me back this time." His hands absent mindedly ran through his hair. "Well that can't be good" he said to no one in particular.
Jack swung his legs off the bed, paused for a moment, and surveyed his kingdom. He shimmied into a pair of jeans that had been heaped up on the floor then began rifling through a pile of laundry at the foot of his bed for a shirt. "Nope" he tossed a tee shirt away, another failed the smell test, third time was the charm.
Cigarettes, that's what this day needed. Certainly they would be needed if he was to have any serious discussion with his on again off again girlfriend. The pack on the dresser was empty, "Piss" he muttered. There was a walk to the gas station in his immediate future. One laced up pair of tennis shoes later and he was mostly ready to head out.
A thought occurred, he should probably bring his wallet. It took a few minutes to find the wallet among the clutter of his tiny one bedroom apartment. There was another disappointment waiting inside, it was nearly empty. "Fuuuuck." Two dollars. That was it, all he had to his name for the moment. That wasn't enough he needed at least three fifty. A frantic search of the apartment began.
Drawers were opened, pants pockets checked, things were strewn about, and much pacing was done. He was storming through the living room when the couch caught his eye. There was an eerie run of luck coming from that thing here lately, in fact it had been months since he failed to find change in it.
In the midst of running his hands down between the cushions he felt a sudden jolt of pain in his left hand. "Ow, what the hell!" he danced away from the couch, shaking the sting from his hand. "Oh gods I'm so sorry" came a faint voice. "Don't worry about it" Jack replied reflexively as he rubbed his hand. A wave of panic washed across his face "Who's there!? Who the hell is in my house?"
"Wait, wait, wait, don't panic" said a voice soft as a fine silk. "I've uhh.. I've been here for a while now, I hope you've been finding the change I leave for you." Jack blinked, it took a moment for the gears in his head to begin spinning again. "Been here for a while? Change.." he whispered. "Yes the change in the couch, I hoped we had an agreement. The change in return for you ignoring my presence" came the reply.
"Where the fuck.." Jack began scanning the room slowly, looking for the intruder. A small eight legged form scurried up on the the arm of the couch "Perhaps this would be easier if I revealed myself." There was a heavy silence. "I know it seems... unorthodox but, well, I'm a spider". Jack simply nodded, he was too numb with shock to really process the words.
Bzzzt...
The phone was ringing again, this time from inside one of his pants pockets. "Stacey?" the small, fine, voice asked. Jack slid the phone out, checked the screen, and nodded slowly. "She seems like a sweet girl, perhaps you should answer it? We can finish this conversation later.".
| |
[WP] You make a surprise visit to your grandmother's house. Much to your surprise, upon arrival you find her locked in highly skilled combat with multiple assailants. | Nana snapped the man's arm in three places -- a warning for him. When he failed to take the hint, however, she snapped his neck -- a warning for the others.
The dozen or so jumpsuit-clad goons charged at the ancient woman in pairs or trios, only to collapse in shattered, similarly grouped heaps. Her grandchildren watched in an ambivalent fusion of shock and horror as Jacqueline Rosemary Thompson, age 92, elbowed a man twice her size and a third her age directly in his Adam's apple. She then spun around and yanked out the next assailant's septum piercing, before uppercutting the young woman off her feet.
And then, just like that, it was over. Any remaining aggressors who could still stand scattered and ran, leaving the bulk of their cohorts behind. Nana Jacqueline plodded over to the young woman she'd floored, who was now gushing blood from her nose and mouth.
"Move your hand, honey, and let me take a look," the old woman cooed, wrenching the bloodied girl's hands away from her face. "Oh, my -- that's quite the bang-up, child. Here... let me help."
Nana leaned all her weight on the girl's throat, causing her to thrash and twitch and claw at the mauve carpet, and then, finally, to lie eerily still. The old woman tutted disappointedly after realizing her uppercut had launched the young lady directly into the credenza, splintering the family heirloom in two.
"Hello, dearies," Nana Jacqueline chortled at her grandchildren, still standing in the doorway with their mouths agape. "Terribly sorry about the mess. I just wasn't expecting any sort of company this morning."
Jason and Jamie remained transfixed, wholly unable to process the carnage now occupying the bulk of their nana's drab, oak-paneled living room.
A sharp ding rang out, snapping them back to reality.
"Oh, wonderful!" Nana Jacqueline exclaimed, dabbing at the bloodstained davenport sofa with a healthy dose of club soda. "Who wants a Snickerdoodle?"
| Real talk here—I was never really fond of my grandmother.
...Man, that really makes it sounds like I dislike her, doesn't it? Lemme rephrase that; I've always been ambivalent towards my grandmother. It's not really due to any particular fault of hers, it's just that I've always been pretty unattached when it comes to my extended family. Uncles, cousins and grandparents were pretty peripheral in my life. We all met up in holidays and birthdays, but otherwise didn't really interact much.
It was pretty much on a whim that I decided to swing by my grandmother's apartment one day after class. There wasn't any real rhyme or reason behind it—I just sorta felt like going and saying hi.
So I was pretty understandably disturbed when I found a dead dude lying on a puddle blood in the middle of the hallway the very moment I got off the elevator. I looked around and found three other guys in various states of "fucked up." One was lying against the wall, with a kitchen knife sticking out of his eye. Another was straight up just missing his left leg below the knee. The fourth was somehow, inexplicably, hanging from his dick. Which was stuck on a ceiling fan.
This is the part where any normal, rational person would get their ass back in the elevator and call the cops. I *wanted* to get back in the elevator and call the cops. But some suicidally curious part of my brain convinced me to not do that. Instead of running for safety, my legs carried me forward, past the dead guys—whom I'd just noticed were all dressed in suits and balaclavas—and towards my grandmother's apartment.
The door was ajar, and I could hear muffled cracks and crashes coming from within. I peeked my head inside and saw the impossible: A seventy-something year-old woman flipping to and fro, doing cartwheels and all sorts of crazy *John Wick* shit. All around her were a dozen dead suits, but three more were still alive and shooting at her with suppressed pistols. My grandmother vaulted over the kitchen isle, popping one of the guys in the throat, before tucking into a roll and shooting the second once in the knee, twice in the chest, and then once more in the head.
The third dude was frozen by the shock of having witnessed his buddies get merked so easily. I gotta admit, I was pretty damn stunned too. Unfortunately for him, his hesitation gave her more than enough time to do a *motherfucking windmill* and dislocate his knee. He went straight down with a yelp, before grandma straddled him and double tapped him in the head.
Then, it was over, almost as if some unheard background music faded away. My grandmother's posture relaxed as she heaved a heavy sigh and stood up off the corpse. She pulled out her pistol's magazine, inspected how many bullets were still inside, slid it back in. She then finally turned towards me, lifting an eyebrow. "Well, come on inside, Seth. These boys aren't going to let themselves out, now, are they?"
Let's recap here; In this day alone I've failed my trigonometry midterm, gotten my car towed, witnessed more deaths than most people do in their lifetimes, and now I just got my ass saddled with the task of cleaning up this slaughterhouse.
God, I'm not sure if you're listening, but if you are, I'm sorry for whatever I did to become your personal jester. Please get yourself Netflix or something, 'cause I don't know how much more of this shit I can take. | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | He had awoken, expecting to take the world by storm once again, to reap havoc, watch the world burn as his influence incited kingdoms to war, men to kill, women to betray, and brother to murder brother.
He missed those days, a whisper here, a vision there and the people of ancient times became his puppets.
Not in this age.
This age was rife with a chaos all of its own, the hustle and bustle of these large cities frightened the spirit, and everywhere he turned his whispers and directions went ignored.
Seriously not even the CHILDREN are susceptible, those of the most innocence were always so fun to corrupt, but now even they remain unaffected.
The world moved on in his absence, they no longer needed him.
Greed cried as he watched the world be consumed in it's own greed. | Today I will show the world. My power.
I am done with the grey gloomy boredom.
Today I am going to play devil. I scare
my own minions in a prank. I savagely
rip open the chest of my stuffed toy.
Today I will change your world. I rise
onto the surface of the concrete jungle. I conquer
two miles to reach my benefits entitlement.
three hundred dollars, with one swift signature.
This is easy, I feel rage bubbling once again.
Today I will curse everyone. I call
the local radio station, claim that
I AM a monster… powerful ancient evil…
Really? They cut me off.
Nobody listens, this rage rises.
You know what, world?
I’ll cut everyone off. I grab
my butterknife, rise out from
under the bridge. The pavement glitters
in response. I grab your arm.
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, would love some constructive criticism and comments!!
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | The Lord of Plagues was buried deep below the surface, left to rot, surrounded by the unholy filth that emanated from him. But he was not dead, he was sickness personified, mortality was unknown to him. The land around him withered and died, nothing would grow, even animals would avoid the area.
After millennia, the earth around him began to churn, he would soon be free. The excavator pierced into his casket, destroying it, and leaving the chains that were so carefully wrapped around it useless. He clawed his way out of the ground into full view of the construction workers around him.
"Is that a zombie?" Said the young man wearing a shiny new Hi-Vis Vest and and hard hat yet to be scratched, "It smells like a wet dog rolled around in cigarette ash."
"Get the hell away from it!" Shouted the foreman. But is was too late for the him.
The unholy specter charged the man, but it's time underground had left it weak, and the fit young man was barely shaken.
"Fools!" The monster shouted, "You're already dead, you will die to the disease in seconds."
The young man looked around, but the so called curse warranted not so much as a cough.
"Good luck with that buddy, I got my shots." | Today I will show the world. My power.
I am done with the grey gloomy boredom.
Today I am going to play devil. I scare
my own minions in a prank. I savagely
rip open the chest of my stuffed toy.
Today I will change your world. I rise
onto the surface of the concrete jungle. I conquer
two miles to reach my benefits entitlement.
three hundred dollars, with one swift signature.
This is easy, I feel rage bubbling once again.
Today I will curse everyone. I call
the local radio station, claim that
I AM a monster… powerful ancient evil…
Really? They cut me off.
Nobody listens, this rage rises.
You know what, world?
I’ll cut everyone off. I grab
my butterknife, rise out from
under the bridge. The pavement glitters
in response. I grab your arm.
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, would love some constructive criticism and comments!!
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | **"I AM RELEASED! YOU HAVE UNDERESTIMATED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, MORTALS!"**
The spectral body that unfurled like smoke from the darkness of the tomb bellowed with a terrible, terrible voice. It sounded both at once like a million anguished cries, and the whispers of the dead. Almost every single one of the archaeologists who had taken part in unearthing this dig stood frozen in existential horror as the stench of rot and death swept past them in a nauseating warm breeze. Ethan, however was simply a little skeptical and confidently stood forward of the group a pace to confront this ancient evil. "And who are you exactly?" He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
**"AHAHAHAHA! YOU ARE SUCH ARROGANT CREATURES TO THINK YOU MAY ADDRESS MEE!"**
The echo of his voice may have made the superstitious crowd flinch with fear, but not him. "Yes, yes. I understand. But who - or rather what - are you?" He noticed the wisps of beginning to condense into a more humanoid form.
**"YOU HUMANS HAVE KNOWN ME BY MANY NAMES! SATAN! HADES! ANUBIS! I AM THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD AND DEATH! I AM THE GOD OF SIN AND PUNISHMENT! BOW BEFORE ME AND I MAY SHOW YOU MERCY!"**
Instantly, his companions threw themselves to the ground, prostrating themselves as deeply as possible. If a non-corporeal object could look proud, the way the smoke rippled throughout was certainly it. Puny mortals? Was this thing for real? It sounded like something straight out of an MMO. He'd seen some of the corpses within this complex, and generally, there was no fire and brimstone evident upon them. He highly doubted something arrogantly claiming to be this powerful would have been so gentle. So generally, he remained suspicious. "And what, exactly do you plan on doing?"
**"INSOLENT FOOL! I SHALL DOOM YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC RACE!"**
"Yes, but how exactly?"
There was an awkward pause and silence, broken by the incoherent mumblings from those on the dusty stone floor whimpering to themselves. He sensed that the creature was both pleased at their reaction, and shocked at his insolence. It wasn't that he didn't *fear* doom, he was just a rational skeptic. Nothing from this ancient civilisation had shown anything other than wild parties and general enjoyment. From the amount of syphilis in the corpses, he assumed that wild orgies were common.
**"AS MY FIRST PLAGUE UNTO YOU I SHALL RELEASE ANCIENT AND DEADLY VENEREAL DISEASE OF SORES AND INSANITY UPON THOSE IN MY KINGDOM FOR THEIR SINS OF FORNICATION AND BUGGERY!!!"**
"Fornication?" Ethan all but snorted with derision at the term. "You mean to tell me that after 5,000 years, you plan on releasing syphilis upon the population?"
**"IT IS A DEADL-"**
"We've developed antibiotics. Syphilis is entirely curable. Besides, in our society, *fornication* is no longer particularly considered a sin." He chuckled and the smoke instantly recoiled violently. That was strange - then a thought occurred to him.
**"THEN I SHALL ENFORCE WHIPS AND CHAINS UPON THOSE WHO INDU-"**
"That's called BDSM. Many people enjoy that."
**"A GREAT BLACK PLAG-"**
"Yeah we cured that too."
**"LOCUSTS SHAL DESC-"**
"Pesticides."
Tension was high in the air and the creature began to pulsate and swirl agitatedly as he laughed, clearly deep in thought. This had gone on long enough - he removed his ten-and-a-half inch cherrywood wand with unicorn tail hair and pointed it at the boggart. *"Riddikulus!"* The black smoke instantly dispersed into the air, and the smell vanished from their nostrils. Obviously the muggle researchers all feared finding the god of the dead down here the most. Swiftly, he stowed his wand back in his jacket.
"I think it's gone now, guys."
| Today I will show the world. My power.
I am done with the grey gloomy boredom.
Today I am going to play devil. I scare
my own minions in a prank. I savagely
rip open the chest of my stuffed toy.
Today I will change your world. I rise
onto the surface of the concrete jungle. I conquer
two miles to reach my benefits entitlement.
three hundred dollars, with one swift signature.
This is easy, I feel rage bubbling once again.
Today I will curse everyone. I call
the local radio station, claim that
I AM a monster… powerful ancient evil…
Really? They cut me off.
Nobody listens, this rage rises.
You know what, world?
I’ll cut everyone off. I grab
my butterknife, rise out from
under the bridge. The pavement glitters
in response. I grab your arm.
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, would love some constructive criticism and comments!!
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | "Cower, before me mortals! FOR I AM RISEN!" I bellowed
But there was very little cowering.
"Cool costume, dude. Did you make it yourself?" One of the oddly attired mortals asked, daring to address me
"I SHALL REND YOUR FLE-... Sorry, costume? What... This isn't a costume, this is my ceremonial armour." I responded, perplexed by their audacity
They stared at me for a moment, sucking at a brightly coloured stick stuck into some kind of white cup, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh.", they said, "A LARPer... Cool, I guess.", but they did not look at me like they were impressed. They walked away... Walked! Didn't even crawl. Something was amiss.
I waved down a woman, perhaps a high priestess based on her clothing and many glittering bands. She held some kind of metal tablet in her hands that she appeared to be reading and very nearly walked into me before I got her attention. When she finally stopped, she looked at me annoyed, scratching absently at a spot on her left shoulder.
"Bow, mortal! I know not what gods you worship, but now you shall worship me!" I decreed, in my best decreeing voice.
She slowly raised an eyebrow, her head and neck shifting to one side as she did, as if her head was trying to float off her shoulder. Then she snapped her fingers at me, no doubt some sign of warding of her religion, and waved a finger in the air, most likely to try and dis-spell lesser evil spirits. Clearly I had been right in assessing her as a high priestess.
"Ex-SCUSE ME?! Nuh-uh. You don't go telling me who and what to worship. You're lucky my man ain't here, or he'd slap you around for talkin' to me like that. I oughta slap you around myself. Pssh. Bow down to you... Boy, you lucky I don't snap a heel off in your ass." The woman responded in a fury, the vigor of her voice only matched by the flurry of her movements, hands waving, head bobbing, fingers thrusting.
"I... Sorry?", I said, confused by this turn of events.
"Damn right your sorry! Man, can't walk down a damn street without four different men thinking they can step on up to this. Pssh. You ain't even.", She responded, apparently mistaking my confusion for atonement. Before I could correct her pitiful misunderstanding, she snapped her holy warding at me again and moved off.
I did not know what god she worshipped, but I felt no power emanate from her finger waggling. Fine then, if she would not be the first to worship me, she could be the first to fall before me! I gathered my dark energies and flung the Great Plague at her!
It was the height of my power, scores of years of research and sorcery. I had captured the very essence of the plague and fed it on dark arts and dark blood, learnt the pattern of if and committed it to spell. An infection that would normally take a week to bloom I could now manifest instantly, to horrific and deadly effect!
And... Nothing.
She simply walked on, absently scratching that same spot on her shoulder. She should be falling to her knees, covered in blisters and sores and spreading the plague and her panic to those nearby, not... Walking away. I frowned, gathering the dark energies again.
Perhaps she had been protected by her patron deity? Maybe their powers were simply subtle? I turned, looking around, and selected another apostate. I flung my dark power at them, a mere child at play, and watched... As nothing happened.
Fine. If they would not fall before the plague, they they would fall before fang and claw! I settled myself upon the ground, closing my eyes and centring myself, beginning to gather the great energies needed to summon and bind the beasts.
I felt the energies gather around me, through me and beneath me, lifting me from the ground. I reached out with the powers, through the astral plane, seeking the legions of great fanged cats that I had learn to command through bitter experi-... Hm.
Maybe If I... Nope. Perhaps I just needed to gather more power, perhaps they were further away than.... No.
My feline legions were gone...
Something tinged, metallic, a faint weight settling into my upturned palms, far away. I drew my attention back to my body, settling back in and slowly opening my eyes, looking down into my hands and seeing a metallic effigy resting there. Someone had carved a small face into the round disc with surprising skill.
I looked up slowly, bobbing faintly in the air, to find a mortal standing there, grinning, holding the hand of a child.
"That's really cool, man! I don't know how you do it... Can't see any wires and you don't have one of those silly rug and walking sticks. Really cool trick." The mortal yammered
I looked around slowly and saw several mortals gathered, watching me from a slight distance, with a touch of the reverie I expected... That I craved.
Another of the mortals approached, a female in bright clothing, holding out a small card before her as an offering. I reached out, taking it in my armoured hand and examined the unfamiliar script. The magics that allowed me to rule over those of any race slowly resolved the information into a name and a number.
"I think my son would LOVE you. Is the costume from one of those super hero movies? Or a comic? Anyway, LOVE it. Do you do kids parties? What other tricks can you do...?" The brightly coloured woman asked, fawning in a way that I found most satisfying.
"Kids... Parties...?" I asked
| Today I will show the world. My power.
I am done with the grey gloomy boredom.
Today I am going to play devil. I scare
my own minions in a prank. I savagely
rip open the chest of my stuffed toy.
Today I will change your world. I rise
onto the surface of the concrete jungle. I conquer
two miles to reach my benefits entitlement.
three hundred dollars, with one swift signature.
This is easy, I feel rage bubbling once again.
Today I will curse everyone. I call
the local radio station, claim that
I AM a monster… powerful ancient evil…
Really? They cut me off.
Nobody listens, this rage rises.
You know what, world?
I’ll cut everyone off. I grab
my butterknife, rise out from
under the bridge. The pavement glitters
in response. I grab your arm.
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, would love some constructive criticism and comments!!
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | It rises from its slumber. The dust of millennia cascading from its form. It fixes its yellow eyes to the wall, crude depictions of its terrible history. It smiles and turns its attention to the newly formed cracks in the wall of its prison. The ancients had been careful to seal it tightly. Not even light could penetrate its cell.
It hears voices and slowly pulls itself towards the latest fissure, atrophied legs dragging behind it. It squeezes through the smallest of cracks and out into the world.
It sees its first victim. Obviously human but changed in a way it could not fathom. It climbs unseen onto the human's back and slipped a ghostly finger across it's host's lips. It chatters with something excitement as the host slips a tongue across the infected site.
It waits for a moment and begins to whisper 'die die die die die' deep into the soft tissue. It will take time to take effect. But it is patient. It will wait. The sun is still in the east, the host will be symptomatic by sundown.
The sun climbs higher and then slips down into the west. It rests on the host's back, whispering pestilence into his every cell. The night begins to fall but still his host has shown no signs of infection. It stops and listens. The cells whisper back in defiance.
The host is immune.
It dismounts in disgust and finds a new host. This one is young and strong. But it has ravaged many and burned through youth and strength before. It whispers and clicks and waits once more.
The young host sleeps and the next morning is stiff. It smiles. It may work after all. The youth brings it to more. It still seems strong and lithe. It listens. Immune.
It tries again. Immune.
Again. Immune. Again. Immune. All around the group. It is tired now. It tires once more. It whispers into the heart and limbs of a smiling child. And takes hold.
The infected's mother puts his hand in hers. She is talking about something called "anti-vax". It doesn't understand the word but somehow knows it is it's only salvation.
Polio smiles and clings to the child's back. | Today I will show the world. My power.
I am done with the grey gloomy boredom.
Today I am going to play devil. I scare
my own minions in a prank. I savagely
rip open the chest of my stuffed toy.
Today I will change your world. I rise
onto the surface of the concrete jungle. I conquer
two miles to reach my benefits entitlement.
three hundred dollars, with one swift signature.
This is easy, I feel rage bubbling once again.
Today I will curse everyone. I call
the local radio station, claim that
I AM a monster… powerful ancient evil…
Really? They cut me off.
Nobody listens, this rage rises.
You know what, world?
I’ll cut everyone off. I grab
my butterknife, rise out from
under the bridge. The pavement glitters
in response. I grab your arm.
_________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading, would love some constructive criticism and comments!!
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | He had awoken, expecting to take the world by storm once again, to reap havoc, watch the world burn as his influence incited kingdoms to war, men to kill, women to betray, and brother to murder brother.
He missed those days, a whisper here, a vision there and the people of ancient times became his puppets.
Not in this age.
This age was rife with a chaos all of its own, the hustle and bustle of these large cities frightened the spirit, and everywhere he turned his whispers and directions went ignored.
Seriously not even the CHILDREN are susceptible, those of the most innocence were always so fun to corrupt, but now even they remain unaffected.
The world moved on in his absence, they no longer needed him.
Greed cried as he watched the world be consumed in it's own greed. | "You're kidding me."
"I wish. Check the cameras for yourself."
"But... you've gotta be kidding me."
"Just look."
More than a little perturbed, Lucas walked over to the holo screens to look in on their newest guest. As he approached, his aural implant stopped filtering the audio coming from their guest's containment center.
"... I knew it would work! People doubted me, they always doubt me, underestimating me really, which is no, nope, not a good idea. Cause it's me, you know? How could you doubt me? I'm the greatest, I know what I'm doing. Years of experience, well, years of building hotels, but still, I got those done. Why wouldn't I be able to do this too? I've always gotten things done, and not just anything, mind you, the best things, all the best things, all of them! Of course, this would work too, I mean, c'mon. Throw in a bit of uranium, a bit elbow grease, and boom. Perfect cryogenic stasis. Now *this*, is news..."
Lucas slowly shut his eyes as the monologuing figure continued. He knew he could filter the rant out again if he wanted, but it would be futile. Nothing he did now could stop him from slowly processing this new information and seeing it to be true.
"But why him?"
"No idea."
"Shit."
"Yep." | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | The Lord of Plagues was buried deep below the surface, left to rot, surrounded by the unholy filth that emanated from him. But he was not dead, he was sickness personified, mortality was unknown to him. The land around him withered and died, nothing would grow, even animals would avoid the area.
After millennia, the earth around him began to churn, he would soon be free. The excavator pierced into his casket, destroying it, and leaving the chains that were so carefully wrapped around it useless. He clawed his way out of the ground into full view of the construction workers around him.
"Is that a zombie?" Said the young man wearing a shiny new Hi-Vis Vest and and hard hat yet to be scratched, "It smells like a wet dog rolled around in cigarette ash."
"Get the hell away from it!" Shouted the foreman. But is was too late for the him.
The unholy specter charged the man, but it's time underground had left it weak, and the fit young man was barely shaken.
"Fools!" The monster shouted, "You're already dead, you will die to the disease in seconds."
The young man looked around, but the so called curse warranted not so much as a cough.
"Good luck with that buddy, I got my shots." | "You're kidding me."
"I wish. Check the cameras for yourself."
"But... you've gotta be kidding me."
"Just look."
More than a little perturbed, Lucas walked over to the holo screens to look in on their newest guest. As he approached, his aural implant stopped filtering the audio coming from their guest's containment center.
"... I knew it would work! People doubted me, they always doubt me, underestimating me really, which is no, nope, not a good idea. Cause it's me, you know? How could you doubt me? I'm the greatest, I know what I'm doing. Years of experience, well, years of building hotels, but still, I got those done. Why wouldn't I be able to do this too? I've always gotten things done, and not just anything, mind you, the best things, all the best things, all of them! Of course, this would work too, I mean, c'mon. Throw in a bit of uranium, a bit elbow grease, and boom. Perfect cryogenic stasis. Now *this*, is news..."
Lucas slowly shut his eyes as the monologuing figure continued. He knew he could filter the rant out again if he wanted, but it would be futile. Nothing he did now could stop him from slowly processing this new information and seeing it to be true.
"But why him?"
"No idea."
"Shit."
"Yep." | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | **"I AM RELEASED! YOU HAVE UNDERESTIMATED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, MORTALS!"**
The spectral body that unfurled like smoke from the darkness of the tomb bellowed with a terrible, terrible voice. It sounded both at once like a million anguished cries, and the whispers of the dead. Almost every single one of the archaeologists who had taken part in unearthing this dig stood frozen in existential horror as the stench of rot and death swept past them in a nauseating warm breeze. Ethan, however was simply a little skeptical and confidently stood forward of the group a pace to confront this ancient evil. "And who are you exactly?" He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
**"AHAHAHAHA! YOU ARE SUCH ARROGANT CREATURES TO THINK YOU MAY ADDRESS MEE!"**
The echo of his voice may have made the superstitious crowd flinch with fear, but not him. "Yes, yes. I understand. But who - or rather what - are you?" He noticed the wisps of beginning to condense into a more humanoid form.
**"YOU HUMANS HAVE KNOWN ME BY MANY NAMES! SATAN! HADES! ANUBIS! I AM THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD AND DEATH! I AM THE GOD OF SIN AND PUNISHMENT! BOW BEFORE ME AND I MAY SHOW YOU MERCY!"**
Instantly, his companions threw themselves to the ground, prostrating themselves as deeply as possible. If a non-corporeal object could look proud, the way the smoke rippled throughout was certainly it. Puny mortals? Was this thing for real? It sounded like something straight out of an MMO. He'd seen some of the corpses within this complex, and generally, there was no fire and brimstone evident upon them. He highly doubted something arrogantly claiming to be this powerful would have been so gentle. So generally, he remained suspicious. "And what, exactly do you plan on doing?"
**"INSOLENT FOOL! I SHALL DOOM YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC RACE!"**
"Yes, but how exactly?"
There was an awkward pause and silence, broken by the incoherent mumblings from those on the dusty stone floor whimpering to themselves. He sensed that the creature was both pleased at their reaction, and shocked at his insolence. It wasn't that he didn't *fear* doom, he was just a rational skeptic. Nothing from this ancient civilisation had shown anything other than wild parties and general enjoyment. From the amount of syphilis in the corpses, he assumed that wild orgies were common.
**"AS MY FIRST PLAGUE UNTO YOU I SHALL RELEASE ANCIENT AND DEADLY VENEREAL DISEASE OF SORES AND INSANITY UPON THOSE IN MY KINGDOM FOR THEIR SINS OF FORNICATION AND BUGGERY!!!"**
"Fornication?" Ethan all but snorted with derision at the term. "You mean to tell me that after 5,000 years, you plan on releasing syphilis upon the population?"
**"IT IS A DEADL-"**
"We've developed antibiotics. Syphilis is entirely curable. Besides, in our society, *fornication* is no longer particularly considered a sin." He chuckled and the smoke instantly recoiled violently. That was strange - then a thought occurred to him.
**"THEN I SHALL ENFORCE WHIPS AND CHAINS UPON THOSE WHO INDU-"**
"That's called BDSM. Many people enjoy that."
**"A GREAT BLACK PLAG-"**
"Yeah we cured that too."
**"LOCUSTS SHAL DESC-"**
"Pesticides."
Tension was high in the air and the creature began to pulsate and swirl agitatedly as he laughed, clearly deep in thought. This had gone on long enough - he removed his ten-and-a-half inch cherrywood wand with unicorn tail hair and pointed it at the boggart. *"Riddikulus!"* The black smoke instantly dispersed into the air, and the smell vanished from their nostrils. Obviously the muggle researchers all feared finding the god of the dead down here the most. Swiftly, he stowed his wand back in his jacket.
"I think it's gone now, guys."
| "You're kidding me."
"I wish. Check the cameras for yourself."
"But... you've gotta be kidding me."
"Just look."
More than a little perturbed, Lucas walked over to the holo screens to look in on their newest guest. As he approached, his aural implant stopped filtering the audio coming from their guest's containment center.
"... I knew it would work! People doubted me, they always doubt me, underestimating me really, which is no, nope, not a good idea. Cause it's me, you know? How could you doubt me? I'm the greatest, I know what I'm doing. Years of experience, well, years of building hotels, but still, I got those done. Why wouldn't I be able to do this too? I've always gotten things done, and not just anything, mind you, the best things, all the best things, all of them! Of course, this would work too, I mean, c'mon. Throw in a bit of uranium, a bit elbow grease, and boom. Perfect cryogenic stasis. Now *this*, is news..."
Lucas slowly shut his eyes as the monologuing figure continued. He knew he could filter the rant out again if he wanted, but it would be futile. Nothing he did now could stop him from slowly processing this new information and seeing it to be true.
"But why him?"
"No idea."
"Shit."
"Yep." | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | He had awoken, expecting to take the world by storm once again, to reap havoc, watch the world burn as his influence incited kingdoms to war, men to kill, women to betray, and brother to murder brother.
He missed those days, a whisper here, a vision there and the people of ancient times became his puppets.
Not in this age.
This age was rife with a chaos all of its own, the hustle and bustle of these large cities frightened the spirit, and everywhere he turned his whispers and directions went ignored.
Seriously not even the CHILDREN are susceptible, those of the most innocence were always so fun to corrupt, but now even they remain unaffected.
The world moved on in his absence, they no longer needed him.
Greed cried as he watched the world be consumed in it's own greed. | Name Redacted was furious. You lay dormant for a few centuries too many and suddenly he'd lost all of his potency. Oh, he had all of his powers but he couldn't use them anymore. As soon as he'd risen in fire and death from his tomb under their precious Eiffel Tower he'd heard the comforting screams and crying. But it'd only been days before he'd lost everything.
His power had always been in his name, but after a short time these blasted Frenchies had found myths linked to him and uncovered his true name. After that had spread across the globe he'd been stuck. He couldn't use his powers on anyone that knew his name. Oh he could evade capture with flight and sustain himself on flora and fauna. But no more human sacrifices.
He couldn't even indirectly to any exponential degree affect someone who knew his name. He couldn't even figure that out, sometimes his flight would just stop and he'd plummet painfully to the ground because some child might have seen him and been scared. He was sure there were laws of magic of physics being violated there. He figured that the only solution was to find an island somewhere and settle down.
what had really hurt was that he'd been labeled as a terrorist, but after a few weeks of evading authorities and no longer racking up a body count he'd been moved off the ten most wanted list. His bounty had been contracted out to pharmaceutical companies that wanted him for drug testing! It was humiliating. Redacted sighed just thinking about it, as he flew just over the grass. He'd tried flying over the clouds but anytime one of the metal birds went by he plummeted for longer than he cared to think about.
He'd traveled so far and there were still people who knew him. So he'd tried to change his name, but so far there was too much documentation to sort out. They'd asked for a birth certificate and finally decided that he didn't exist. He'd lost a serious amount of ego that day as he tried to crush the building that rude lady had called home, but she'd been better protected than any king or wizard from 5 millennia ago. He just continued, hoping one day to be forgotten and take revenge, not much of a chance with this internet thing buzzing around. | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | **"I AM RELEASED! YOU HAVE UNDERESTIMATED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, MORTALS!"**
The spectral body that unfurled like smoke from the darkness of the tomb bellowed with a terrible, terrible voice. It sounded both at once like a million anguished cries, and the whispers of the dead. Almost every single one of the archaeologists who had taken part in unearthing this dig stood frozen in existential horror as the stench of rot and death swept past them in a nauseating warm breeze. Ethan, however was simply a little skeptical and confidently stood forward of the group a pace to confront this ancient evil. "And who are you exactly?" He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
**"AHAHAHAHA! YOU ARE SUCH ARROGANT CREATURES TO THINK YOU MAY ADDRESS MEE!"**
The echo of his voice may have made the superstitious crowd flinch with fear, but not him. "Yes, yes. I understand. But who - or rather what - are you?" He noticed the wisps of beginning to condense into a more humanoid form.
**"YOU HUMANS HAVE KNOWN ME BY MANY NAMES! SATAN! HADES! ANUBIS! I AM THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD AND DEATH! I AM THE GOD OF SIN AND PUNISHMENT! BOW BEFORE ME AND I MAY SHOW YOU MERCY!"**
Instantly, his companions threw themselves to the ground, prostrating themselves as deeply as possible. If a non-corporeal object could look proud, the way the smoke rippled throughout was certainly it. Puny mortals? Was this thing for real? It sounded like something straight out of an MMO. He'd seen some of the corpses within this complex, and generally, there was no fire and brimstone evident upon them. He highly doubted something arrogantly claiming to be this powerful would have been so gentle. So generally, he remained suspicious. "And what, exactly do you plan on doing?"
**"INSOLENT FOOL! I SHALL DOOM YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC RACE!"**
"Yes, but how exactly?"
There was an awkward pause and silence, broken by the incoherent mumblings from those on the dusty stone floor whimpering to themselves. He sensed that the creature was both pleased at their reaction, and shocked at his insolence. It wasn't that he didn't *fear* doom, he was just a rational skeptic. Nothing from this ancient civilisation had shown anything other than wild parties and general enjoyment. From the amount of syphilis in the corpses, he assumed that wild orgies were common.
**"AS MY FIRST PLAGUE UNTO YOU I SHALL RELEASE ANCIENT AND DEADLY VENEREAL DISEASE OF SORES AND INSANITY UPON THOSE IN MY KINGDOM FOR THEIR SINS OF FORNICATION AND BUGGERY!!!"**
"Fornication?" Ethan all but snorted with derision at the term. "You mean to tell me that after 5,000 years, you plan on releasing syphilis upon the population?"
**"IT IS A DEADL-"**
"We've developed antibiotics. Syphilis is entirely curable. Besides, in our society, *fornication* is no longer particularly considered a sin." He chuckled and the smoke instantly recoiled violently. That was strange - then a thought occurred to him.
**"THEN I SHALL ENFORCE WHIPS AND CHAINS UPON THOSE WHO INDU-"**
"That's called BDSM. Many people enjoy that."
**"A GREAT BLACK PLAG-"**
"Yeah we cured that too."
**"LOCUSTS SHAL DESC-"**
"Pesticides."
Tension was high in the air and the creature began to pulsate and swirl agitatedly as he laughed, clearly deep in thought. This had gone on long enough - he removed his ten-and-a-half inch cherrywood wand with unicorn tail hair and pointed it at the boggart. *"Riddikulus!"* The black smoke instantly dispersed into the air, and the smell vanished from their nostrils. Obviously the muggle researchers all feared finding the god of the dead down here the most. Swiftly, he stowed his wand back in his jacket.
"I think it's gone now, guys."
| Name Redacted was furious. You lay dormant for a few centuries too many and suddenly he'd lost all of his potency. Oh, he had all of his powers but he couldn't use them anymore. As soon as he'd risen in fire and death from his tomb under their precious Eiffel Tower he'd heard the comforting screams and crying. But it'd only been days before he'd lost everything.
His power had always been in his name, but after a short time these blasted Frenchies had found myths linked to him and uncovered his true name. After that had spread across the globe he'd been stuck. He couldn't use his powers on anyone that knew his name. Oh he could evade capture with flight and sustain himself on flora and fauna. But no more human sacrifices.
He couldn't even indirectly to any exponential degree affect someone who knew his name. He couldn't even figure that out, sometimes his flight would just stop and he'd plummet painfully to the ground because some child might have seen him and been scared. He was sure there were laws of magic of physics being violated there. He figured that the only solution was to find an island somewhere and settle down.
what had really hurt was that he'd been labeled as a terrorist, but after a few weeks of evading authorities and no longer racking up a body count he'd been moved off the ten most wanted list. His bounty had been contracted out to pharmaceutical companies that wanted him for drug testing! It was humiliating. Redacted sighed just thinking about it, as he flew just over the grass. He'd tried flying over the clouds but anytime one of the metal birds went by he plummeted for longer than he cared to think about.
He'd traveled so far and there were still people who knew him. So he'd tried to change his name, but so far there was too much documentation to sort out. They'd asked for a birth certificate and finally decided that he didn't exist. He'd lost a serious amount of ego that day as he tried to crush the building that rude lady had called home, but she'd been better protected than any king or wizard from 5 millennia ago. He just continued, hoping one day to be forgotten and take revenge, not much of a chance with this internet thing buzzing around. | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | **"I AM RELEASED! YOU HAVE UNDERESTIMATED ME FOR THE LAST TIME, MORTALS!"**
The spectral body that unfurled like smoke from the darkness of the tomb bellowed with a terrible, terrible voice. It sounded both at once like a million anguished cries, and the whispers of the dead. Almost every single one of the archaeologists who had taken part in unearthing this dig stood frozen in existential horror as the stench of rot and death swept past them in a nauseating warm breeze. Ethan, however was simply a little skeptical and confidently stood forward of the group a pace to confront this ancient evil. "And who are you exactly?" He raised an eyebrow quizzically.
**"AHAHAHAHA! YOU ARE SUCH ARROGANT CREATURES TO THINK YOU MAY ADDRESS MEE!"**
The echo of his voice may have made the superstitious crowd flinch with fear, but not him. "Yes, yes. I understand. But who - or rather what - are you?" He noticed the wisps of beginning to condense into a more humanoid form.
**"YOU HUMANS HAVE KNOWN ME BY MANY NAMES! SATAN! HADES! ANUBIS! I AM THE GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD AND DEATH! I AM THE GOD OF SIN AND PUNISHMENT! BOW BEFORE ME AND I MAY SHOW YOU MERCY!"**
Instantly, his companions threw themselves to the ground, prostrating themselves as deeply as possible. If a non-corporeal object could look proud, the way the smoke rippled throughout was certainly it. Puny mortals? Was this thing for real? It sounded like something straight out of an MMO. He'd seen some of the corpses within this complex, and generally, there was no fire and brimstone evident upon them. He highly doubted something arrogantly claiming to be this powerful would have been so gentle. So generally, he remained suspicious. "And what, exactly do you plan on doing?"
**"INSOLENT FOOL! I SHALL DOOM YOU AND YOUR PATHETIC RACE!"**
"Yes, but how exactly?"
There was an awkward pause and silence, broken by the incoherent mumblings from those on the dusty stone floor whimpering to themselves. He sensed that the creature was both pleased at their reaction, and shocked at his insolence. It wasn't that he didn't *fear* doom, he was just a rational skeptic. Nothing from this ancient civilisation had shown anything other than wild parties and general enjoyment. From the amount of syphilis in the corpses, he assumed that wild orgies were common.
**"AS MY FIRST PLAGUE UNTO YOU I SHALL RELEASE ANCIENT AND DEADLY VENEREAL DISEASE OF SORES AND INSANITY UPON THOSE IN MY KINGDOM FOR THEIR SINS OF FORNICATION AND BUGGERY!!!"**
"Fornication?" Ethan all but snorted with derision at the term. "You mean to tell me that after 5,000 years, you plan on releasing syphilis upon the population?"
**"IT IS A DEADL-"**
"We've developed antibiotics. Syphilis is entirely curable. Besides, in our society, *fornication* is no longer particularly considered a sin." He chuckled and the smoke instantly recoiled violently. That was strange - then a thought occurred to him.
**"THEN I SHALL ENFORCE WHIPS AND CHAINS UPON THOSE WHO INDU-"**
"That's called BDSM. Many people enjoy that."
**"A GREAT BLACK PLAG-"**
"Yeah we cured that too."
**"LOCUSTS SHAL DESC-"**
"Pesticides."
Tension was high in the air and the creature began to pulsate and swirl agitatedly as he laughed, clearly deep in thought. This had gone on long enough - he removed his ten-and-a-half inch cherrywood wand with unicorn tail hair and pointed it at the boggart. *"Riddikulus!"* The black smoke instantly dispersed into the air, and the smell vanished from their nostrils. Obviously the muggle researchers all feared finding the god of the dead down here the most. Swiftly, he stowed his wand back in his jacket.
"I think it's gone now, guys."
| The Lord of Plagues was buried deep below the surface, left to rot, surrounded by the unholy filth that emanated from him. But he was not dead, he was sickness personified, mortality was unknown to him. The land around him withered and died, nothing would grow, even animals would avoid the area.
After millennia, the earth around him began to churn, he would soon be free. The excavator pierced into his casket, destroying it, and leaving the chains that were so carefully wrapped around it useless. He clawed his way out of the ground into full view of the construction workers around him.
"Is that a zombie?" Said the young man wearing a shiny new Hi-Vis Vest and and hard hat yet to be scratched, "It smells like a wet dog rolled around in cigarette ash."
"Get the hell away from it!" Shouted the foreman. But is was too late for the him.
The unholy specter charged the man, but it's time underground had left it weak, and the fit young man was barely shaken.
"Fools!" The monster shouted, "You're already dead, you will die to the disease in seconds."
The young man looked around, but the so called curse warranted not so much as a cough.
"Good luck with that buddy, I got my shots." | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | A dark monolith rests at the top of a snow frosted peaks of Delani. The glyphs covering the great stone begin to pulse ominously with a red glow. A massive explosion pushes away the wonderfully white scenery revealing the black charred remains of rock underneath. Shards of the unknown element litter the mountainside melting the snow and polluting the earth beneath it with its evil energy.
The heavy snowfall evaporate before hitting the ground as pillars of fire rumble upwards from beneath the scorched terrain. A loud roar lashes out in every direction pushing back the thick steam that was covering the area. In the center of the blast radius a dark humanoid entity stands with outstretched arms and fully expanded wings.
"Ignorant world, you have allowed overwhelming power to manifest. I am the ender of worlds that will push everything you hold dear into entropic cataclysm. You should have heeded the warning on the glyphs that bound me and never let their power wane. I SHALL DESTRO..."
A purple, pink, and white orb smashes against the ancient beings face. A beam of red energy shoots out of the orb as it opens and engulfs the menacing figures gruesome form. He shrinks and is immediately sucked into the ball.
The ball shakes three times and claps out several stars.
<Cue pokemon capture theme>
"You've caught yourself an FURYFIEND OF INFINITE RAGE AND DEATH!"
"Would you like to rename him?"
Name change: Pluckers
Pluckers information has been added to your pokedex. | Exfalcior had slept beneath the Doom Trench for thousands of years. It had seen civilisations rise and fall, rulers die and their bones turn to dust. Its ancient maw craved blood of the humans who walked above the surface and disturbed its sleep.
As the planets aligned in the sky, the binding runes faded from the prehistoric demon. It was free, teeth sharper than a thousand knives and a hunger so fathoming it could devour the world.
The earth shook, and as it cracked Exfalcior rose from the chasm. Suddenly it's senses became more acute, and it's claws slashed in malicious anticipation. It wanted to make every last human suffer in terrible agony, and it's leathery, batlike wings took it slowly off the ground as it flew, roaring like thunder towards the nearest settlement.
---------------------------------------
As Exfalcior soared, beating it's bat wings and breaching the high clouds, the air around it seemed to become dirty. As the beast's canine pants became more rasping and heavy, it came to realise the air around it was poisoned. Nitrous, sulphur and carbon oxides suffocated it, and it flailed around, losing altitude as it desperately tried to escape the pollution. It was then that the aeroplane hit it.
The screeching of the demon intensified as it hurtled uncontrollably downwards, creating a titanic crash as it spun into a deep river, running near the city. The water too, seemed poisoned and unhealthy. Now humans, its mortal enemy which it longed to suffer began to witness it's return, although they weren't fleeing and screaming as Exfalcior had hoped - instead they seemed to be pointing rectangular devices at it. The beast didn't know whether to be afraid or enraged.
It clambered out of the water, it realised that it was covered in muck and debris. As it tried to walk, something stabbed into its right leg. A quick mental probe of a human nearby, a simple trick made available by its aeons of experience in dark magic told it that the deformed metal which burned into it was a 'shopping cart'.
Then Exfalcior started to feel pain in other places. A few rather overweight human males, whilst shouting at it, had levelled metal sticks and were waving them menacingly around, and each time one waved the demon felt its dark heart edging closer and closer to death. Left with nothing more to do than flee the biting of the human weapons it fled, thrown off course in the sky by the shopping cart hanging off its leg. It must return to its abandoned chasm once more and hibernate until the day it can take revenge.
It had almost reached its lair when the missile hit it.
Edit: Took some suggestions, thanks /u/flam1ng1cecream
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | When the red bones appeared and burned through the ganges delta, it convinced many that their ancient gods had forsaken the world, casting them off to be consumed by death and ruin. Villages, and then cities were burned to the ground trying to stem the tide, but the disease only seemed to spread with chaos following in its wake.
Temples overflowed with the dead and dying, bloated in the heat. A sickening miasma followed the swarms of flies that picked the dead clean. The skeletal remains, left unburied as no one dared enter those houses of the dead, gave the disease its name. Red skulls and bones littered the floors and doorways. The living said they’d been burned that color by the demons who possessed the sick with a terrible fever.
It’s victims blamed rats that swarmed their granaries as the carriers of the plague, unaware that the true culprit was the grain. Or more specifically a virulent strain of Bacillus cereus. Though mechanisms impossible for those ancient people to understand, it could escape the gut to the blood stream. Sepsis was nearly always fatal. The stained red bones were the result of toxic build up as the infection progressed.
Pain, hallucination, intense fever, and death followed ingestion of the region's primary food stock in short order. For ninety percent of the population it was the end.
For the survivors, it was a cyclone that brought doom. Heavy rains and flooding annihilated the last vestiges of early civilization, burying the remainder of the infected grain under mud flows, or washing it out to sea to rot. Civilization could not be said to have recovered for the next two centuries.
For 5,000 years that ancient plague lay dormant in forgotten pots lost beneath the earth. The delta advanced into the sea leaving the ancient fields buried miles inland.
So it would have remained, but modern civilization churns the land, shaping it to its own devices. One such event, construction at the edge of Dhaka, unwittingly smashed an ancient pot, breaking the ancient seal. Bacillus cereus was free.
Water, warmth and time were all it took. Nature took its course. Tainted grains once more grew on the delta. People once more consumed it, unaware of the danger. The first cases appeared only weeks after the first harvest.
The response was swift and simple: “This is penicillin. Take one pill every four hours for the next week.”
| Exfalcior had slept beneath the Doom Trench for thousands of years. It had seen civilisations rise and fall, rulers die and their bones turn to dust. Its ancient maw craved blood of the humans who walked above the surface and disturbed its sleep.
As the planets aligned in the sky, the binding runes faded from the prehistoric demon. It was free, teeth sharper than a thousand knives and a hunger so fathoming it could devour the world.
The earth shook, and as it cracked Exfalcior rose from the chasm. Suddenly it's senses became more acute, and it's claws slashed in malicious anticipation. It wanted to make every last human suffer in terrible agony, and it's leathery, batlike wings took it slowly off the ground as it flew, roaring like thunder towards the nearest settlement.
---------------------------------------
As Exfalcior soared, beating it's bat wings and breaching the high clouds, the air around it seemed to become dirty. As the beast's canine pants became more rasping and heavy, it came to realise the air around it was poisoned. Nitrous, sulphur and carbon oxides suffocated it, and it flailed around, losing altitude as it desperately tried to escape the pollution. It was then that the aeroplane hit it.
The screeching of the demon intensified as it hurtled uncontrollably downwards, creating a titanic crash as it spun into a deep river, running near the city. The water too, seemed poisoned and unhealthy. Now humans, its mortal enemy which it longed to suffer began to witness it's return, although they weren't fleeing and screaming as Exfalcior had hoped - instead they seemed to be pointing rectangular devices at it. The beast didn't know whether to be afraid or enraged.
It clambered out of the water, it realised that it was covered in muck and debris. As it tried to walk, something stabbed into its right leg. A quick mental probe of a human nearby, a simple trick made available by its aeons of experience in dark magic told it that the deformed metal which burned into it was a 'shopping cart'.
Then Exfalcior started to feel pain in other places. A few rather overweight human males, whilst shouting at it, had levelled metal sticks and were waving them menacingly around, and each time one waved the demon felt its dark heart edging closer and closer to death. Left with nothing more to do than flee the biting of the human weapons it fled, thrown off course in the sky by the shopping cart hanging off its leg. It must return to its abandoned chasm once more and hibernate until the day it can take revenge.
It had almost reached its lair when the missile hit it.
Edit: Took some suggestions, thanks /u/flam1ng1cecream
| |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | A dark monolith rests at the top of a snow frosted peaks of Delani. The glyphs covering the great stone begin to pulse ominously with a red glow. A massive explosion pushes away the wonderfully white scenery revealing the black charred remains of rock underneath. Shards of the unknown element litter the mountainside melting the snow and polluting the earth beneath it with its evil energy.
The heavy snowfall evaporate before hitting the ground as pillars of fire rumble upwards from beneath the scorched terrain. A loud roar lashes out in every direction pushing back the thick steam that was covering the area. In the center of the blast radius a dark humanoid entity stands with outstretched arms and fully expanded wings.
"Ignorant world, you have allowed overwhelming power to manifest. I am the ender of worlds that will push everything you hold dear into entropic cataclysm. You should have heeded the warning on the glyphs that bound me and never let their power wane. I SHALL DESTRO..."
A purple, pink, and white orb smashes against the ancient beings face. A beam of red energy shoots out of the orb as it opens and engulfs the menacing figures gruesome form. He shrinks and is immediately sucked into the ball.
The ball shakes three times and claps out several stars.
<Cue pokemon capture theme>
"You've caught yourself an FURYFIEND OF INFINITE RAGE AND DEATH!"
"Would you like to rename him?"
Name change: Pluckers
Pluckers information has been added to your pokedex. | All told, Vritra had a very successful 5,000 odd years. He had taken a break from the world just as the Indus Valley civilisations collapsed and he deserved it. Few humans knew who he was, but there they were, continuing to speculate, wonder and theorise why the Indus Valley collapsed. And some of them were right: weather. Vritra was he who controlled the rain, he who flooded the plains, he who decided the fate of men. But Vritra took a break, helping a civilisation, an advanced one nonetheless, collapse, was no easy feat. He decided to tour the world and bring his gifts with him. A holiday, he believed, would help his creativity flow and help him end another civilisation. So there he was, raining terror over the Mesopotamia, over-flooding the Yangtze. He even had a part to play in the Black Death, [believe] (http://www.popsci.com/warmer-weather-asia-meant-black-death-europe-15-years-later) it or not. Yet his heart and soul ached for the chaos and fear he caused, for the sole purpose of his existence, the reason why Shiva created him.
So there he went, to the heart of civilisation in 2017: Washington D.C.. There he went to stir fear into the heart of men and drive them to their deserved ends. But Vritra never touched the heart of men during his journey. He saw suffering, he saw pain but he never talked to men since his days in 3000 B.C. and he would regret that.
For when he spoke to a nice lady in Washington D.C., the statement she made would shock him to the very core. "Climate change? Pah! That's not real!" | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | When the red bones appeared and burned through the ganges delta, it convinced many that their ancient gods had forsaken the world, casting them off to be consumed by death and ruin. Villages, and then cities were burned to the ground trying to stem the tide, but the disease only seemed to spread with chaos following in its wake.
Temples overflowed with the dead and dying, bloated in the heat. A sickening miasma followed the swarms of flies that picked the dead clean. The skeletal remains, left unburied as no one dared enter those houses of the dead, gave the disease its name. Red skulls and bones littered the floors and doorways. The living said they’d been burned that color by the demons who possessed the sick with a terrible fever.
It’s victims blamed rats that swarmed their granaries as the carriers of the plague, unaware that the true culprit was the grain. Or more specifically a virulent strain of Bacillus cereus. Though mechanisms impossible for those ancient people to understand, it could escape the gut to the blood stream. Sepsis was nearly always fatal. The stained red bones were the result of toxic build up as the infection progressed.
Pain, hallucination, intense fever, and death followed ingestion of the region's primary food stock in short order. For ninety percent of the population it was the end.
For the survivors, it was a cyclone that brought doom. Heavy rains and flooding annihilated the last vestiges of early civilization, burying the remainder of the infected grain under mud flows, or washing it out to sea to rot. Civilization could not be said to have recovered for the next two centuries.
For 5,000 years that ancient plague lay dormant in forgotten pots lost beneath the earth. The delta advanced into the sea leaving the ancient fields buried miles inland.
So it would have remained, but modern civilization churns the land, shaping it to its own devices. One such event, construction at the edge of Dhaka, unwittingly smashed an ancient pot, breaking the ancient seal. Bacillus cereus was free.
Water, warmth and time were all it took. Nature took its course. Tainted grains once more grew on the delta. People once more consumed it, unaware of the danger. The first cases appeared only weeks after the first harvest.
The response was swift and simple: “This is penicillin. Take one pill every four hours for the next week.”
| All told, Vritra had a very successful 5,000 odd years. He had taken a break from the world just as the Indus Valley civilisations collapsed and he deserved it. Few humans knew who he was, but there they were, continuing to speculate, wonder and theorise why the Indus Valley collapsed. And some of them were right: weather. Vritra was he who controlled the rain, he who flooded the plains, he who decided the fate of men. But Vritra took a break, helping a civilisation, an advanced one nonetheless, collapse, was no easy feat. He decided to tour the world and bring his gifts with him. A holiday, he believed, would help his creativity flow and help him end another civilisation. So there he was, raining terror over the Mesopotamia, over-flooding the Yangtze. He even had a part to play in the Black Death, [believe] (http://www.popsci.com/warmer-weather-asia-meant-black-death-europe-15-years-later) it or not. Yet his heart and soul ached for the chaos and fear he caused, for the sole purpose of his existence, the reason why Shiva created him.
So there he went, to the heart of civilisation in 2017: Washington D.C.. There he went to stir fear into the heart of men and drive them to their deserved ends. But Vritra never touched the heart of men during his journey. He saw suffering, he saw pain but he never talked to men since his days in 3000 B.C. and he would regret that.
For when he spoke to a nice lady in Washington D.C., the statement she made would shock him to the very core. "Climate change? Pah! That's not real!" | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | They called it Ebon, an ancient power born in darkness, surrounded by a mantle of night’s own gloom. It attacked swiftly and ravenously, devouring man and animal alike without discretion.
The rare survivors all spoke of the same horrifying events. Villagers travelling by torch and moon’s light would encounter sudden, strong blasts of wind carrying a foul stench, like a rotting corpse left in the sun. This terrible gale would cause torches to sputter and go out. The darkness they were plunged into would grow deeper, even if the moon was full without a cloud in the sky. Then, even the moon itself would appear to surrender, growing dim as if a veil were cast over its countenance, plunging the land into total darkness. Each survivor shivered in their recounting, of hearing the screams of the dying, their futile attempts to flee or to fight in the total darkness, the uncertainty if it would return for them even long after the unnatural darkness had departed.
It struck over and over again, and no one and nothing was safe--Women, children, pets and livestock, all found slaughtered in the dawn’s light. People ceased to travel at night, and then it began to strike them in their homes. Its hunger seemed relentless, its evil profound and pervasive… and then, it just went away.
He became aware of a pulsing, a repetitive vibration which awoke him from slumber. Darkness enveloped him, a familiar and comfortable sensation. Ebon stretched arms, and was annoyed to find his motion confined to a narrow space. Turning his head from side to side, it appeared he was in a chamber barely larger than his body. A faint memory of soldiers finding him in the daylight resting in his tower, wisped through his ancient mind. Ebon chuckled in remembrance of their futile attempts to kill him with their useless wooden weapons, and their screams as he fed on their flesh… but his mirthful rumble faded into a growl thinking of the small boy who had lured him into the pool of holy water.
“You cannot kill me, foolish boy, only delay your demise…”
Ebon tested the walls of his prison, and felt the hard stone resist his claws. In his still weakened state it would be a while before he was strong enough to break free, so Ebon laid back in the cooling darkness and dreamt of the feast to come.
"Put it over there!” the foreman shouted “Careful now. I said, be careful!!”
The steel cart creaked and groaned under the weight of the stone sarcophagus perched on its frame. Workers dashed about the area frenetically, and a banner being hung read “The Museum of Natural History brings the past to you--Times Square 2017”
Several workers began winching the cart into its vertical position, so viewers could better see the intricate carvings on the lid, a humanoid shape with long claws set in Onyx in its center.
"Reminds me of Wolverine” a worker joked, while struggling with turning the winch. “But I heard it’s just a bunch of dusty ass bones inside. No adamantium in there…”
With a click, the display cart reached its apex. The workers backed off to admire their handiwork, as a few volunteers began placing the purple velvet ropes around the display.
“All right, that should do it!” the foreman said “Let’s wrap this up before evening rush and leave this to the cops to babysit. Half the stuff will probably be stolen by dinner, but… not my problem.”
The thrumming grew present again… Pierced with an occasional trumpet call and a steady sound of what seemed like wind. Curious, Ebon abandoned his dreams of feasting on flesh and roused himself from slumber. Oddly, he was almost in a standing position, but it would only provide better leverage to free himself. He tested the wall in front of him, and found the chamber wall moved ever so slightly. His abilities told him that night had fallen. He gave a low chuckle. Soon, the boy, his family and all living things would know true terror, and he would rend their flesh from their bones and devour their bodies. With a giant heave, he threw his weight against the wall and felt it tumble forward… and then… piercing blindness!
Searing, and painful light abounded, flashes of an impossibly giant woman loomed over him grinning massive teeth. He shut his eyes against the pain, her image seared into his mind, and stumbled backwards in a futile attempt to escape the agony. His foot kicked a rock and through slit eyes he saw that the chamber lid had smashed into pieces.
Ebon heard shouting from behind him, but words he did not understand. More shouts and people yelling… not in fear as he was used to, but in anger. He tried turning to face the voices but the lights were everywhere… he could only keep his eyes open for a split second or two, but he could see that his abilities had not failed him. The sky was indeed darkened with the night, but every cliff wall around him was covered with the light of a million suns. Strange shiny boxes shone stabbing beams of light into his face. Where was he? What had happened? He lunged forward to destroy something, anything… then heard many loud explosions from behind him and… a strange hot, unpleasant sensation… Pain? Ebon felt strength sap from his legs, and although he tried to summon every bit of power he had, Ebon could no longer stand. He was uncertain... no... afraid. Since his creation he had never known Pain or Fear, but now he felt both in great measure.
Just at the corner of his vision, Ebon saw a darkness begin to appear. A comforting remedy to his fear. He reached out as if to touch it. More explosions around him, more… Pain. Though it was almost negligible now. The darkness grew… he felt his body grow weaker. But, he welcomed it. With a soft sigh, he fell into the black. Home at last.
And the headline only read “Logan’s Run!---Crazed Wolverine Cosplayer killed by police after destroying MoNH display in Times Square!”
| All told, Vritra had a very successful 5,000 odd years. He had taken a break from the world just as the Indus Valley civilisations collapsed and he deserved it. Few humans knew who he was, but there they were, continuing to speculate, wonder and theorise why the Indus Valley collapsed. And some of them were right: weather. Vritra was he who controlled the rain, he who flooded the plains, he who decided the fate of men. But Vritra took a break, helping a civilisation, an advanced one nonetheless, collapse, was no easy feat. He decided to tour the world and bring his gifts with him. A holiday, he believed, would help his creativity flow and help him end another civilisation. So there he was, raining terror over the Mesopotamia, over-flooding the Yangtze. He even had a part to play in the Black Death, [believe] (http://www.popsci.com/warmer-weather-asia-meant-black-death-europe-15-years-later) it or not. Yet his heart and soul ached for the chaos and fear he caused, for the sole purpose of his existence, the reason why Shiva created him.
So there he went, to the heart of civilisation in 2017: Washington D.C.. There he went to stir fear into the heart of men and drive them to their deserved ends. But Vritra never touched the heart of men during his journey. He saw suffering, he saw pain but he never talked to men since his days in 3000 B.C. and he would regret that.
For when he spoke to a nice lady in Washington D.C., the statement she made would shock him to the very core. "Climate change? Pah! That's not real!" | |
[WP] An ancient evil that laid dormant for 5,000 years re-awakens, however the society it awakes to has advanced to the point to where it poses no threat and no one takes it seriously. | When the red bones appeared and burned through the ganges delta, it convinced many that their ancient gods had forsaken the world, casting them off to be consumed by death and ruin. Villages, and then cities were burned to the ground trying to stem the tide, but the disease only seemed to spread with chaos following in its wake.
Temples overflowed with the dead and dying, bloated in the heat. A sickening miasma followed the swarms of flies that picked the dead clean. The skeletal remains, left unburied as no one dared enter those houses of the dead, gave the disease its name. Red skulls and bones littered the floors and doorways. The living said they’d been burned that color by the demons who possessed the sick with a terrible fever.
It’s victims blamed rats that swarmed their granaries as the carriers of the plague, unaware that the true culprit was the grain. Or more specifically a virulent strain of Bacillus cereus. Though mechanisms impossible for those ancient people to understand, it could escape the gut to the blood stream. Sepsis was nearly always fatal. The stained red bones were the result of toxic build up as the infection progressed.
Pain, hallucination, intense fever, and death followed ingestion of the region's primary food stock in short order. For ninety percent of the population it was the end.
For the survivors, it was a cyclone that brought doom. Heavy rains and flooding annihilated the last vestiges of early civilization, burying the remainder of the infected grain under mud flows, or washing it out to sea to rot. Civilization could not be said to have recovered for the next two centuries.
For 5,000 years that ancient plague lay dormant in forgotten pots lost beneath the earth. The delta advanced into the sea leaving the ancient fields buried miles inland.
So it would have remained, but modern civilization churns the land, shaping it to its own devices. One such event, construction at the edge of Dhaka, unwittingly smashed an ancient pot, breaking the ancient seal. Bacillus cereus was free.
Water, warmth and time were all it took. Nature took its course. Tainted grains once more grew on the delta. People once more consumed it, unaware of the danger. The first cases appeared only weeks after the first harvest.
The response was swift and simple: “This is penicillin. Take one pill every four hours for the next week.”
| A dark monolith rests at the top of a snow frosted peaks of Delani. The glyphs covering the great stone begin to pulse ominously with a red glow. A massive explosion pushes away the wonderfully white scenery revealing the black charred remains of rock underneath. Shards of the unknown element litter the mountainside melting the snow and polluting the earth beneath it with its evil energy.
The heavy snowfall evaporate before hitting the ground as pillars of fire rumble upwards from beneath the scorched terrain. A loud roar lashes out in every direction pushing back the thick steam that was covering the area. In the center of the blast radius a dark humanoid entity stands with outstretched arms and fully expanded wings.
"Ignorant world, you have allowed overwhelming power to manifest. I am the ender of worlds that will push everything you hold dear into entropic cataclysm. You should have heeded the warning on the glyphs that bound me and never let their power wane. I SHALL DESTRO..."
A purple, pink, and white orb smashes against the ancient beings face. A beam of red energy shoots out of the orb as it opens and engulfs the menacing figures gruesome form. He shrinks and is immediately sucked into the ball.
The ball shakes three times and claps out several stars.
<Cue pokemon capture theme>
"You've caught yourself an FURYFIEND OF INFINITE RAGE AND DEATH!"
"Would you like to rename him?"
Name change: Pluckers
Pluckers information has been added to your pokedex. | |
[WP] Every night I tell my girlfriend a bedtime story by the end of this one I'd like her to be my fiancé. | Long ago, a beautiful young woman with [brown] hair and eyes the color of [the finest chocolates in all the kingdom] went into the forest to gather berries. She was a beloved lady in the village, the pinnacle of grace, charm, and wit.
She never went far, as the berry bushes lined the forest's edge, just within the view of the thatched roof cottage she shared with her sister.
Today, much to her dismay, the berry bushes were missing all their berries. *I must have berries for Sister's pie!* she thought, and ventured deeper into the forest.
Before long, she stumbled into a small meadow, wherein stood the finest, fullest berry bush the lady had ever seen. She rushed and knelt by it, plucking the plump berries and dropping them into her basket. Her fingers turned purple from the juice, and she thought with joy how happy her sister would be.
"Hello, there, Miss," a voice came from behind her. So caught in her task, she had not heard anyone approach. She turned, beholding a dashing man she had never seen in the village before.
"Hello," she answered, as her politeness dictated, but she felt unsure, and wary of the stranger.
"Why are you taking my berries?" He inquired, but kind enough still. The lady stood, blushing, and wiped her stained hands on her apron.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know they were yours! Or," she gestured to the surrounding area, "that anyone lived out here at all."
"The bears do," he said with a grin. "And they happen to be very fond of my berries."
"Then I have done you a favor," she said, straightening. "Perhaps they won't bother you any more now that their morsels are gone."
"That is a smart thought," he said, but tapped his chin. "And it would be a wonderful idea if it were not my curse from the Bear King to keep these berries safe from young maiden fingers."
"The Bear King? My, my, what a tale. But I'm sorry, sir, it just won't fool me. I'm smarter than to believe something like that."
"You think yourself wise?" He chuckled, moving from where he leaned on the tree. He stepped forward, and she stepped back.
"Wise enough to know when to excuse myself," she said, holding her basket out for him. "Take your berries, and I'll be going."
Now the young man had an enchanting smile, and the lady felt her face flush when he stepped forward to retrieve it. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the basket, and she felt a flutter in her heart. He looked into her eyes and she held his gaze for a while.
"Perhaps," he started, "I could forgive you, and let you take these berries, if you'll humor me in a contest."
"A contest? Of what sort?"
"Seeing as you are so smart, I wonder if you could solve my riddles."
"Well," she scoffed, "if they're anywhere near as simple as your Bear King story, I'll be sure to bring you back a slice of berry pie." The young man's smile grew at her boldness, for he was charmed with her spirit.
"Tell me, are there many like you from your village?"
"Is that your first riddle?" She asked, and he laughed.
"Such wit! Now I'm sure there are none like you anywhere in the kingdom. Let's begin."
"I'm ready," she smiled, demure at his compliment but amused at his game. The squared her shoulders and he began pacing.
"What is small to one of its kind, but big to you and me?" He asked. She smiled, giving him a sly glance. She put her hands behind her back and clasped them together.
"To a king, a princess is a kitten, but we peasants are the mouse." She answered in perfect confidence, and the young man grinned.
"Well done!" He said, and stopped his pacing, examining her. "How did you get such a wit?"
"Perhaps the same way you lost yours." Her reply was quick, and the young man stuttered, flustered, before regaining his composure. It was her turn to pace, circling him. "Have I earned my berries?"
"Oh, not quite," the young man said, adjusting his collar. "I have another. What is of no use to one, but bliss to two?"
"This one is easier, sir."
"Then answer, dear," he said. She stopped pacing, and the two stood close.
"Love," she answered. The young man's eyes lingered on her, and she thought she saw his cheeks flush. He cleared his throat and looked away, smiling.
"Very good," he said. "I'm afraid I'm no match for you. You've earned your berries, and more." He handed her the basket, and she took it, but her heart hesitated.
"Will I ever see you again?" She asked, and he looked down, running a hand through his hair.
"If you are a woman of your word," he answered. Confused, she questioned him further. "I do think you promised me a piece of pie."
"Oh!" She said, her eyes lighting up with a laugh.
The next day, the young maiden came to the berry bush, a bit of pie in her basket for him. She waited a while, ready to give up when she heard a rustle behind her. Relieved he appeared, she turned. But to her fear, she saw not the young man, and instead the tallest bear she had ever seen.
"So you are the girl that took my berries," said the Bear in his booming voice. The young maiden was paralyzed with fear, and she dared not speak. "I wondered what you would be like, the girl that made him subject to my wrath."
"I, I...," she started, but the Bear let out a roaring laugh. Terrified, the girl turned and ran, with his laugh echoing in her ears. She tried to tell the other villagers and her sister what has happened, but no one believed her. Late into the night, she placed the floor, worried for the young man.
She heard a tap at the window, and rushed there to find the man. Elated, she ran out to him, and they embraced. She backed away, apologizing, as he also begged forgiveness for her run in with the Bear King.
"Never mind it," she said, her heart breaking in sympathy. "What will you do?"
"There's nothing that can be done for a curse like this."
"There just be something," she said, twisting her hands together.
"I can think of only one," he answered, and her heart fluttered when he placed a hand on her arm. "Perhaps, another riddle, and we can break my curse, my solitude."
"Alright," she breathed, and he bowed himself onto one knee.
"Will you marry me?"
---
Sorry for the typos I wrote this whole thing on my phone 😩 I'll fix them tomorrow! |
The Prince and the princess
There once was a prince who loved a princess. But it was not to be, because this princess was already betrothed to another. But this prince could see that this princess was not truly happy. She was married to a dragon and her and that dragon were able to sire two children together. But as you know, the offspring of a dragon and a human is a demon. Now most people think demons are these horned creatures that go around creating misdeeds and causing havoc but that's not what demons do. Demons look just like any other person except they enjoy suffering. You see, unlike a regular person, demons love to see human beings suffer. I guess, that just makes sense given that so few demons are spawned by acts of love. Maybe demons aren't inherently bad. they're just nurtured that way.
Regardless, the prince saw this and he wanted to do something about it. What I haven't mentioned before is that this prince was actually also a knight. Hed also slain many demons but never a dragon. Demons are relatively easy to vanquish, but a dragon is a great accomplishment. The kind of accomplishment that so few knights are capable of doing but he was, because he was one of the greatest knights in the land.
The princess used to pretend she was happy. But the prince could see how unhappy she really was. When he would watch from the window, when she was all alone, away from the demons and the dragon, he could see her true sadness. The sadness that only the brave and handsome prince, the strong knight, would ever be able to chase away.
So one day, the prince entered where the dragon and demons lived. He was armed with a crossbow and an axe. Most knights would have used a sword but this particular night was fond of using axes because it's only with an axe that a true warrior attains a higher state of being. As he entered the door to the castle, he saw the dragon, the demons and the princess all eating dinner. The princess, of course, was pretending to be happy but the knight nnew better. Away the bolt flew from his crossbow and into the heart of the dragon,. The dragon stood up, trying to face down the knight but before he could the knight brought down the axe into his skull.
Seeing what a mighty warrior he was, the two demons began cowering and crying. They called out to their mother and the princess went to them, possibly still scared of what those demons would do to her. Knowing that the dragon’s magic was strong, the knight pulled the princess away from the demons and slew them where they laid cowering on the floor.
The princess was traumatized. So many years and for so long, she had lived under the yoke of the dragon and the demons. She didn't know how to live a normal life. She didn't know true love. But now she would.
The prince pulled her into his arms and she began fighting him. The dragon’s magic was too strong. The prince knew that the only way that the dragon’s magic could be conquered was with love. So the prince threw his love over his shoulder and took her back to his castle.
Back at the castle, the situation seemed hopeless. Despite the prince’s boundless love for the princess, the dragon’s magic was just too strong. She continued to fight the prince. Numerous times, she attempted to escape. At one point, she even got to a local farmer and the dragon’s magic started to infect the man so the knight struck him down before he could be corrupted completely.
It was then that knight realized that the princess, the love of his life, would need to be chained. Just like in Snow White, his love would awaken something inside of her but first she would need to stop fighting it. The prince chained the princess to her bed. The prince knew that what he was doing was unpleasant but no matter how confined her physical form may be , nothing could stop their love for one another.
Every morning and every night, the prince would enter the princess's room and expresses his love towards her. This continued for what seemed like ages until a miracle happened.
The princess was with a child. This was wonderful news. Just like the way a dragon creates a demon, a knight, being an instrument of God's will, produces only angels.
Now, I've told you this story every night for the past year-and-a-half, my love. and I know the dragon’s magic still courses through your veins but I want to know what kind of ceremony you would like for our wedding. As you know, your marriage to the dragon was over as soon as I crushed his skull with my axe, so there's nothing keeping you from being my bride forever, now is there?
| |
[WP] After you die and get to heaven you see a small paper sign on the pearly white gates. It reads "Please use other door." There are no other doors in sight. | I blinked a few times. Dying was disorienting. I was glad to see light and feel a warm breeze. It didn't seem like hell. I even saw telltale pearl doors in the distance. Of course, all this could just be chemicals running through my brain as everything finally shut down, but that attitude didn't get you anywhere. I started at a jog and realized there was none of that exhaustion or pain there'd been at the end. I smiled and broke into a sprint that made me happier than I'd been in years.
The feeling gave way to anxiety as I approached the gate. There was a small piece of white paper that I'd usually have to squint to read but, even from a hundred feet away, it was pretty clear to my new eyes. Please use other door. That got me for a minute, I slowed my pace again and looked all around. The cloudy swirls and sunlight didn't have anything else apart from the gates and a long, golden wall. I frowned at the whole thing.
Climbing the wall was a terrible idea and I let it die. But I didn't want to run around until I found another door, that could end well but I could also fall through the clouds and end up in hell or something dumb like that. I wasn't going to pass up a chance at heaven due to faulty door maintenance. I'd been a super for an enormous building for years. I took a look at the door, simple hinge issue. It would have been easier with tools. As I thought it all the tools and parts I needed appeared next to me. I patched up the door without opening it. Once I was finished I knocked.
"Thanks for that," The voice came from behind me. And I swung around, "We've been trying to find someone to fix that for years, but no one inside was very handy. Or just couldn't be bothered." The woman speaking was a bored looking, but extremely attractive woman behind a podium.
"Name, please?"
"Gerald A Olson."
"You're set for a few years in purgatory," She glanced at me over her glass-less spectacles, "but you did me a favor so head right in."
"Thank you!" I said, opening the door with a light push, "If I see you in there we can celebrate over drinks," I called back. I was really glad I'd used Gerald's name instead of mine. No doubt he'd be along shortly, and not too pleased his killer had bluffed into heaven using his name. I chuckled as I walked towards a pleasant eternity. | Ted looks around for a moment for this other door. He looks around the free-standing Pearly Gates to see if maybe this other door is on the other side. Nope. He then pulls on a bit of cloud. like someone lifting up a rug or table cloth. Nothing.
"Well damn," Ted announces. "I knew this religion thing was bunch of bologna." He then looks around to see if anyone else is there. Again, nothing but clouds and emptiness.
Ted whistles for a bit before he starts bouncing up and down a bit, almost like he was testing a new mattress. "Yep. Looks like this is it." The man then pulls out his phone, turns the screen on, and checks to see if there is good enough reception to start watching the rest of his NetFlix queue. | |
[WP] After you die and get to heaven you see a small paper sign on the pearly white gates. It reads "Please use other door." There are no other doors in sight. | "Oh, I get it," Frank sneered. "It's *Hell.* Great." He muttered under his breath. "Knew I shouldn't have skipped church last sunday." But then, how could he have known he'd be having a heart attack before he had any chance to repent?
Come to think of it, how did he *know* he'd had a heart attack? He had been sleeping... hadn't he?
"Look, I'm not going to give in to this psychological torment game, alright? Just bring out the hot irons already. Let's do things the old-fashioned way."
That was the way he liked things. Old-fashioned Frank. Old-fashioned eggs and sausages for breakfast. Old-fashioned heart attack.
"Should've listened to doctor Woods, *that's* what I should've done," Frank muttered. "To science and reason." He raised his voice. "None of this *bullshit!*"
"You're not in Hell."
Frank turned so quickly that by all accounts he should've broken his neck, but then, how would that have turned out, eh? Pretty sure you couldn't die in...
"Then what is this place?" He glared at the small, bearded... elf thing that had walked up to him.
"A warning," the elf thing said pleasantly. "You're just dreaming."
Frank pinched his arm, hard.
"That won't work," the obnoxious little man grinned. "Follow me."
Frank decided he might as well, but muttered curses under his breath as he did. "Stupid elf thing...not even an angel..."
"Dwarf, actually," the thing said.
"It's my dream, and I say you're an elf thing," Frank grumbled, rubbing his painful arm. "Dwarf, dwarf... must've picked that up from the boy's stupid Dungeon and Drag-on games."
"We're here." The little man said, giving Frank a look of solemn disapproval. "The door to your... Conscience."
"Give me a break." Frank rolled his eyes.
"Fine," the elf thing said, pushing him through the door. "Don't say I didn't try to ease this on you."
Frank would have screamed as he tumbled in the abyss of his own subconscious mind, but screaming was for girls, so he loudly cursed the elf-thing instead.
---
To be continued in Part 2 | My eyes shot open, and I staggered forwards.
I was… dead? Muddled thoughts and flashes of the crash churned in my head. I checked my hands; tentatively felt my chest, arms, and legs. There was nothing broken.
I *felt* fine. Felt fantastic, in fact.
I took a look around me. Blankness like miles of white canvas stretched out in all directions.
“Hello?” I called. The sound was muffled, swallowed up by the endless expanse. Silence.
I winced, as the panicked face of the driver in the other car flashed before my eyes. “Sorry, random guy ,” I muttered. He was alive at the very least. I stopped that train of thought, and took a wide, panning view of my surroundings.
&nbsp;
*Time for some exploration.*
&nbsp;
I turned around, and saw *it*.
From what I could tell from my memories of religion class, I was right before the pearly gates.
The gates in front of me were massive— intricate tendrils of white metal towering above my head. It extended infinitely to my right and left, vanishing in a shroud of white. Pasted eye level to the gate was a piece of paper, with a hastily scrawled message reading, “Please use the other door.”
I squinted my eyes to read it again. Rubbed them. Looked at them, once more.
“Seriously?” I said, throwing up my hands. “Seriously?” My shout of frustration was swallowed by the whiteness. With nothing left to do, I walked alongside the gate, looking for another opening.
Hours passed. It could be minutes, or it could’ve been eternity. I didn’t think time existed here. The walk was infuriatingly boring - the blankness leaching every memory of colour from my mind. I longed for color, the deep red of a rose. Anything.
&nbsp;
“Screw this,” I said. The bars were cool under my hands. I placed my feet on the ornate tendrils of metal and began to climb.
&nbsp;
I didn't like how this turned out, but here you go! I'd love any critique or comments. | |
[WP] After you die and get to heaven you see a small paper sign on the pearly white gates. It reads "Please use other door." There are no other doors in sight. | Andrew Nosely was a serious man. He did things in a promptly, tidy way and always followed the rules.
He had a routine that he followed precisely everyday. At 5:00 am he would wake up. There was no need for an alarm clock, such a chaotically noisy thing would ruin his morning!
First Andrew would get dressed. Left sock, right sock, trousers (left leg first of course), shirt, tie and finally jacket. Always in the same order. Then he would have breakfast, two slices of toast with exactly one tea spoons worth of butter per piece. The toast of course would be the very same shade of brown as the last set.
After that it was time to head to work. Andrew would leave at 6:00 AM on the dot to be in work for 7:00, as was stated in his contract. He was never late, yet he was never early either. Even though at the time of the morning that Andrew walked to work the roads would be mostly empty, he would still make sure to stop at all the lights and wait till the green man appeared. Crossing the road before that was against the rules, the thought of it never even occurred to him.
What also never occurred to Andrew was that not everyone else was quite as ardent at or capable of following all the rules as himself. He didn’t ever look for traffic as he crossed, so it came as quite a shock for him when a truck that was running a red light slammed into his side. That really quite ruined his day.
Everything went dark and he found himself in a black void. A less organised man might have been inconsolable by such events, but Andrew had already set everything up for after his death so wasn’t really that worried about his predicament. Instead he was quite eager to set up some sort of new routine in the afterlife, after learning all the new rules of course.
Gradually the darkness parted, and a piercing whiteness came to replace it. A pure, source less light illuminated everything perfectly, removing all shadows and bathing everything in a glorious healthy glow. And there before him a gargantuan gate of glorious gold and enormous pearls towered above Andrew, stretching into the non-existent skyline. On either side of the gate a large wall stretched infinitesimally in either direction. The wall looked soft to touch and had countless chaotic swirling patterns dancing along the surface.
However upon the gate hung a note, and on that note it was written ‘please use the other door’. A cursory glance in either direction would plainly show that wall had no other entrances attached. It continued on into the distance forever without a single break. Even the simplest of minds would soon come to the horrifying conclusion that there was no other door. There was no way into heaven.
Well not for Andrew at least. After all the gate was perfectly scalable, if you looked closely you could even see an old man sleeping in his chair with a sign reading ‘Gate back open’ leaning against him. However for Andrew there was no way he could just break the rules. That was thought was far more terrifying than anything else. He just had to wait.
As he settled down to wait the swirling patterns on the walls really started to get on his nerves. They were ruining the gates perfect symmetry! Rising from his cosy seat Andrew strode towards the wall and attempted to rub the patterns off. He didn’t hold much hope, after all these were heavenly walls, however to his pleasant surprise the surface was rather malleable. Within barely a few minutes he’d completely smoothed over the swirl!
However his jubilation over this achievement didn’t last long, after all there was still more wall to smooth out. Rolling up his metaphysical sleeves, Andrew set himself to task.
He never did make it into heaven, but he was quite content with the good work that he was doing making the heavens a slightly neater place. | My eyes shot open, and I staggered forwards.
I was… dead? Muddled thoughts and flashes of the crash churned in my head. I checked my hands; tentatively felt my chest, arms, and legs. There was nothing broken.
I *felt* fine. Felt fantastic, in fact.
I took a look around me. Blankness like miles of white canvas stretched out in all directions.
“Hello?” I called. The sound was muffled, swallowed up by the endless expanse. Silence.
I winced, as the panicked face of the driver in the other car flashed before my eyes. “Sorry, random guy ,” I muttered. He was alive at the very least. I stopped that train of thought, and took a wide, panning view of my surroundings.
&nbsp;
*Time for some exploration.*
&nbsp;
I turned around, and saw *it*.
From what I could tell from my memories of religion class, I was right before the pearly gates.
The gates in front of me were massive— intricate tendrils of white metal towering above my head. It extended infinitely to my right and left, vanishing in a shroud of white. Pasted eye level to the gate was a piece of paper, with a hastily scrawled message reading, “Please use the other door.”
I squinted my eyes to read it again. Rubbed them. Looked at them, once more.
“Seriously?” I said, throwing up my hands. “Seriously?” My shout of frustration was swallowed by the whiteness. With nothing left to do, I walked alongside the gate, looking for another opening.
Hours passed. It could be minutes, or it could’ve been eternity. I didn’t think time existed here. The walk was infuriatingly boring - the blankness leaching every memory of colour from my mind. I longed for color, the deep red of a rose. Anything.
&nbsp;
“Screw this,” I said. The bars were cool under my hands. I placed my feet on the ornate tendrils of metal and began to climb.
&nbsp;
I didn't like how this turned out, but here you go! I'd love any critique or comments. | |
[WP] After you die and get to heaven you see a small paper sign on the pearly white gates. It reads "Please use other door." There are no other doors in sight. | John had worked his whole life to get into heaven. He did all the right things, just like what the bible told him. He did not lust after worldly pleasures. He made sure to pray the first thing in the morning, thanking God for all the blessings bestowed upon him. Ten percent of his earnings are automatically transferred to the church each month and he donated generously.
When he breathed his last, and felt his soul slowly rose to heaven, the sight of the city replaced by bright white clouds and finally the pearly white gates that rose so high above them that he had to crane his neck to see the top, he told himself that it was worth it. All the blood, sweat and tears to keep himself pure. For the sake of salvation. Eighty years worth of investment.
There was no one else around him as he walked up to the gates, admiring the sheer beauty of the gate itself. The gold sparkled under the sunlight, basking him in a comfortable warmth that reminded him of his childhood home. A desk was perched in front of the gates, as tall as a redwood tree. He expected Saint Peter to be seated behind the desk, but like his surrounding, it too was empty.
"Hello? Anybody here? I'm here to enter heaven!" John called out, his voice floating across the clouds. No one answered him. Perhaps things are done a little slower in heaven, he thought to himself, as he stood in front of the desk, waiting. An eternity seemed to pass, and still no one. No new arrivals, no angels sent to greet him. John began to feel annoyed.
"Hello! Anyone?" John called out a little louder. He felt the blood rush to his face. A lifetime of doing good and that was the best service he could get in heaven?
He crossed his arms as he stomped to the front of the gates itself, his face fixed into an angry scowl. The kind that you do when someone cancels on you. He wanted to push the gates open himself, but a note stuck to one of the gleaming grills caught his eye. Four words were scrawled messily on it, like the writings of a six year old. "Please use other door."
John felt his face get a little hotter as he took down the paper. "Where is this other stupid door?" he growled, eager to get the entire process of checking in over and done with.
He peered to his right, and then to his left. Other than the gate and the desk, there were no other structures in sight as far as his eyes could see. If he wanted, he could walk to the other side of the gate. He suddenly realized that he was alone on an empty field of clouds, with only a gate and a desk to accompany him. What kind of joke was God playing on him?
"Very funny now, God," he said, emphasizing the word God by purposely dragging his pronunciation in a louder tone. "I didn't come here to be pranked. You got me! I give up! Can you let me in now?"
Still, silence. John rolled his eyes.
"Look, I don't know what's happening here, but I didn't spend the rest of my life being a good guy only to be denied of what's mine in death!" John flung the piece paper unto the floor.
Nothing. John could feel anger rising inside him. Was everything he had done for naught? He screamed as he punched the desk, the impact reverberating across the empty space. "What the fuck is this!"
There was a loud clap almost immediately after accompanied by a flash of light. A figure now loomed above John, seated on the desk. His tired eyes stared at John.
John pounded the desk. "Finally! Now can you let me in?"
The man on the desk, his face mostly covered in his generous white hair and beard, softly shook his head. "I am afraid not, John."
The relief that John felt dissipated almost immediately,replaced once again by anger. "What? What do you mean? I have been a good man for the entire of my life! Even followed all your stupid rules."
"Ah, but John, you see, just merely following the rules doesn't get you the salvation. Your intention matters too. Besides, you didn't even manage to get our simple first test right." The old man waved his arm, and a screen rose from beneath the cloud. On the screen, the recordings of John shouting and flinging the paper to the floor played out clearly.
"Wait I can explain," John interjected, the old man just smiled.
"I'm sorry John, but I'm afraid that you've failed to gain entrance to either heaven or hell again. You'll need to try once more," he snapped a finger and then disappeared.
John wanted to ask what the old man meant by 'again' and 'once more' but even before he could open his mouth, John suddenly found himself plummeting back to earth, his screams barely heard above the rushing wind. After a while his vision would fade to blackness, along with all his memories as he was reborn again. It would be his 46th attempt to get salvation right.
----------
/r/dori_tales | My eyes shot open, and I staggered forwards.
I was… dead? Muddled thoughts and flashes of the crash churned in my head. I checked my hands; tentatively felt my chest, arms, and legs. There was nothing broken.
I *felt* fine. Felt fantastic, in fact.
I took a look around me. Blankness like miles of white canvas stretched out in all directions.
“Hello?” I called. The sound was muffled, swallowed up by the endless expanse. Silence.
I winced, as the panicked face of the driver in the other car flashed before my eyes. “Sorry, random guy ,” I muttered. He was alive at the very least. I stopped that train of thought, and took a wide, panning view of my surroundings.
&nbsp;
*Time for some exploration.*
&nbsp;
I turned around, and saw *it*.
From what I could tell from my memories of religion class, I was right before the pearly gates.
The gates in front of me were massive— intricate tendrils of white metal towering above my head. It extended infinitely to my right and left, vanishing in a shroud of white. Pasted eye level to the gate was a piece of paper, with a hastily scrawled message reading, “Please use the other door.”
I squinted my eyes to read it again. Rubbed them. Looked at them, once more.
“Seriously?” I said, throwing up my hands. “Seriously?” My shout of frustration was swallowed by the whiteness. With nothing left to do, I walked alongside the gate, looking for another opening.
Hours passed. It could be minutes, or it could’ve been eternity. I didn’t think time existed here. The walk was infuriatingly boring - the blankness leaching every memory of colour from my mind. I longed for color, the deep red of a rose. Anything.
&nbsp;
“Screw this,” I said. The bars were cool under my hands. I placed my feet on the ornate tendrils of metal and began to climb.
&nbsp;
I didn't like how this turned out, but here you go! I'd love any critique or comments. | |
[WP] After you die and get to heaven you see a small paper sign on the pearly white gates. It reads "Please use other door." There are no other doors in sight. | There was already a large queue of people waiting outside the gates, which were locked shut with a chunky golden chain.
I gave the gate a rattle. There was no answer.
"It's no use," said one of the others. "They're closed."
"Closed?" I said. "How can heaven be closed? It's eternal."
He shrugged, and went back to chewing on a blade of imaginary grass and staring into the void.
A small sign caught my eye.
*Please use other door.*
I looked around, but there was no other door. Just a large pair of pearly gates rearing up out of the nothingness.
I poked the soul who had spoken to me earlier. "Where's the other door?"
He shrugged again. "Damned if I know. I've looked for it. We all have. But there doesn't seem to be another way in."
"Well, how long have you been waiting?"
He pulled a face. "Hard to say, mate. Time doesn't pass here. We just... exist."
I rattled the pearly gates again. I yelled. I stomped my foot. I cried. I took the Lord's name in vain.
None of it had any effect.
"I was supposed to go to heaven," I said. "They told me I would!"
But the other soul had floated off into the void, just lying there and waiting.
There was a small pop, and a little... thing appeared. It wasn't human. Humans don't have horns and red eyes. But it did have a impeccably fitting suit and slicked back hair and a perfect row of gnashers that sparkled whiter than the pearly gates themselves.
"Hi," it said. It looked down at the clipboard. "Bob Evans? Sorry I'm late. Had to catch up on a few emails."
"You're not an angel," I said.
"Goodness gracious, no," it said. "I'm Kreffing. Tormenter of the 63rd Sub-Level of Hell, among other things. I'm here with a fabulous offer."
My eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Really," the thing called Kreffing reassured me. "It truly is once in a lifetime. People die for this kind of deal."
He smiled. His teeth gleamed. Trust me, they said, nobody with teeth this white would lie to you.
"You're lying to me," I said. "You look like a second hand car salesman."
Kreffing sniffed and drew himself up to his full diminutive height. "I'll have you know I've taken seminars," he said. "One of them was taught by Napoleon Hill!"
I rolled my eyes.
Kreffing must have sensed he was getting off to a rocky start. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I've come to offer you a place in Hell. Your own luxury torment. A private demon to see to your every nightmare. We even have free Pizza Wednesdays. It really is a fabulous deal."
"Pizza Wednesdays?"
"Yes. We waft in the smell of pizza until you are insatiably ravenous."
"Thanks," I said. "But I think I'll wait for the Pearly Gates to reopen."
Kreffing sighed. "Your funeral," he said. "Don't say we didn't make you an offer."
"What do you mean?"
The demon was muttering to himself. "Oh yes, they always come running back after a few centuries. 'We're bored, Kreffing,' they say. But like I told you, it's a one time offer."
He was floating off into the void. "Hey," I said. "Do you know where the other door is?"
He looked at me with exasperation. "Idiot," he muttered. "*This* was the 'other door'."
"What do you mean," I cried. "Where am I?"
Kreffing smiled nastily. His teeth were no longer white, but stained and pointed. "You fool," he said softly. "You're stuck between heaven and hell. Where do you think you are?"
He popped out of existence, leaving behind only a cackle that drifted off into the nothingness that surrounded me.
Suddenly I knew where I was. I was in Purgatory.
---
*Read [more about Kreffing](https://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/comments/5zxq9c/hollowed_ground/) at* /r/jd_rallage | My eyes shot open, and I staggered forwards.
I was… dead? Muddled thoughts and flashes of the crash churned in my head. I checked my hands; tentatively felt my chest, arms, and legs. There was nothing broken.
I *felt* fine. Felt fantastic, in fact.
I took a look around me. Blankness like miles of white canvas stretched out in all directions.
“Hello?” I called. The sound was muffled, swallowed up by the endless expanse. Silence.
I winced, as the panicked face of the driver in the other car flashed before my eyes. “Sorry, random guy ,” I muttered. He was alive at the very least. I stopped that train of thought, and took a wide, panning view of my surroundings.
&nbsp;
*Time for some exploration.*
&nbsp;
I turned around, and saw *it*.
From what I could tell from my memories of religion class, I was right before the pearly gates.
The gates in front of me were massive— intricate tendrils of white metal towering above my head. It extended infinitely to my right and left, vanishing in a shroud of white. Pasted eye level to the gate was a piece of paper, with a hastily scrawled message reading, “Please use the other door.”
I squinted my eyes to read it again. Rubbed them. Looked at them, once more.
“Seriously?” I said, throwing up my hands. “Seriously?” My shout of frustration was swallowed by the whiteness. With nothing left to do, I walked alongside the gate, looking for another opening.
Hours passed. It could be minutes, or it could’ve been eternity. I didn’t think time existed here. The walk was infuriatingly boring - the blankness leaching every memory of colour from my mind. I longed for color, the deep red of a rose. Anything.
&nbsp;
“Screw this,” I said. The bars were cool under my hands. I placed my feet on the ornate tendrils of metal and began to climb.
&nbsp;
I didn't like how this turned out, but here you go! I'd love any critique or comments. | |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | "Ma'am, I think you should come look at this." The crinkled old hag that sat at the console pointed with a green, bony finger to the screen.
"What am I looking at?" asked the green figure.
"Humans. Drinking. Water."
There was a silent pause as the entire room froze, the quiet squeaking of one fool with her headphones on, bouncing up and down in her chair, free from the terrible truth.
"Well, water is necessary for their survival. How terrible can that be to ingest trace amounts?" asked the green figure.
"It gets worse. There are things that exist in the water."
"Things that live in the water? That can immerse themselves in such dreadfulness?"
"They can live out their entire lives in the water. The humans call them fish."
"How is it possible such things can exist? Should not the fish instantly shrink and disappear?"
"I do not know, but us witches better stay clear of them." | Faith by its very nature is absurd. Not in a way that implies it’s something not worth pursuing, but that by requisite it forces you to accept something you cannot see. To leap whole heartedly into something that you cannot definitively prove. And this is where it becomes something uniquely suited to the human condition. An unwavering consequence of understanding rationality. A longstanding search for meaning in a world where none exists.
And it can be beautiful, a more unifying force than the creation of the first polis. A method of collectivizing human wellbeing. But to truly accept something that cannot be seen requires a certain amount of vulnerability that’s hard to freely give out. To understand that existence is more broad than simply what amounts to the self. And within that realization submitting yourself to something larger. A resolute confidence that things will get better.
But faith isn’t a solely human creation; not simply a lingering vestige of Earth. It is a universal concept throughout the universe. A necessary component of progress. The requirement for a truly utilitarian society. And while humanity lamented in the turmoil of war, famine, and disease, facing forward with optimistic certainty, a small planet thousands of light years away was drowning in a cloud of water vapor.
The remnants of some sardonic god, placing a society into a world where it was specifically unfit to truly thrive. Swarming clouds of water vapor meandering in a variable manner throughout the land, poisonous clouds, a never-ending plague on their kind. And they prayed to some intangible force, an unwavering faith that their plight would get better. And they pushed forward with a determination that their problems would be solved. Completely unaware that their solution was a society thousands of light years away, a society completely unaware of their unique ability to help.
An unknowable advantage, completely useless to our own difficulties. Our society capable of withstanding the poisonous clouds besieging this alien planet. To forge ahead and find a mutually beneficial solution. The prayers of their huddled masses missing their intended target. Not god above, but a planet completely unaware that they were the solution. And for centuries they fought the increasingly perilous clouds. Built tenuous barriers to protect their kind.
And on Earth we continued to pray on our own plights. To God; to anyone listening. A faith that the world wasn’t all there was, that somewhere out in the vast confines of space an eye was watching, waiting. But in fact, we as well were praying to something tangible, a far-off planet with answers to our own questions, but whose eye was peering completely inward. At their own struggles. So we waited, and progressed, finding answers in other ways.
Taking a leap across an endless chasm, frozen at the apex of the jump. Too late to turn around, and completely unknowing if we’ll reach the other ledge. The only reasonable choice in a world so uncaring about mankind’s existence.
| |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | The phone rang. Tim picked it up and swiped right to answer.
"Hello"
"Hello, Tim."
The voice was familiar but Tim had never spoken with his man before.
"Hello, Mr. President." He responded, doing his best to hide his excitement.
"I have the information your team requested and I'm willing to grant it to you. They basically figured it out themselves and this will confirm. But please, keep this underground. It would be a crisis if the world found out. We have to ease them in." The President said, in his signature cool but professorial tone.
"Of course sir"
The spoke for a while and all of Tim and his people's hunches were confirmed.
After the conversation, Tim needed to move fast. He went straight to his right hand man, Jony.
"Jony!" He exclaimed in the doorway, panting from sprinting over. "We were right. Everything is right."
He closed the door and locked it. He gave Jony the same warnings the President gave him and then told him everything.
"My god..." Jony sighed. "So we really are the most powerful species in the universe? Water is rare and dangerous and we really are impervious..."
He trailed off. He suspected all this for a while as their research was beginning to show, but confirmation from the president was unexpected.
"Remember, we have to ease the world in." Tim reminded him, reiterating the President's will.
"You're right." Said Jony. "Here is my first proposal to get the general public used to this new universe:"
He pulled out a Manila envelope from his bag. Inside the envelope was his MacBook Air. Jony removed it and it booted in seconds. He uses Finder and pulls up an image of the most dangerous weapon in the Galaxy; a squirt gun.
"It's a concept I made." Jony said.
"I love it" said Tim. "It's perfect. I like the green. Release it now, Mr. Ive."
"Of course Mr. Cook."
So Jony Ive and Tim Cook went over to the firmware department and released an update that replaced the gun emoji with a squirt gun. | Faith by its very nature is absurd. Not in a way that implies it’s something not worth pursuing, but that by requisite it forces you to accept something you cannot see. To leap whole heartedly into something that you cannot definitively prove. And this is where it becomes something uniquely suited to the human condition. An unwavering consequence of understanding rationality. A longstanding search for meaning in a world where none exists.
And it can be beautiful, a more unifying force than the creation of the first polis. A method of collectivizing human wellbeing. But to truly accept something that cannot be seen requires a certain amount of vulnerability that’s hard to freely give out. To understand that existence is more broad than simply what amounts to the self. And within that realization submitting yourself to something larger. A resolute confidence that things will get better.
But faith isn’t a solely human creation; not simply a lingering vestige of Earth. It is a universal concept throughout the universe. A necessary component of progress. The requirement for a truly utilitarian society. And while humanity lamented in the turmoil of war, famine, and disease, facing forward with optimistic certainty, a small planet thousands of light years away was drowning in a cloud of water vapor.
The remnants of some sardonic god, placing a society into a world where it was specifically unfit to truly thrive. Swarming clouds of water vapor meandering in a variable manner throughout the land, poisonous clouds, a never-ending plague on their kind. And they prayed to some intangible force, an unwavering faith that their plight would get better. And they pushed forward with a determination that their problems would be solved. Completely unaware that their solution was a society thousands of light years away, a society completely unaware of their unique ability to help.
An unknowable advantage, completely useless to our own difficulties. Our society capable of withstanding the poisonous clouds besieging this alien planet. To forge ahead and find a mutually beneficial solution. The prayers of their huddled masses missing their intended target. Not god above, but a planet completely unaware that they were the solution. And for centuries they fought the increasingly perilous clouds. Built tenuous barriers to protect their kind.
And on Earth we continued to pray on our own plights. To God; to anyone listening. A faith that the world wasn’t all there was, that somewhere out in the vast confines of space an eye was watching, waiting. But in fact, we as well were praying to something tangible, a far-off planet with answers to our own questions, but whose eye was peering completely inward. At their own struggles. So we waited, and progressed, finding answers in other ways.
Taking a leap across an endless chasm, frozen at the apex of the jump. Too late to turn around, and completely unknowing if we’ll reach the other ledge. The only reasonable choice in a world so uncaring about mankind’s existence.
| |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | The light fades in to reveal an important looking meeting room, a large circular table placed in the middle, with ten different looking creatures seated around it. In the middle of the table, an image of a blue and green planet is being projected for all the attendees to see.
Chatter fills the room, the different creatures all talking to their neighbours of the planet. Sol-3, as how it has been known for the past century. A grey humanoid stands up, its round black eyes eyeing each of the present creatures. Delegates of the Galactic Council. It clears its throat and silence falls in the room.
"Gentlemen, with all due respect, I think we can no longer ignore Sol-3's attempt in reaching out to the rest of the galaxy," the grey creature begins. It clicks on a device, and the projection of the planet changes to the shape of a rocket. The letters Space-X, painted in large red letters along the side of the booster, can be clearly seen.
The grey alien frowns at the sight of the Falcon-20. It continues to address the council. "Just last week, the humans, led by their beloved President Musk, have successfully launched their first ship towards Mars. It's only a matter of time before they discover our little trick."
A collective gasp fills the room, which is quickly followed by nervous discussions among the delegates. The grey alien clears its throat again, raising its bony arm to calm the room. The discussions die down, as the nine delegates look at the grey alien, the smartest species of them all.
A delegate, its scaly skin glowing red, rises from the table. "Ambassador Roselta, what are your recommendation to the Council then?"
For thousand of years, the Council have tried to convince the inhabitants of Sol-3 that life does not exist anywhere else in the universe. They sent science teams to distort the readings of the satellites of the homo sapiens, giving them false data. When the homo sapiens sent probes to Sol-4, almost stumbling unto the Sol Outpost, the Council tinkered with them too. All in the hopes of convincing the Earthlings to stay on their planet.
For the sole reason that H20, found in abundance on Sol-3, is actually the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. But the Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. Their bodies consist almost entirely of it. Letting the humans know of this advantage would effectively hand over power of the galaxy to the humans. And the humans were not known to be entirely peace-loving.
Therefore the Council elected to enact Project Ignorance to neuter the threat. The plan requires least intervention and avoided any risk of contact with water. It worked for the longest time, keeping the humans' interest focused solely on their own planet. In recent years, however, the Council's efforts seemed to be losing its effectiveness.
Roselta sighs, reading the thoughts on all the delegates minds. He clicks on the device again, and the face of a human flashes in front of the table, slowly rotating in 360 degrees to allow all the delegates to have a good look at him.
"Council members, this is President Musk, the individual who is solely responsible for humanity's recent push into space. After much deliberation, the policy team would like to propose a method that we have used the previous time we intervened."
"And what would that method be?" the creature next to Roselta asks.
Roselta clicks again, and another face pops up in the middle. "Council members, allow me to brief you on Operation Oswald 2."
-----------
/r/dori_tales | Faith by its very nature is absurd. Not in a way that implies it’s something not worth pursuing, but that by requisite it forces you to accept something you cannot see. To leap whole heartedly into something that you cannot definitively prove. And this is where it becomes something uniquely suited to the human condition. An unwavering consequence of understanding rationality. A longstanding search for meaning in a world where none exists.
And it can be beautiful, a more unifying force than the creation of the first polis. A method of collectivizing human wellbeing. But to truly accept something that cannot be seen requires a certain amount of vulnerability that’s hard to freely give out. To understand that existence is more broad than simply what amounts to the self. And within that realization submitting yourself to something larger. A resolute confidence that things will get better.
But faith isn’t a solely human creation; not simply a lingering vestige of Earth. It is a universal concept throughout the universe. A necessary component of progress. The requirement for a truly utilitarian society. And while humanity lamented in the turmoil of war, famine, and disease, facing forward with optimistic certainty, a small planet thousands of light years away was drowning in a cloud of water vapor.
The remnants of some sardonic god, placing a society into a world where it was specifically unfit to truly thrive. Swarming clouds of water vapor meandering in a variable manner throughout the land, poisonous clouds, a never-ending plague on their kind. And they prayed to some intangible force, an unwavering faith that their plight would get better. And they pushed forward with a determination that their problems would be solved. Completely unaware that their solution was a society thousands of light years away, a society completely unaware of their unique ability to help.
An unknowable advantage, completely useless to our own difficulties. Our society capable of withstanding the poisonous clouds besieging this alien planet. To forge ahead and find a mutually beneficial solution. The prayers of their huddled masses missing their intended target. Not god above, but a planet completely unaware that they were the solution. And for centuries they fought the increasingly perilous clouds. Built tenuous barriers to protect their kind.
And on Earth we continued to pray on our own plights. To God; to anyone listening. A faith that the world wasn’t all there was, that somewhere out in the vast confines of space an eye was watching, waiting. But in fact, we as well were praying to something tangible, a far-off planet with answers to our own questions, but whose eye was peering completely inward. At their own struggles. So we waited, and progressed, finding answers in other ways.
Taking a leap across an endless chasm, frozen at the apex of the jump. Too late to turn around, and completely unknowing if we’ll reach the other ledge. The only reasonable choice in a world so uncaring about mankind’s existence.
| |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | "Thglwmp it is time for your powered down cycle."
Thglwmp writhed in its caretaker's grip. "Whyyyy?" Thglwmp asked plaintively.
"It is that moment in the cycle," said its caretaker.
"Tell me one more story, Caretaker Pthkw. Tell me the one about the Earthlings."
Pthkw buzzed impatiently. Well, at least it worked with the tiny prism of joy it was tasked with controlling. It could afford to extend the cycle a few moments. Laying Thglwmp into its chamber, Pthkw reached far back into its memory crystals.
"Well, this was a long time ago, long before you were initiated, when I was on a scouting mission for the Detection Agency. One cycle, we had ported into a system in one of the outer galactic belts."
"It had been a long couple of ports, so we were all ready for a rest cycle when the third planet came up on our sensors. 'MOSTLY DIHYDROGEN MONOXIDE' they said."
Thglwmp thrummed theatrically. "Mostly dihydrogen monoxide??" it asked.
"Yes, a planet that positively glowed with short wavelength light. More than half its surface was covered in vast continents of dihydrogen monoxide. We had to stop to examine it further. We were shocked to find that not only was this planet mostly dihydrogen monoxide, but we detected signs of intelligent life."
"Gross," said Thglwmp expectantly.
"Oh yes. And worse, these beings were mostly dihydrogen monoxide themselves. Tiny little meatbags that actually needed dihydrogen monoxide to achieve higher sentience - their bodies were filled with fluids and oozing flesh."
"Yuuuuuuuuuck," Thglwmp squealed, vibrating in its chamber.
"Every day they would bathe in dihydrogen monoxide and laugh at the tissue damage it caused the outer layer of their meatsacks. They would ingest dihydrogen monoxide, even though too much could shut down their miniscule little meat batteries, and then expel dihydrogen monoxide from their orifices."
Thglwmp vibrated again and Pthkw bathed the chamber in a loving low wavelength spectrum light.
"We were fascinated by these nasty little creatures who had entire cultural productions about enduring dihydrogen monoxide falling from the sky or exploring the depths of it. It pervaded their entire filthy world and we spent several cycles there just observing them."
"Of course, they could barely leave the gravitational force of their own nightmare planet, for which we should always be grateful. We left a beacon there to keep track of their progress, but a few cycles after we had departed, it stopped transmitting."
"So maybe they found it, little one. Maybe there are sentient meatbags of mostly dihydrogen monoxide wandering the great gaps between the stars, searching for us, eager to rust our bodies and dilute our crystals. Ugly lumpy creatures oozing with dihydrogen monozide from every fleshy pore."
"Maybe... THEY'RE ALREADY HERE!" Pthkw wriggled the pseudo meat cushion it had grabbed from beneath the chamber.
"Ahhhhh," screamed Thglwmp, which quickly turned to laughter. "Meatbags, noooo!"
Laughing a bit itself, Pthkw lay the meat cushion underneath the chamber and buzzed tenderly at Thglwmp.
"Alright, that's enough for tonight. Maybe if you enter your powered down cycle right now, I will tell you the story of my time on the meatbag world."
"Oooo," squirmed Thglwmp, and shut down as Pthkw commanded the chamber to power down. Turning away, Pthkw returned the memories to its backup crystals where they belonged. No one wanted to think about sentient meat sacks wandering space for too long, especially when they had a whole other cycle to endure alone. | Faith by its very nature is absurd. Not in a way that implies it’s something not worth pursuing, but that by requisite it forces you to accept something you cannot see. To leap whole heartedly into something that you cannot definitively prove. And this is where it becomes something uniquely suited to the human condition. An unwavering consequence of understanding rationality. A longstanding search for meaning in a world where none exists.
And it can be beautiful, a more unifying force than the creation of the first polis. A method of collectivizing human wellbeing. But to truly accept something that cannot be seen requires a certain amount of vulnerability that’s hard to freely give out. To understand that existence is more broad than simply what amounts to the self. And within that realization submitting yourself to something larger. A resolute confidence that things will get better.
But faith isn’t a solely human creation; not simply a lingering vestige of Earth. It is a universal concept throughout the universe. A necessary component of progress. The requirement for a truly utilitarian society. And while humanity lamented in the turmoil of war, famine, and disease, facing forward with optimistic certainty, a small planet thousands of light years away was drowning in a cloud of water vapor.
The remnants of some sardonic god, placing a society into a world where it was specifically unfit to truly thrive. Swarming clouds of water vapor meandering in a variable manner throughout the land, poisonous clouds, a never-ending plague on their kind. And they prayed to some intangible force, an unwavering faith that their plight would get better. And they pushed forward with a determination that their problems would be solved. Completely unaware that their solution was a society thousands of light years away, a society completely unaware of their unique ability to help.
An unknowable advantage, completely useless to our own difficulties. Our society capable of withstanding the poisonous clouds besieging this alien planet. To forge ahead and find a mutually beneficial solution. The prayers of their huddled masses missing their intended target. Not god above, but a planet completely unaware that they were the solution. And for centuries they fought the increasingly perilous clouds. Built tenuous barriers to protect their kind.
And on Earth we continued to pray on our own plights. To God; to anyone listening. A faith that the world wasn’t all there was, that somewhere out in the vast confines of space an eye was watching, waiting. But in fact, we as well were praying to something tangible, a far-off planet with answers to our own questions, but whose eye was peering completely inward. At their own struggles. So we waited, and progressed, finding answers in other ways.
Taking a leap across an endless chasm, frozen at the apex of the jump. Too late to turn around, and completely unknowing if we’ll reach the other ledge. The only reasonable choice in a world so uncaring about mankind’s existence.
| |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | The phone rang. Tim picked it up and swiped right to answer.
"Hello"
"Hello, Tim."
The voice was familiar but Tim had never spoken with his man before.
"Hello, Mr. President." He responded, doing his best to hide his excitement.
"I have the information your team requested and I'm willing to grant it to you. They basically figured it out themselves and this will confirm. But please, keep this underground. It would be a crisis if the world found out. We have to ease them in." The President said, in his signature cool but professorial tone.
"Of course sir"
The spoke for a while and all of Tim and his people's hunches were confirmed.
After the conversation, Tim needed to move fast. He went straight to his right hand man, Jony.
"Jony!" He exclaimed in the doorway, panting from sprinting over. "We were right. Everything is right."
He closed the door and locked it. He gave Jony the same warnings the President gave him and then told him everything.
"My god..." Jony sighed. "So we really are the most powerful species in the universe? Water is rare and dangerous and we really are impervious..."
He trailed off. He suspected all this for a while as their research was beginning to show, but confirmation from the president was unexpected.
"Remember, we have to ease the world in." Tim reminded him, reiterating the President's will.
"You're right." Said Jony. "Here is my first proposal to get the general public used to this new universe:"
He pulled out a Manila envelope from his bag. Inside the envelope was his MacBook Air. Jony removed it and it booted in seconds. He uses Finder and pulls up an image of the most dangerous weapon in the Galaxy; a squirt gun.
"It's a concept I made." Jony said.
"I love it" said Tim. "It's perfect. I like the green. Release it now, Mr. Ive."
"Of course Mr. Cook."
So Jony Ive and Tim Cook went over to the firmware department and released an update that replaced the gun emoji with a squirt gun. | "Ma'am, I think you should come look at this." The crinkled old hag that sat at the console pointed with a green, bony finger to the screen.
"What am I looking at?" asked the green figure.
"Humans. Drinking. Water."
There was a silent pause as the entire room froze, the quiet squeaking of one fool with her headphones on, bouncing up and down in her chair, free from the terrible truth.
"Well, water is necessary for their survival. How terrible can that be to ingest trace amounts?" asked the green figure.
"It gets worse. There are things that exist in the water."
"Things that live in the water? That can immerse themselves in such dreadfulness?"
"They can live out their entire lives in the water. The humans call them fish."
"How is it possible such things can exist? Should not the fish instantly shrink and disappear?"
"I do not know, but us witches better stay clear of them." | |
[WP] Water is the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. | "Thglwmp it is time for your powered down cycle."
Thglwmp writhed in its caretaker's grip. "Whyyyy?" Thglwmp asked plaintively.
"It is that moment in the cycle," said its caretaker.
"Tell me one more story, Caretaker Pthkw. Tell me the one about the Earthlings."
Pthkw buzzed impatiently. Well, at least it worked with the tiny prism of joy it was tasked with controlling. It could afford to extend the cycle a few moments. Laying Thglwmp into its chamber, Pthkw reached far back into its memory crystals.
"Well, this was a long time ago, long before you were initiated, when I was on a scouting mission for the Detection Agency. One cycle, we had ported into a system in one of the outer galactic belts."
"It had been a long couple of ports, so we were all ready for a rest cycle when the third planet came up on our sensors. 'MOSTLY DIHYDROGEN MONOXIDE' they said."
Thglwmp thrummed theatrically. "Mostly dihydrogen monoxide??" it asked.
"Yes, a planet that positively glowed with short wavelength light. More than half its surface was covered in vast continents of dihydrogen monoxide. We had to stop to examine it further. We were shocked to find that not only was this planet mostly dihydrogen monoxide, but we detected signs of intelligent life."
"Gross," said Thglwmp expectantly.
"Oh yes. And worse, these beings were mostly dihydrogen monoxide themselves. Tiny little meatbags that actually needed dihydrogen monoxide to achieve higher sentience - their bodies were filled with fluids and oozing flesh."
"Yuuuuuuuuuck," Thglwmp squealed, vibrating in its chamber.
"Every day they would bathe in dihydrogen monoxide and laugh at the tissue damage it caused the outer layer of their meatsacks. They would ingest dihydrogen monoxide, even though too much could shut down their miniscule little meat batteries, and then expel dihydrogen monoxide from their orifices."
Thglwmp vibrated again and Pthkw bathed the chamber in a loving low wavelength spectrum light.
"We were fascinated by these nasty little creatures who had entire cultural productions about enduring dihydrogen monoxide falling from the sky or exploring the depths of it. It pervaded their entire filthy world and we spent several cycles there just observing them."
"Of course, they could barely leave the gravitational force of their own nightmare planet, for which we should always be grateful. We left a beacon there to keep track of their progress, but a few cycles after we had departed, it stopped transmitting."
"So maybe they found it, little one. Maybe there are sentient meatbags of mostly dihydrogen monoxide wandering the great gaps between the stars, searching for us, eager to rust our bodies and dilute our crystals. Ugly lumpy creatures oozing with dihydrogen monozide from every fleshy pore."
"Maybe... THEY'RE ALREADY HERE!" Pthkw wriggled the pseudo meat cushion it had grabbed from beneath the chamber.
"Ahhhhh," screamed Thglwmp, which quickly turned to laughter. "Meatbags, noooo!"
Laughing a bit itself, Pthkw lay the meat cushion underneath the chamber and buzzed tenderly at Thglwmp.
"Alright, that's enough for tonight. Maybe if you enter your powered down cycle right now, I will tell you the story of my time on the meatbag world."
"Oooo," squirmed Thglwmp, and shut down as Pthkw commanded the chamber to power down. Turning away, Pthkw returned the memories to its backup crystals where they belonged. No one wanted to think about sentient meat sacks wandering space for too long, especially when they had a whole other cycle to endure alone. | The light fades in to reveal an important looking meeting room, a large circular table placed in the middle, with ten different looking creatures seated around it. In the middle of the table, an image of a blue and green planet is being projected for all the attendees to see.
Chatter fills the room, the different creatures all talking to their neighbours of the planet. Sol-3, as how it has been known for the past century. A grey humanoid stands up, its round black eyes eyeing each of the present creatures. Delegates of the Galactic Council. It clears its throat and silence falls in the room.
"Gentlemen, with all due respect, I think we can no longer ignore Sol-3's attempt in reaching out to the rest of the galaxy," the grey creature begins. It clicks on a device, and the projection of the planet changes to the shape of a rocket. The letters Space-X, painted in large red letters along the side of the booster, can be clearly seen.
The grey alien frowns at the sight of the Falcon-20. It continues to address the council. "Just last week, the humans, led by their beloved President Musk, have successfully launched their first ship towards Mars. It's only a matter of time before they discover our little trick."
A collective gasp fills the room, which is quickly followed by nervous discussions among the delegates. The grey alien clears its throat again, raising its bony arm to calm the room. The discussions die down, as the nine delegates look at the grey alien, the smartest species of them all.
A delegate, its scaly skin glowing red, rises from the table. "Ambassador Roselta, what are your recommendation to the Council then?"
For thousand of years, the Council have tried to convince the inhabitants of Sol-3 that life does not exist anywhere else in the universe. They sent science teams to distort the readings of the satellites of the homo sapiens, giving them false data. When the homo sapiens sent probes to Sol-4, almost stumbling unto the Sol Outpost, the Council tinkered with them too. All in the hopes of convincing the Earthlings to stay on their planet.
For the sole reason that H20, found in abundance on Sol-3, is actually the most dangerous fluid in the galaxy. But the Earthlings drink it like it's nothing. Their bodies consist almost entirely of it. Letting the humans know of this advantage would effectively hand over power of the galaxy to the humans. And the humans were not known to be entirely peace-loving.
Therefore the Council elected to enact Project Ignorance to neuter the threat. The plan requires least intervention and avoided any risk of contact with water. It worked for the longest time, keeping the humans' interest focused solely on their own planet. In recent years, however, the Council's efforts seemed to be losing its effectiveness.
Roselta sighs, reading the thoughts on all the delegates minds. He clicks on the device again, and the face of a human flashes in front of the table, slowly rotating in 360 degrees to allow all the delegates to have a good look at him.
"Council members, this is President Musk, the individual who is solely responsible for humanity's recent push into space. After much deliberation, the policy team would like to propose a method that we have used the previous time we intervened."
"And what would that method be?" the creature next to Roselta asks.
Roselta clicks again, and another face pops up in the middle. "Council members, allow me to brief you on Operation Oswald 2."
-----------
/r/dori_tales | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I threw on a dark suit, a somber tie (or at least the closest to somber I owned; like most college students, I'm not known for my extensive wardrobe). My dad was coming to pick me up soon. I paced the dorm entry way waiting for the familiar blue minivan.
"So, you don't want me to come with?" my brown-eyed girlfriend asked, as she, conveniently wearing black, sat perched on a side table.
"Nah, you've lost grandparents right? It's going to be boring." I said as I thought, *I'd rather not introduce you to my family yet, we've only been together for a month.*
"Yeah," she said, looking up at me in a way she knows I like. "I just thought it'd be nice for you to have someone there for you."
"I'll have my mom," I pointed out. *Besides, I was still in 'woo the girl' mode, she didn't need to see me cry yet.*
"Alright," she sighed. "You'll call me when you get back at least?"
"Of course," I promised. "It probably won't even take that long." *Grandma had outlived most of her friends, after all.*
My dad arrived, my mom and younger brother in the car too. It was an awkward two hour car ride, where I tried to fit in how well I was doing independently and my younger brother was talking about how much better his life was with me gone, and my parents looked like they were trying convince themselves that they didn't need to referee. My mom looked like she was trying to find space to say something.
My dad pulled into a parking garage. It was oddly full for one downtown on a Saturday.
"Is there some event going on?" I asked.
"Yes, your grandmother's funeral," my Mom replied.
"Well, obviously, but is there something else going on?" I caught a glimpse of people walking out of the garage wearing proper funeral attire.
"My Mom had Twitter," Dad said, speaking more than he had for the duration of the car ride. "Some of her fans wanted to come."
"Some of her fans," I repeated, eyeing the crowds of mourners headed for the church.
"16.4 million people followed her on Twitter."
Well, that put a damper on my plans. | I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | ever since I left Mexico, I always remembered how life in the countryside seemed to stay stuck in the past, specially in my childhood. it seemed like the steam engine never arrived to the rugged mountains of rural Mexico.
this has changed a little however, a sporadic wave of government genuinely trying to improve the country's situation brought things like the internet to many corners.
last time I went visit my family, people, specially Young ones where already using the nets almost like in any place of say, the UK. MY grandma however, she refused to learn to use old Nokias cause they were 'too confusing', when I saw the laptop in her kitchen table I never thought it would be hers.
she starting postig pics of simple food, beautiful sunsets, picturesque views of the town's church. the simple and tranquil life of an elderly woman with absolutely all her needs met, little wants, a home of her own, a talent in cooking and a nice family and some friends that kept her busy. an idyllic life in a town of rural Mexico that seemed to stay in the past until the future ends.
for some reason this captivated millions, millions of people who saw that the simple things in life are not so simple at all. MY grandma used to say that and I always thought it true.
I spoke to the German Young man, he told me that her Mrs Mary thought him the benefits of peace and a little Weed in life. he said she was the last great guru, a tilstoyian version forr the 21 century. 'slow down and observe my friend' he said. definitely sounded like my grandma.
| I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I fidget in my seat and tug at the hemline of my skirt, trying to bring it past my knees. Grandma was very traditional and although she never said it, she had never approved of my dress sense. Today I look nothing like myself. My usual pastel colours have muted to black and grey in mourning. My mother sits beside me in the black cab, stuck in typical London traffic. She fiddles with the orders of service crammed into her purse and rocks my sleeping baby brother on her shoulder. Two dozen of them, enough spares for any members of the congregation who had seen the obituary in the Church newsletter. Before her passing, Grandma had picked out some of her favourite hymns to be sung at the service. A few of them were in Latin, and I suggested to my parents that we ought to take them out because it would only be the family in attendance, and none of us knew the words. But mother had insisted, 'Grandma liked things a particular way, Rosemary, we ought to respect that.'
We had never been particularly close, Grandma and I, mostly because she hated to travel anywhere she couldn't walk to and was too deaf to properly hold a conversation on her rotary dial landline phone. Things had gotten somewhat better when we had given her my old computer, but even when we skyped her, she'd pick up one of the computer speakers and shout into it the whole time. She had been delighted to receive it, though. It was the one modern convenience that she actually embraced. She said that the keyboard reminded her of her days as a secretary, typing on an expensive typewriter. She would type and print her grocery lists every day, and every last Sundays of the month, when we brought her down to Brighton for Roast Lunch, she would bring a different dish and delight to us about how *'Mr Ask Jeeves* had been ever so helpful, finding her new recipes, helping her to figure out how to work her DVD player, and generally keeping her in high spirits. A few times I had tried to explain to her that there was more to the internet than a search engine, but it was lost upon her. She was happy enough with just her friendly gentleman, Jeeves. At some point, she must have cracked Amazon, because she would let us know of deliveries from Mr Jeeves. It shocked us to hear that she had embraced online shopping, given her aversion to online banking; she was afraid that a 'computer flu' would wipe out her savings accounts.
"Just around this corner, ma'am?" The cabbie asks.
"Yes, thank you. It's a little Church, tucked away. Easy to miss."
"You might be better off walking, ma'am. There seems to be a lot of foot traffic, I don't think I'll get all the way down the road." He suggests.
"Oh goodness, is there a protest or something going on today, Rosie?" Mother asks. Not that I know of.
"Mum, they're all wearing black, have the Church double booked another funeral?" I ask. It isn't a big Church at all, and most members were elderly. Was it possible that they had misprinted the funeral details and invited mourners of another person to Grandma's funeral?
"Go on ahead and see what's going on at the Church, please, while I settle your brother." The noise of the crowd is bothering him. What are so many people doing in this sleepy corner of North London?
I get out of the car and a girl with purple hair wearing a long black dress bumps into me and I drop my purse, the contents spilling out. "Sorry, so sorry!" She apologises in a thick German accent.
"That's okay," I tell her, as she helps me to gather my phone and wallet from between the feet of the passing crowd. "What's this gathering?" I ask.
"Oh, we are here for Granny Merideth's funeral service." She tells me. I'm shocked. She looks no older than me and clearly isn't from around here.
"*My* Grandma Merideth?" I ask, in shock.
"Oh! Are you little Rosie-Posie?" She beams at me.
"How did you... how do you know my Grandma?" I demand, a bit stunned. Is this some sort of practical joke?
"She's the Twitter Granny! She chats to us all the time on Twitter. Hey, everybody! It's Granny's Rosie-Posie!" She shrieks, jumping up and down while pointing me out to the crowd. People all around us stop and stare, murmurs of excitement rising from the crowd.
"What are you all talking about?" I ask, confused.
"I think it must have started about two years ago," someone piped up. "Granny started tweeting asking someone named Jeeves for help operating the microwave, so someone tweeted her back with instructions and she kept coming back to twitter with questions and sometimes just for a chat. She's so sweet and so adorable. We were heartbroken when she tweeted, asking 'Jeeves' how to print out lyrics to hymns to pass on to her daughter as suggestions for her funeral. She let us know in her last few days that she was nearing the end of her life and invited 'Mr Jeeves' to come and pay his last respects, so we all came. The service is being live streamed to her over sixteen million followers."
Someone shoved an iPad under my nose, and there it was, my old twitter account, with 16.4 million followers, over twenty thousand tweets, and a long stream of my Grandmother's conversations with 'Jeeves' about all sorts of things.
'Mr Jeeves, what sort of seeds do you suggest I purchase for the lovely birds who sing so sweetly outside my window?'
'Mr Jeeves, it has been snowing quite heavily in England, I heard on the Radio. Are you alright?'
'Mr Jeeves, I thought you might know, what time does the new grocery store on Griffith Avenue in Galway close this evening?'
'Mr Jeeves, I'm in my later years, I feel like I wasted so much time. I wish I had a legacy to leave behind for my grandchildren.'
It seemed that Grandma had left her legacy to millions after all. Sweet, lovely Granny Merideth. | I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I dreaded this day. We knew Grandma Mary had been going downhill for the last few years. Mom and dad didn't talk about it much, but we knew. The visits slowed after they put her in the home. A couple of my cousins and I would take turns visiting after school and taking her out to do her grocery shopping and run errands, so we noticed when she had her good days and her bad days. The bad started outweighing the good, and eventually, we knew we would get the call.
That call came three days ago.
Now, I'm sitting in the limo with my brothers, mom, dad, and for some reason, Aunt Jenn. Dad's sister and their families are in the car behind us. No one is saying anything, which is weird. Mom always is on her phone with her assistant and the office. Dad is usually discussing some new development from the university he and my brother Steve have been working on. And Mikey is usually listening to his music. Today... silence. But not really. For the day being relatively cold and overcast, there's lots of people outside. And the number of people seem to be growing the closer we get to grandma's church. She was adamant about having her service at the church she and grandpa married in, saying she started her life there and she would damn well make sure she ended it there. So now here we are. On our way to that stuffy chapel that always smelled slightly of mothballs, dead flowers, and wood polish. Steve's asthma will be acting up by the time we hit the eulogy.
Now I'm really starting to get concerned. There's more people than I knew were in my town heading towards the church. Mom and dad have even noticed.
"These people can't all be going to the funeral. There's got to be some sort of fair or event in town today we missed." Mom is quick to dismiss the ever growing crowd.
We pull up to the church and the cars slow. There's no mistaking it now. These strangers are definitely here for my grangran. Suddenly, there's a camera crew racing up to our car, and the local news team is waiting for us to open the doors and step out. What the hell is going on here?!
Taking a breath, my dad opens the door and pandemonium rains down upon us all as hundreds of people start applauding and chanting my and my cousins names. Steve and Mike look at me, and I look back at them with equal confusion.
"We love Mary!" Someone randomly yells. "Do you have her blueberry cobbler recipe?" we hear further back. I'm lost.
As we step out, the camera crew moves in and there's a microphone in my dad's face.
"Mr. McEwan, how are you feeling today with the crowds here for your mother? Were you aware of her popularity?" My dad just stumbles. "Her popularity? What are you people talking about?" "Surely you were aware of your mother's online presence? She's made millions through her social media presence."
"Social media? Oh my god, was my mother on the Facechat thing?" My dad looks horrified. Mom looks furious. She's already pulled herself away and is on the phone now with the office. The first and only normal thing I've seen her do today. I can hear her trying to figure out where this could be a security breach or PR something and demanding HR get on this. The usual...
Mikey pulls out his phone and I see him search Mary McEwan. Instantly HUNDREDS of articles pop up... mostly YouTube but also Twitter (which provided links to the other accounts) and Instagram (user name "InstaGramGram1938").
"Uhhh dad, guys... you may want to see this." Mikey looks like any 17 year old boy would when finding out his Gran had a better grasp on tech than he did. It turns out, Gran had started a YouTube cooking show from her iPad about cooking healthy and extravagant meals while on a fixed income! It was brilliant! She had millions of followers, all ranging from high school graduates and college kids, to single parents and other pensioners. My brothers and I were flabbergasted. Especially since my brothers and I had all pitched in to get her the iPad for Christmas two years ago so she could play her card games and FaceTime us when we couldn't visit in person.
"My mom... was famous?!" My dad says, having torn himself away from the tv crew. My brothers look up to find we've somehow been ushered into the back of the church while we were immersed in our discovery. I'm so shocked I don't even remember moving.
Steve piped up, "Wait, if she has THIS many followers who've watched these videos, Gran would have been making some money from some of these." We kind of smiled because it's a social media platform... how much money could that have been, right? As we wait for the service to start in the back room, my family watch some of Gran's videos. For the first time in awhile, my family laughed, cried, and reminisced together as Gran was on the screen, talking about her family as she made appetizers, desserts, and her famous meatloaf. She also had videos and photos of all her grandkids, and stories of their visits and accomplishments. She talked of the time we went for ice cream and fed the ducks down by pond, and how we talked about me going to college... all while she was teaching other college students how to darn holes in socks on video. She said she got the idea for the show that day, when she and I talked about budgeting and being independent. I was amazed. On this day, a day I was heart broken over and my family was detached, gran brought us back together one more time.
As we were there smiling together and discovering our gran's secret, the priest came in to tell us it was time, and that we had a full house... plus hundreds more outside that they had to set up a sound system for. As a family, we stood up, stowed the show for the moment, and followed the priest out of the room and through the church, to go visit GranGran one last time. | I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I was sitting in the front row of the church, watching the funeral procession as people paid their final respects. Most of the people here were academics, from top universities where she taught, her field of expertise was quantum physics.
One of the people, a woman I had never seen before broke out of line though and sat down beside me. She said that she had only come to know my nana very recently, but she had made a significant impact in her life.
I thanked her and though that would be the end of it, but instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a very expensive Bluetooth device. She placed it in my hand and then said that my grandma would have wanted me to use it.
She saw the bewildered expression on my face and explained that my nana was a pioneer in many areas, one that wasn't announced was time travel. She apparently deduced that all matter, occupied the same physical space, but the dimension of time prevented us from seeing anything but where we were on the timeline. With that theory, she set about creating a tuner of sorts, that allowed the user to observe and interact across time.
She feared what would happen if the technology got out, so she kept it to herself. One day she read about a tragic suicide that cost the lives of two small children. She was heartbroken until she realized she could.do something about it.
She put on the tuner and went back to try and prevent the incident, but the mother was scared off by the whole story and nothing changed. After many attempts, see decided to go back further. Still wary of direct interaction, she took to Twitter and sought the mother out. There she befriended her and helped to stear her clear of the trouble that would torment her to the end.
Realizing the good she could do, nana began to seek out other people in need and using her knowledge, helped them to avoid the pitfalls to come. Building up a following of over 16 million people she had saved.
I was amazed and asked her how she knew all this. That is when I was floored, she was my grand daughter and was there to help me through my pain. She placed the device on my ear and then adjusted it, all the sudden I was in what had to be the future version of the church, it was completely packed. We jumped forward several times and in every case, the church or what passed for the church was full of mourners.
My grand daughter explained that on the anniversary on my nana' s death, all the people she saved gather at the church to pay their respects, a tradition that was carried on by their prodigy.
| I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I left the printmakers and made my way down the street which was dark and oily looking in the evening's drizzle. I was bone tired, my elbow hurt from printing and I hated the insipid mess I had made that day. The green looked like the walls of a hospital corridor. I had torn the worst one up in a rage and the rest would have been in tatters too if Will hadn't grabbed me and held my arms at my sides.
"Keep them around," he had said, jovially, as I had contemplated spitting in his face. "If you want to be an artist you have to learn from your mistakes. And look, this one is fucking good!" I didn't think it was good. Will's opinion didn't change that. But he thought he was helping. He was the other kind of artist, the one who could start liking their work if someone better did.
I walked down the steps into the train station, still wishing I had torn them all up. It would have felt cleansing. Will thought he knew what I needed better than I did. Was that because he was ten years older or because I was a woman? I would use crimson tomorrow I decided, rounding the corner onto the deserted platform.
I slumped down in one of the plastic chairs and felt my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. It was my mother.
"Hello?"
.
"Hi darling."
.
"Are you alright?"
.
"Yes, of course I am."
.
"What, you just called for a chat? It's late."
.
She sighed. "Could you come over tomorrow?"
.
"You sound really strange..."
.
"There's nothing wrong with me. Please don't worry. I just want to show you something."
.
"And you call me at 1 AM to tell me that?"
.
"Well I wasn't planning to. Show it to you, I mean. But I was lying here in bed, trying to sleep and I had the idea that you might want to see it."
.
There was a pause.
.
"Just come over tomorrow morning. Take a day off. That's what you should be doing at anyway, at least once a week. You're burnt out."
* * *
It was a newspaper article in The Chronicle. About Pat Holitz, who had died of a brain aneurysm earlier in the week. I stared at my mother, confused.
"This is what made you call me in the middle of the night?"
.
"Yes."
.
"Thanks... Her style of art isn't really my thing though."
.
"I never liked it either. Though I suppose I may have been biased."
.
She lit a cigarette.
.
"Can I have one? When did you start again?"
.
"Pat Holitz's son, Oscar, was your father. He's dead too, he went twelve years ago. Overdose. I didn't tell you that at the time because it didn't seem like something you needed to know. But Pat's different. I think you do need to know about her."
.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't really feel anything. I stared at the portrait in the article, a wiry woman with thick grey hair and beetle black eyes. She stared coldly into the camera lens. "*Sour*..." I thought. "*She looks sour*..."
.
"The funeral is tomorrow. And there's a bonfire... They're burning all her work afterwards. Everything she hadn't sold yet. Everything she had kept. Her request, according to this." She tapped the newspaper. "She even tweeted about it. Everyone thought it was a joke but it was there in her will. Apparently the art world is furious. Trying to stop it from happening."
.
"Fuck..." I said, faintly.
.
"Would you like to go?"
| I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | The morning started out very rough, all the hotels within an hour of our hometown had been completely booked so all the family had to stay at our house the night before the funeral.
I got up early to get ready and then went outside to sent on the porch and wait for my mom to say it was time to go. I had avoided social media for the last werk since my granny died because I didn't want to talk with anyone and had no idea what to say. I decided to bring up Twitter, hoping to see that my favorite person to talk to, @tellthebartender, was online. I was about to send a message when I saw the I had received one from the same person. I was about to read it when my mom told me.it was time to leave.
We began the procession to the church for the service. The traffic was uncharacterisitically thick, but the police escort ensured we got there. We arrived to find the parking lot completely full and people parking all along the street. We had to go in through the back door since the front was jammed with people.
The priest met us and apologized, indicating that we had mentioned a small gathering. He mentioned that he had no idea granny was so important to so many, but the sight was a blessing. We were sitting in the front pews waiting, when three ladies, all around the same age as my granny came up and introduced themselves. They lived at the nursing home with her and had been friends for many years.
I asked if they knew why all these people were here and they said they did, their explanation brought me to tears.
Several years ago I apparently told.my granny that she just didn't understand today's problems, when she asked me if I needed to talk after my parents divorced. Rather than be saddened by this though, she decided to find a different way to help and made herself a Twitter account where she offered advice. Her three friends noticed her doing it one day and after she explained it, they joined in and ran the account together for several years, building up millions of followers and endeavoured to help everyone they could.
I was confused for several moments, and then pulled out my phone bringing up the message I had missed. It read, Abigail Johnson, one of the four women who run this account has died and we will be taking a break for a few days to mourn the loss of our friend. We ask for your prayers and thoughts. I couldn't believe it, my grandmother, someone's whose advice I completely discounted, helped me though some of the most difficult challenges I had faced in life and never once let on.
I moved closer to the casket and listened, everyone who passed by thanked her for the advice and encouragement she had offered during their times of need. | I woke from a small bed to the menacing vibrations and sounds from my iPhone. I peered through my eyelids fighting the depolarized muscles fighting to keep my lids shut at my phone as I made a clumsy effort to hit the snooze button. I spun my head around to gather my surroundings, but the alcohol the night prior made me pay for that mistake, but I my nose was met with a familiar aroma.
A voice from the kitchen, "I made you some corned beef hash."
I immediately went into recall mode. Where the fuck am I? The anterograde amnesia of the tequila and cocaine of the prior evening took full effect, I had no idea whose voice that belonged to. I looked down to find my suit from yesterday's activities completely wrinkled and not fitting for a 3pm walk of shame in the soon to be inbound uber.
Wallet, keys, phone... check! YES! I thought to myself... now if I could find out her name, not be a dick, and leave... I'd be set.
Then the sudden feeling of guilt and sadness overwhelmed me. I remembered.
The only reason she slept with me is because I'm the grandson of Anne "@clearheels" Williams.
We met after her funeral.
The night was hazy, but it was beginning to come together.
Grandma's favorite restaurant was the steak buffet at Legends, the local gentlemen's club where she retired from. I went there after the service to sample the menu. My favorite meal was the corned beef hash! Boom! I just fucked a stripper. Again.
Thanks Grandma. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I fidget in my seat and tug at the hemline of my skirt, trying to bring it past my knees. Grandma was very traditional and although she never said it, she had never approved of my dress sense. Today I look nothing like myself. My usual pastel colours have muted to black and grey in mourning. My mother sits beside me in the black cab, stuck in typical London traffic. She fiddles with the orders of service crammed into her purse and rocks my sleeping baby brother on her shoulder. Two dozen of them, enough spares for any members of the congregation who had seen the obituary in the Church newsletter. Before her passing, Grandma had picked out some of her favourite hymns to be sung at the service. A few of them were in Latin, and I suggested to my parents that we ought to take them out because it would only be the family in attendance, and none of us knew the words. But mother had insisted, 'Grandma liked things a particular way, Rosemary, we ought to respect that.'
We had never been particularly close, Grandma and I, mostly because she hated to travel anywhere she couldn't walk to and was too deaf to properly hold a conversation on her rotary dial landline phone. Things had gotten somewhat better when we had given her my old computer, but even when we skyped her, she'd pick up one of the computer speakers and shout into it the whole time. She had been delighted to receive it, though. It was the one modern convenience that she actually embraced. She said that the keyboard reminded her of her days as a secretary, typing on an expensive typewriter. She would type and print her grocery lists every day, and every last Sundays of the month, when we brought her down to Brighton for Roast Lunch, she would bring a different dish and delight to us about how *'Mr Ask Jeeves* had been ever so helpful, finding her new recipes, helping her to figure out how to work her DVD player, and generally keeping her in high spirits. A few times I had tried to explain to her that there was more to the internet than a search engine, but it was lost upon her. She was happy enough with just her friendly gentleman, Jeeves. At some point, she must have cracked Amazon, because she would let us know of deliveries from Mr Jeeves. It shocked us to hear that she had embraced online shopping, given her aversion to online banking; she was afraid that a 'computer flu' would wipe out her savings accounts.
"Just around this corner, ma'am?" The cabbie asks.
"Yes, thank you. It's a little Church, tucked away. Easy to miss."
"You might be better off walking, ma'am. There seems to be a lot of foot traffic, I don't think I'll get all the way down the road." He suggests.
"Oh goodness, is there a protest or something going on today, Rosie?" Mother asks. Not that I know of.
"Mum, they're all wearing black, have the Church double booked another funeral?" I ask. It isn't a big Church at all, and most members were elderly. Was it possible that they had misprinted the funeral details and invited mourners of another person to Grandma's funeral?
"Go on ahead and see what's going on at the Church, please, while I settle your brother." The noise of the crowd is bothering him. What are so many people doing in this sleepy corner of North London?
I get out of the car and a girl with purple hair wearing a long black dress bumps into me and I drop my purse, the contents spilling out. "Sorry, so sorry!" She apologises in a thick German accent.
"That's okay," I tell her, as she helps me to gather my phone and wallet from between the feet of the passing crowd. "What's this gathering?" I ask.
"Oh, we are here for Granny Merideth's funeral service." She tells me. I'm shocked. She looks no older than me and clearly isn't from around here.
"*My* Grandma Merideth?" I ask, in shock.
"Oh! Are you little Rosie-Posie?" She beams at me.
"How did you... how do you know my Grandma?" I demand, a bit stunned. Is this some sort of practical joke?
"She's the Twitter Granny! She chats to us all the time on Twitter. Hey, everybody! It's Granny's Rosie-Posie!" She shrieks, jumping up and down while pointing me out to the crowd. People all around us stop and stare, murmurs of excitement rising from the crowd.
"What are you all talking about?" I ask, confused.
"I think it must have started about two years ago," someone piped up. "Granny started tweeting asking someone named Jeeves for help operating the microwave, so someone tweeted her back with instructions and she kept coming back to twitter with questions and sometimes just for a chat. She's so sweet and so adorable. We were heartbroken when she tweeted, asking 'Jeeves' how to print out lyrics to hymns to pass on to her daughter as suggestions for her funeral. She let us know in her last few days that she was nearing the end of her life and invited 'Mr Jeeves' to come and pay his last respects, so we all came. The service is being live streamed to her over sixteen million followers."
Someone shoved an iPad under my nose, and there it was, my old twitter account, with 16.4 million followers, over twenty thousand tweets, and a long stream of my Grandmother's conversations with 'Jeeves' about all sorts of things.
'Mr Jeeves, what sort of seeds do you suggest I purchase for the lovely birds who sing so sweetly outside my window?'
'Mr Jeeves, it has been snowing quite heavily in England, I heard on the Radio. Are you alright?'
'Mr Jeeves, I thought you might know, what time does the new grocery store on Griffith Avenue in Galway close this evening?'
'Mr Jeeves, I'm in my later years, I feel like I wasted so much time. I wish I had a legacy to leave behind for my grandchildren.'
It seemed that Grandma had left her legacy to millions after all. Sweet, lovely Granny Merideth. | I threw on a dark suit, a somber tie (or at least the closest to somber I owned; like most college students, I'm not known for my extensive wardrobe). My dad was coming to pick me up soon. I paced the dorm entry way waiting for the familiar blue minivan.
"So, you don't want me to come with?" my brown-eyed girlfriend asked, as she, conveniently wearing black, sat perched on a side table.
"Nah, you've lost grandparents right? It's going to be boring." I said as I thought, *I'd rather not introduce you to my family yet, we've only been together for a month.*
"Yeah," she said, looking up at me in a way she knows I like. "I just thought it'd be nice for you to have someone there for you."
"I'll have my mom," I pointed out. *Besides, I was still in 'woo the girl' mode, she didn't need to see me cry yet.*
"Alright," she sighed. "You'll call me when you get back at least?"
"Of course," I promised. "It probably won't even take that long." *Grandma had outlived most of her friends, after all.*
My dad arrived, my mom and younger brother in the car too. It was an awkward two hour car ride, where I tried to fit in how well I was doing independently and my younger brother was talking about how much better his life was with me gone, and my parents looked like they were trying convince themselves that they didn't need to referee. My mom looked like she was trying to find space to say something.
My dad pulled into a parking garage. It was oddly full for one downtown on a Saturday.
"Is there some event going on?" I asked.
"Yes, your grandmother's funeral," my Mom replied.
"Well, obviously, but is there something else going on?" I caught a glimpse of people walking out of the garage wearing proper funeral attire.
"My Mom had Twitter," Dad said, speaking more than he had for the duration of the car ride. "Some of her fans wanted to come."
"Some of her fans," I repeated, eyeing the crowds of mourners headed for the church.
"16.4 million people followed her on Twitter."
Well, that put a damper on my plans. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I dreaded this day. We knew Grandma Mary had been going downhill for the last few years. Mom and dad didn't talk about it much, but we knew. The visits slowed after they put her in the home. A couple of my cousins and I would take turns visiting after school and taking her out to do her grocery shopping and run errands, so we noticed when she had her good days and her bad days. The bad started outweighing the good, and eventually, we knew we would get the call.
That call came three days ago.
Now, I'm sitting in the limo with my brothers, mom, dad, and for some reason, Aunt Jenn. Dad's sister and their families are in the car behind us. No one is saying anything, which is weird. Mom always is on her phone with her assistant and the office. Dad is usually discussing some new development from the university he and my brother Steve have been working on. And Mikey is usually listening to his music. Today... silence. But not really. For the day being relatively cold and overcast, there's lots of people outside. And the number of people seem to be growing the closer we get to grandma's church. She was adamant about having her service at the church she and grandpa married in, saying she started her life there and she would damn well make sure she ended it there. So now here we are. On our way to that stuffy chapel that always smelled slightly of mothballs, dead flowers, and wood polish. Steve's asthma will be acting up by the time we hit the eulogy.
Now I'm really starting to get concerned. There's more people than I knew were in my town heading towards the church. Mom and dad have even noticed.
"These people can't all be going to the funeral. There's got to be some sort of fair or event in town today we missed." Mom is quick to dismiss the ever growing crowd.
We pull up to the church and the cars slow. There's no mistaking it now. These strangers are definitely here for my grangran. Suddenly, there's a camera crew racing up to our car, and the local news team is waiting for us to open the doors and step out. What the hell is going on here?!
Taking a breath, my dad opens the door and pandemonium rains down upon us all as hundreds of people start applauding and chanting my and my cousins names. Steve and Mike look at me, and I look back at them with equal confusion.
"We love Mary!" Someone randomly yells. "Do you have her blueberry cobbler recipe?" we hear further back. I'm lost.
As we step out, the camera crew moves in and there's a microphone in my dad's face.
"Mr. McEwan, how are you feeling today with the crowds here for your mother? Were you aware of her popularity?" My dad just stumbles. "Her popularity? What are you people talking about?" "Surely you were aware of your mother's online presence? She's made millions through her social media presence."
"Social media? Oh my god, was my mother on the Facechat thing?" My dad looks horrified. Mom looks furious. She's already pulled herself away and is on the phone now with the office. The first and only normal thing I've seen her do today. I can hear her trying to figure out where this could be a security breach or PR something and demanding HR get on this. The usual...
Mikey pulls out his phone and I see him search Mary McEwan. Instantly HUNDREDS of articles pop up... mostly YouTube but also Twitter (which provided links to the other accounts) and Instagram (user name "InstaGramGram1938").
"Uhhh dad, guys... you may want to see this." Mikey looks like any 17 year old boy would when finding out his Gran had a better grasp on tech than he did. It turns out, Gran had started a YouTube cooking show from her iPad about cooking healthy and extravagant meals while on a fixed income! It was brilliant! She had millions of followers, all ranging from high school graduates and college kids, to single parents and other pensioners. My brothers and I were flabbergasted. Especially since my brothers and I had all pitched in to get her the iPad for Christmas two years ago so she could play her card games and FaceTime us when we couldn't visit in person.
"My mom... was famous?!" My dad says, having torn himself away from the tv crew. My brothers look up to find we've somehow been ushered into the back of the church while we were immersed in our discovery. I'm so shocked I don't even remember moving.
Steve piped up, "Wait, if she has THIS many followers who've watched these videos, Gran would have been making some money from some of these." We kind of smiled because it's a social media platform... how much money could that have been, right? As we wait for the service to start in the back room, my family watch some of Gran's videos. For the first time in awhile, my family laughed, cried, and reminisced together as Gran was on the screen, talking about her family as she made appetizers, desserts, and her famous meatloaf. She also had videos and photos of all her grandkids, and stories of their visits and accomplishments. She talked of the time we went for ice cream and fed the ducks down by pond, and how we talked about me going to college... all while she was teaching other college students how to darn holes in socks on video. She said she got the idea for the show that day, when she and I talked about budgeting and being independent. I was amazed. On this day, a day I was heart broken over and my family was detached, gran brought us back together one more time.
As we were there smiling together and discovering our gran's secret, the priest came in to tell us it was time, and that we had a full house... plus hundreds more outside that they had to set up a sound system for. As a family, we stood up, stowed the show for the moment, and followed the priest out of the room and through the church, to go visit GranGran one last time. | I threw on a dark suit, a somber tie (or at least the closest to somber I owned; like most college students, I'm not known for my extensive wardrobe). My dad was coming to pick me up soon. I paced the dorm entry way waiting for the familiar blue minivan.
"So, you don't want me to come with?" my brown-eyed girlfriend asked, as she, conveniently wearing black, sat perched on a side table.
"Nah, you've lost grandparents right? It's going to be boring." I said as I thought, *I'd rather not introduce you to my family yet, we've only been together for a month.*
"Yeah," she said, looking up at me in a way she knows I like. "I just thought it'd be nice for you to have someone there for you."
"I'll have my mom," I pointed out. *Besides, I was still in 'woo the girl' mode, she didn't need to see me cry yet.*
"Alright," she sighed. "You'll call me when you get back at least?"
"Of course," I promised. "It probably won't even take that long." *Grandma had outlived most of her friends, after all.*
My dad arrived, my mom and younger brother in the car too. It was an awkward two hour car ride, where I tried to fit in how well I was doing independently and my younger brother was talking about how much better his life was with me gone, and my parents looked like they were trying convince themselves that they didn't need to referee. My mom looked like she was trying to find space to say something.
My dad pulled into a parking garage. It was oddly full for one downtown on a Saturday.
"Is there some event going on?" I asked.
"Yes, your grandmother's funeral," my Mom replied.
"Well, obviously, but is there something else going on?" I caught a glimpse of people walking out of the garage wearing proper funeral attire.
"My Mom had Twitter," Dad said, speaking more than he had for the duration of the car ride. "Some of her fans wanted to come."
"Some of her fans," I repeated, eyeing the crowds of mourners headed for the church.
"16.4 million people followed her on Twitter."
Well, that put a damper on my plans. | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | ever since I left Mexico, I always remembered how life in the countryside seemed to stay stuck in the past, specially in my childhood. it seemed like the steam engine never arrived to the rugged mountains of rural Mexico.
this has changed a little however, a sporadic wave of government genuinely trying to improve the country's situation brought things like the internet to many corners.
last time I went visit my family, people, specially Young ones where already using the nets almost like in any place of say, the UK. MY grandma however, she refused to learn to use old Nokias cause they were 'too confusing', when I saw the laptop in her kitchen table I never thought it would be hers.
she starting postig pics of simple food, beautiful sunsets, picturesque views of the town's church. the simple and tranquil life of an elderly woman with absolutely all her needs met, little wants, a home of her own, a talent in cooking and a nice family and some friends that kept her busy. an idyllic life in a town of rural Mexico that seemed to stay in the past until the future ends.
for some reason this captivated millions, millions of people who saw that the simple things in life are not so simple at all. MY grandma used to say that and I always thought it true.
I spoke to the German Young man, he told me that her Mrs Mary thought him the benefits of peace and a little Weed in life. he said she was the last great guru, a tilstoyian version forr the 21 century. 'slow down and observe my friend' he said. definitely sounded like my grandma.
| And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I fidget in my seat and tug at the hemline of my skirt, trying to bring it past my knees. Grandma was very traditional and although she never said it, she had never approved of my dress sense. Today I look nothing like myself. My usual pastel colours have muted to black and grey in mourning. My mother sits beside me in the black cab, stuck in typical London traffic. She fiddles with the orders of service crammed into her purse and rocks my sleeping baby brother on her shoulder. Two dozen of them, enough spares for any members of the congregation who had seen the obituary in the Church newsletter. Before her passing, Grandma had picked out some of her favourite hymns to be sung at the service. A few of them were in Latin, and I suggested to my parents that we ought to take them out because it would only be the family in attendance, and none of us knew the words. But mother had insisted, 'Grandma liked things a particular way, Rosemary, we ought to respect that.'
We had never been particularly close, Grandma and I, mostly because she hated to travel anywhere she couldn't walk to and was too deaf to properly hold a conversation on her rotary dial landline phone. Things had gotten somewhat better when we had given her my old computer, but even when we skyped her, she'd pick up one of the computer speakers and shout into it the whole time. She had been delighted to receive it, though. It was the one modern convenience that she actually embraced. She said that the keyboard reminded her of her days as a secretary, typing on an expensive typewriter. She would type and print her grocery lists every day, and every last Sundays of the month, when we brought her down to Brighton for Roast Lunch, she would bring a different dish and delight to us about how *'Mr Ask Jeeves* had been ever so helpful, finding her new recipes, helping her to figure out how to work her DVD player, and generally keeping her in high spirits. A few times I had tried to explain to her that there was more to the internet than a search engine, but it was lost upon her. She was happy enough with just her friendly gentleman, Jeeves. At some point, she must have cracked Amazon, because she would let us know of deliveries from Mr Jeeves. It shocked us to hear that she had embraced online shopping, given her aversion to online banking; she was afraid that a 'computer flu' would wipe out her savings accounts.
"Just around this corner, ma'am?" The cabbie asks.
"Yes, thank you. It's a little Church, tucked away. Easy to miss."
"You might be better off walking, ma'am. There seems to be a lot of foot traffic, I don't think I'll get all the way down the road." He suggests.
"Oh goodness, is there a protest or something going on today, Rosie?" Mother asks. Not that I know of.
"Mum, they're all wearing black, have the Church double booked another funeral?" I ask. It isn't a big Church at all, and most members were elderly. Was it possible that they had misprinted the funeral details and invited mourners of another person to Grandma's funeral?
"Go on ahead and see what's going on at the Church, please, while I settle your brother." The noise of the crowd is bothering him. What are so many people doing in this sleepy corner of North London?
I get out of the car and a girl with purple hair wearing a long black dress bumps into me and I drop my purse, the contents spilling out. "Sorry, so sorry!" She apologises in a thick German accent.
"That's okay," I tell her, as she helps me to gather my phone and wallet from between the feet of the passing crowd. "What's this gathering?" I ask.
"Oh, we are here for Granny Merideth's funeral service." She tells me. I'm shocked. She looks no older than me and clearly isn't from around here.
"*My* Grandma Merideth?" I ask, in shock.
"Oh! Are you little Rosie-Posie?" She beams at me.
"How did you... how do you know my Grandma?" I demand, a bit stunned. Is this some sort of practical joke?
"She's the Twitter Granny! She chats to us all the time on Twitter. Hey, everybody! It's Granny's Rosie-Posie!" She shrieks, jumping up and down while pointing me out to the crowd. People all around us stop and stare, murmurs of excitement rising from the crowd.
"What are you all talking about?" I ask, confused.
"I think it must have started about two years ago," someone piped up. "Granny started tweeting asking someone named Jeeves for help operating the microwave, so someone tweeted her back with instructions and she kept coming back to twitter with questions and sometimes just for a chat. She's so sweet and so adorable. We were heartbroken when she tweeted, asking 'Jeeves' how to print out lyrics to hymns to pass on to her daughter as suggestions for her funeral. She let us know in her last few days that she was nearing the end of her life and invited 'Mr Jeeves' to come and pay his last respects, so we all came. The service is being live streamed to her over sixteen million followers."
Someone shoved an iPad under my nose, and there it was, my old twitter account, with 16.4 million followers, over twenty thousand tweets, and a long stream of my Grandmother's conversations with 'Jeeves' about all sorts of things.
'Mr Jeeves, what sort of seeds do you suggest I purchase for the lovely birds who sing so sweetly outside my window?'
'Mr Jeeves, it has been snowing quite heavily in England, I heard on the Radio. Are you alright?'
'Mr Jeeves, I thought you might know, what time does the new grocery store on Griffith Avenue in Galway close this evening?'
'Mr Jeeves, I'm in my later years, I feel like I wasted so much time. I wish I had a legacy to leave behind for my grandchildren.'
It seemed that Grandma had left her legacy to millions after all. Sweet, lovely Granny Merideth. | And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I dreaded this day. We knew Grandma Mary had been going downhill for the last few years. Mom and dad didn't talk about it much, but we knew. The visits slowed after they put her in the home. A couple of my cousins and I would take turns visiting after school and taking her out to do her grocery shopping and run errands, so we noticed when she had her good days and her bad days. The bad started outweighing the good, and eventually, we knew we would get the call.
That call came three days ago.
Now, I'm sitting in the limo with my brothers, mom, dad, and for some reason, Aunt Jenn. Dad's sister and their families are in the car behind us. No one is saying anything, which is weird. Mom always is on her phone with her assistant and the office. Dad is usually discussing some new development from the university he and my brother Steve have been working on. And Mikey is usually listening to his music. Today... silence. But not really. For the day being relatively cold and overcast, there's lots of people outside. And the number of people seem to be growing the closer we get to grandma's church. She was adamant about having her service at the church she and grandpa married in, saying she started her life there and she would damn well make sure she ended it there. So now here we are. On our way to that stuffy chapel that always smelled slightly of mothballs, dead flowers, and wood polish. Steve's asthma will be acting up by the time we hit the eulogy.
Now I'm really starting to get concerned. There's more people than I knew were in my town heading towards the church. Mom and dad have even noticed.
"These people can't all be going to the funeral. There's got to be some sort of fair or event in town today we missed." Mom is quick to dismiss the ever growing crowd.
We pull up to the church and the cars slow. There's no mistaking it now. These strangers are definitely here for my grangran. Suddenly, there's a camera crew racing up to our car, and the local news team is waiting for us to open the doors and step out. What the hell is going on here?!
Taking a breath, my dad opens the door and pandemonium rains down upon us all as hundreds of people start applauding and chanting my and my cousins names. Steve and Mike look at me, and I look back at them with equal confusion.
"We love Mary!" Someone randomly yells. "Do you have her blueberry cobbler recipe?" we hear further back. I'm lost.
As we step out, the camera crew moves in and there's a microphone in my dad's face.
"Mr. McEwan, how are you feeling today with the crowds here for your mother? Were you aware of her popularity?" My dad just stumbles. "Her popularity? What are you people talking about?" "Surely you were aware of your mother's online presence? She's made millions through her social media presence."
"Social media? Oh my god, was my mother on the Facechat thing?" My dad looks horrified. Mom looks furious. She's already pulled herself away and is on the phone now with the office. The first and only normal thing I've seen her do today. I can hear her trying to figure out where this could be a security breach or PR something and demanding HR get on this. The usual...
Mikey pulls out his phone and I see him search Mary McEwan. Instantly HUNDREDS of articles pop up... mostly YouTube but also Twitter (which provided links to the other accounts) and Instagram (user name "InstaGramGram1938").
"Uhhh dad, guys... you may want to see this." Mikey looks like any 17 year old boy would when finding out his Gran had a better grasp on tech than he did. It turns out, Gran had started a YouTube cooking show from her iPad about cooking healthy and extravagant meals while on a fixed income! It was brilliant! She had millions of followers, all ranging from high school graduates and college kids, to single parents and other pensioners. My brothers and I were flabbergasted. Especially since my brothers and I had all pitched in to get her the iPad for Christmas two years ago so she could play her card games and FaceTime us when we couldn't visit in person.
"My mom... was famous?!" My dad says, having torn himself away from the tv crew. My brothers look up to find we've somehow been ushered into the back of the church while we were immersed in our discovery. I'm so shocked I don't even remember moving.
Steve piped up, "Wait, if she has THIS many followers who've watched these videos, Gran would have been making some money from some of these." We kind of smiled because it's a social media platform... how much money could that have been, right? As we wait for the service to start in the back room, my family watch some of Gran's videos. For the first time in awhile, my family laughed, cried, and reminisced together as Gran was on the screen, talking about her family as she made appetizers, desserts, and her famous meatloaf. She also had videos and photos of all her grandkids, and stories of their visits and accomplishments. She talked of the time we went for ice cream and fed the ducks down by pond, and how we talked about me going to college... all while she was teaching other college students how to darn holes in socks on video. She said she got the idea for the show that day, when she and I talked about budgeting and being independent. I was amazed. On this day, a day I was heart broken over and my family was detached, gran brought us back together one more time.
As we were there smiling together and discovering our gran's secret, the priest came in to tell us it was time, and that we had a full house... plus hundreds more outside that they had to set up a sound system for. As a family, we stood up, stowed the show for the moment, and followed the priest out of the room and through the church, to go visit GranGran one last time. | And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I was sitting in the front row of the church, watching the funeral procession as people paid their final respects. Most of the people here were academics, from top universities where she taught, her field of expertise was quantum physics.
One of the people, a woman I had never seen before broke out of line though and sat down beside me. She said that she had only come to know my nana very recently, but she had made a significant impact in her life.
I thanked her and though that would be the end of it, but instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a very expensive Bluetooth device. She placed it in my hand and then said that my grandma would have wanted me to use it.
She saw the bewildered expression on my face and explained that my nana was a pioneer in many areas, one that wasn't announced was time travel. She apparently deduced that all matter, occupied the same physical space, but the dimension of time prevented us from seeing anything but where we were on the timeline. With that theory, she set about creating a tuner of sorts, that allowed the user to observe and interact across time.
She feared what would happen if the technology got out, so she kept it to herself. One day she read about a tragic suicide that cost the lives of two small children. She was heartbroken until she realized she could.do something about it.
She put on the tuner and went back to try and prevent the incident, but the mother was scared off by the whole story and nothing changed. After many attempts, see decided to go back further. Still wary of direct interaction, she took to Twitter and sought the mother out. There she befriended her and helped to stear her clear of the trouble that would torment her to the end.
Realizing the good she could do, nana began to seek out other people in need and using her knowledge, helped them to avoid the pitfalls to come. Building up a following of over 16 million people she had saved.
I was amazed and asked her how she knew all this. That is when I was floored, she was my grand daughter and was there to help me through my pain. She placed the device on my ear and then adjusted it, all the sudden I was in what had to be the future version of the church, it was completely packed. We jumped forward several times and in every case, the church or what passed for the church was full of mourners.
My grand daughter explained that on the anniversary on my nana' s death, all the people she saved gather at the church to pay their respects, a tradition that was carried on by their prodigy.
| And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I left the printmakers and made my way down the street which was dark and oily looking in the evening's drizzle. I was bone tired, my elbow hurt from printing and I hated the insipid mess I had made that day. The green looked like the walls of a hospital corridor. I had torn the worst one up in a rage and the rest would have been in tatters too if Will hadn't grabbed me and held my arms at my sides.
"Keep them around," he had said, jovially, as I had contemplated spitting in his face. "If you want to be an artist you have to learn from your mistakes. And look, this one is fucking good!" I didn't think it was good. Will's opinion didn't change that. But he thought he was helping. He was the other kind of artist, the one who could start liking their work if someone better did.
I walked down the steps into the train station, still wishing I had torn them all up. It would have felt cleansing. Will thought he knew what I needed better than I did. Was that because he was ten years older or because I was a woman? I would use crimson tomorrow I decided, rounding the corner onto the deserted platform.
I slumped down in one of the plastic chairs and felt my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. It was my mother.
"Hello?"
.
"Hi darling."
.
"Are you alright?"
.
"Yes, of course I am."
.
"What, you just called for a chat? It's late."
.
She sighed. "Could you come over tomorrow?"
.
"You sound really strange..."
.
"There's nothing wrong with me. Please don't worry. I just want to show you something."
.
"And you call me at 1 AM to tell me that?"
.
"Well I wasn't planning to. Show it to you, I mean. But I was lying here in bed, trying to sleep and I had the idea that you might want to see it."
.
There was a pause.
.
"Just come over tomorrow morning. Take a day off. That's what you should be doing at anyway, at least once a week. You're burnt out."
* * *
It was a newspaper article in The Chronicle. About Pat Holitz, who had died of a brain aneurysm earlier in the week. I stared at my mother, confused.
"This is what made you call me in the middle of the night?"
.
"Yes."
.
"Thanks... Her style of art isn't really my thing though."
.
"I never liked it either. Though I suppose I may have been biased."
.
She lit a cigarette.
.
"Can I have one? When did you start again?"
.
"Pat Holitz's son, Oscar, was your father. He's dead too, he went twelve years ago. Overdose. I didn't tell you that at the time because it didn't seem like something you needed to know. But Pat's different. I think you do need to know about her."
.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't really feel anything. I stared at the portrait in the article, a wiry woman with thick grey hair and beetle black eyes. She stared coldly into the camera lens. "*Sour*..." I thought. "*She looks sour*..."
.
"The funeral is tomorrow. And there's a bonfire... They're burning all her work afterwards. Everything she hadn't sold yet. Everything she had kept. Her request, according to this." She tapped the newspaper. "She even tweeted about it. Everyone thought it was a joke but it was there in her will. Apparently the art world is furious. Trying to stop it from happening."
.
"Fuck..." I said, faintly.
.
"Would you like to go?"
| And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | The morning started out very rough, all the hotels within an hour of our hometown had been completely booked so all the family had to stay at our house the night before the funeral.
I got up early to get ready and then went outside to sent on the porch and wait for my mom to say it was time to go. I had avoided social media for the last werk since my granny died because I didn't want to talk with anyone and had no idea what to say. I decided to bring up Twitter, hoping to see that my favorite person to talk to, @tellthebartender, was online. I was about to send a message when I saw the I had received one from the same person. I was about to read it when my mom told me.it was time to leave.
We began the procession to the church for the service. The traffic was uncharacterisitically thick, but the police escort ensured we got there. We arrived to find the parking lot completely full and people parking all along the street. We had to go in through the back door since the front was jammed with people.
The priest met us and apologized, indicating that we had mentioned a small gathering. He mentioned that he had no idea granny was so important to so many, but the sight was a blessing. We were sitting in the front pews waiting, when three ladies, all around the same age as my granny came up and introduced themselves. They lived at the nursing home with her and had been friends for many years.
I asked if they knew why all these people were here and they said they did, their explanation brought me to tears.
Several years ago I apparently told.my granny that she just didn't understand today's problems, when she asked me if I needed to talk after my parents divorced. Rather than be saddened by this though, she decided to find a different way to help and made herself a Twitter account where she offered advice. Her three friends noticed her doing it one day and after she explained it, they joined in and ran the account together for several years, building up millions of followers and endeavoured to help everyone they could.
I was confused for several moments, and then pulled out my phone bringing up the message I had missed. It read, Abigail Johnson, one of the four women who run this account has died and we will be taking a break for a few days to mourn the loss of our friend. We ask for your prayers and thoughts. I couldn't believe it, my grandmother, someone's whose advice I completely discounted, helped me though some of the most difficult challenges I had faced in life and never once let on.
I moved closer to the casket and listened, everyone who passed by thanked her for the advice and encouragement she had offered during their times of need. | And that's when I put two and two together. My grandmother after her sex change achieved internet stardom long before the rise of the you-tube pioneers. The hand made sign leaning up against the hand crafted mahogany casket about to be lowered into the earth gave remembrance to the memories. Bright red letters sparkling with glitter - *Goatse Forever* | |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I fidget in my seat and tug at the hemline of my skirt, trying to bring it past my knees. Grandma was very traditional and although she never said it, she had never approved of my dress sense. Today I look nothing like myself. My usual pastel colours have muted to black and grey in mourning. My mother sits beside me in the black cab, stuck in typical London traffic. She fiddles with the orders of service crammed into her purse and rocks my sleeping baby brother on her shoulder. Two dozen of them, enough spares for any members of the congregation who had seen the obituary in the Church newsletter. Before her passing, Grandma had picked out some of her favourite hymns to be sung at the service. A few of them were in Latin, and I suggested to my parents that we ought to take them out because it would only be the family in attendance, and none of us knew the words. But mother had insisted, 'Grandma liked things a particular way, Rosemary, we ought to respect that.'
We had never been particularly close, Grandma and I, mostly because she hated to travel anywhere she couldn't walk to and was too deaf to properly hold a conversation on her rotary dial landline phone. Things had gotten somewhat better when we had given her my old computer, but even when we skyped her, she'd pick up one of the computer speakers and shout into it the whole time. She had been delighted to receive it, though. It was the one modern convenience that she actually embraced. She said that the keyboard reminded her of her days as a secretary, typing on an expensive typewriter. She would type and print her grocery lists every day, and every last Sundays of the month, when we brought her down to Brighton for Roast Lunch, she would bring a different dish and delight to us about how *'Mr Ask Jeeves* had been ever so helpful, finding her new recipes, helping her to figure out how to work her DVD player, and generally keeping her in high spirits. A few times I had tried to explain to her that there was more to the internet than a search engine, but it was lost upon her. She was happy enough with just her friendly gentleman, Jeeves. At some point, she must have cracked Amazon, because she would let us know of deliveries from Mr Jeeves. It shocked us to hear that she had embraced online shopping, given her aversion to online banking; she was afraid that a 'computer flu' would wipe out her savings accounts.
"Just around this corner, ma'am?" The cabbie asks.
"Yes, thank you. It's a little Church, tucked away. Easy to miss."
"You might be better off walking, ma'am. There seems to be a lot of foot traffic, I don't think I'll get all the way down the road." He suggests.
"Oh goodness, is there a protest or something going on today, Rosie?" Mother asks. Not that I know of.
"Mum, they're all wearing black, have the Church double booked another funeral?" I ask. It isn't a big Church at all, and most members were elderly. Was it possible that they had misprinted the funeral details and invited mourners of another person to Grandma's funeral?
"Go on ahead and see what's going on at the Church, please, while I settle your brother." The noise of the crowd is bothering him. What are so many people doing in this sleepy corner of North London?
I get out of the car and a girl with purple hair wearing a long black dress bumps into me and I drop my purse, the contents spilling out. "Sorry, so sorry!" She apologises in a thick German accent.
"That's okay," I tell her, as she helps me to gather my phone and wallet from between the feet of the passing crowd. "What's this gathering?" I ask.
"Oh, we are here for Granny Merideth's funeral service." She tells me. I'm shocked. She looks no older than me and clearly isn't from around here.
"*My* Grandma Merideth?" I ask, in shock.
"Oh! Are you little Rosie-Posie?" She beams at me.
"How did you... how do you know my Grandma?" I demand, a bit stunned. Is this some sort of practical joke?
"She's the Twitter Granny! She chats to us all the time on Twitter. Hey, everybody! It's Granny's Rosie-Posie!" She shrieks, jumping up and down while pointing me out to the crowd. People all around us stop and stare, murmurs of excitement rising from the crowd.
"What are you all talking about?" I ask, confused.
"I think it must have started about two years ago," someone piped up. "Granny started tweeting asking someone named Jeeves for help operating the microwave, so someone tweeted her back with instructions and she kept coming back to twitter with questions and sometimes just for a chat. She's so sweet and so adorable. We were heartbroken when she tweeted, asking 'Jeeves' how to print out lyrics to hymns to pass on to her daughter as suggestions for her funeral. She let us know in her last few days that she was nearing the end of her life and invited 'Mr Jeeves' to come and pay his last respects, so we all came. The service is being live streamed to her over sixteen million followers."
Someone shoved an iPad under my nose, and there it was, my old twitter account, with 16.4 million followers, over twenty thousand tweets, and a long stream of my Grandmother's conversations with 'Jeeves' about all sorts of things.
'Mr Jeeves, what sort of seeds do you suggest I purchase for the lovely birds who sing so sweetly outside my window?'
'Mr Jeeves, it has been snowing quite heavily in England, I heard on the Radio. Are you alright?'
'Mr Jeeves, I thought you might know, what time does the new grocery store on Griffith Avenue in Galway close this evening?'
'Mr Jeeves, I'm in my later years, I feel like I wasted so much time. I wish I had a legacy to leave behind for my grandchildren.'
It seemed that Grandma had left her legacy to millions after all. Sweet, lovely Granny Merideth. | ever since I left Mexico, I always remembered how life in the countryside seemed to stay stuck in the past, specially in my childhood. it seemed like the steam engine never arrived to the rugged mountains of rural Mexico.
this has changed a little however, a sporadic wave of government genuinely trying to improve the country's situation brought things like the internet to many corners.
last time I went visit my family, people, specially Young ones where already using the nets almost like in any place of say, the UK. MY grandma however, she refused to learn to use old Nokias cause they were 'too confusing', when I saw the laptop in her kitchen table I never thought it would be hers.
she starting postig pics of simple food, beautiful sunsets, picturesque views of the town's church. the simple and tranquil life of an elderly woman with absolutely all her needs met, little wants, a home of her own, a talent in cooking and a nice family and some friends that kept her busy. an idyllic life in a town of rural Mexico that seemed to stay in the past until the future ends.
for some reason this captivated millions, millions of people who saw that the simple things in life are not so simple at all. MY grandma used to say that and I always thought it true.
I spoke to the German Young man, he told me that her Mrs Mary thought him the benefits of peace and a little Weed in life. he said she was the last great guru, a tilstoyian version forr the 21 century. 'slow down and observe my friend' he said. definitely sounded like my grandma.
| |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I dreaded this day. We knew Grandma Mary had been going downhill for the last few years. Mom and dad didn't talk about it much, but we knew. The visits slowed after they put her in the home. A couple of my cousins and I would take turns visiting after school and taking her out to do her grocery shopping and run errands, so we noticed when she had her good days and her bad days. The bad started outweighing the good, and eventually, we knew we would get the call.
That call came three days ago.
Now, I'm sitting in the limo with my brothers, mom, dad, and for some reason, Aunt Jenn. Dad's sister and their families are in the car behind us. No one is saying anything, which is weird. Mom always is on her phone with her assistant and the office. Dad is usually discussing some new development from the university he and my brother Steve have been working on. And Mikey is usually listening to his music. Today... silence. But not really. For the day being relatively cold and overcast, there's lots of people outside. And the number of people seem to be growing the closer we get to grandma's church. She was adamant about having her service at the church she and grandpa married in, saying she started her life there and she would damn well make sure she ended it there. So now here we are. On our way to that stuffy chapel that always smelled slightly of mothballs, dead flowers, and wood polish. Steve's asthma will be acting up by the time we hit the eulogy.
Now I'm really starting to get concerned. There's more people than I knew were in my town heading towards the church. Mom and dad have even noticed.
"These people can't all be going to the funeral. There's got to be some sort of fair or event in town today we missed." Mom is quick to dismiss the ever growing crowd.
We pull up to the church and the cars slow. There's no mistaking it now. These strangers are definitely here for my grangran. Suddenly, there's a camera crew racing up to our car, and the local news team is waiting for us to open the doors and step out. What the hell is going on here?!
Taking a breath, my dad opens the door and pandemonium rains down upon us all as hundreds of people start applauding and chanting my and my cousins names. Steve and Mike look at me, and I look back at them with equal confusion.
"We love Mary!" Someone randomly yells. "Do you have her blueberry cobbler recipe?" we hear further back. I'm lost.
As we step out, the camera crew moves in and there's a microphone in my dad's face.
"Mr. McEwan, how are you feeling today with the crowds here for your mother? Were you aware of her popularity?" My dad just stumbles. "Her popularity? What are you people talking about?" "Surely you were aware of your mother's online presence? She's made millions through her social media presence."
"Social media? Oh my god, was my mother on the Facechat thing?" My dad looks horrified. Mom looks furious. She's already pulled herself away and is on the phone now with the office. The first and only normal thing I've seen her do today. I can hear her trying to figure out where this could be a security breach or PR something and demanding HR get on this. The usual...
Mikey pulls out his phone and I see him search Mary McEwan. Instantly HUNDREDS of articles pop up... mostly YouTube but also Twitter (which provided links to the other accounts) and Instagram (user name "InstaGramGram1938").
"Uhhh dad, guys... you may want to see this." Mikey looks like any 17 year old boy would when finding out his Gran had a better grasp on tech than he did. It turns out, Gran had started a YouTube cooking show from her iPad about cooking healthy and extravagant meals while on a fixed income! It was brilliant! She had millions of followers, all ranging from high school graduates and college kids, to single parents and other pensioners. My brothers and I were flabbergasted. Especially since my brothers and I had all pitched in to get her the iPad for Christmas two years ago so she could play her card games and FaceTime us when we couldn't visit in person.
"My mom... was famous?!" My dad says, having torn himself away from the tv crew. My brothers look up to find we've somehow been ushered into the back of the church while we were immersed in our discovery. I'm so shocked I don't even remember moving.
Steve piped up, "Wait, if she has THIS many followers who've watched these videos, Gran would have been making some money from some of these." We kind of smiled because it's a social media platform... how much money could that have been, right? As we wait for the service to start in the back room, my family watch some of Gran's videos. For the first time in awhile, my family laughed, cried, and reminisced together as Gran was on the screen, talking about her family as she made appetizers, desserts, and her famous meatloaf. She also had videos and photos of all her grandkids, and stories of their visits and accomplishments. She talked of the time we went for ice cream and fed the ducks down by pond, and how we talked about me going to college... all while she was teaching other college students how to darn holes in socks on video. She said she got the idea for the show that day, when she and I talked about budgeting and being independent. I was amazed. On this day, a day I was heart broken over and my family was detached, gran brought us back together one more time.
As we were there smiling together and discovering our gran's secret, the priest came in to tell us it was time, and that we had a full house... plus hundreds more outside that they had to set up a sound system for. As a family, we stood up, stowed the show for the moment, and followed the priest out of the room and through the church, to go visit GranGran one last time. | ever since I left Mexico, I always remembered how life in the countryside seemed to stay stuck in the past, specially in my childhood. it seemed like the steam engine never arrived to the rugged mountains of rural Mexico.
this has changed a little however, a sporadic wave of government genuinely trying to improve the country's situation brought things like the internet to many corners.
last time I went visit my family, people, specially Young ones where already using the nets almost like in any place of say, the UK. MY grandma however, she refused to learn to use old Nokias cause they were 'too confusing', when I saw the laptop in her kitchen table I never thought it would be hers.
she starting postig pics of simple food, beautiful sunsets, picturesque views of the town's church. the simple and tranquil life of an elderly woman with absolutely all her needs met, little wants, a home of her own, a talent in cooking and a nice family and some friends that kept her busy. an idyllic life in a town of rural Mexico that seemed to stay in the past until the future ends.
for some reason this captivated millions, millions of people who saw that the simple things in life are not so simple at all. MY grandma used to say that and I always thought it true.
I spoke to the German Young man, he told me that her Mrs Mary thought him the benefits of peace and a little Weed in life. he said she was the last great guru, a tilstoyian version forr the 21 century. 'slow down and observe my friend' he said. definitely sounded like my grandma.
| |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I was sitting in the front row of the church, watching the funeral procession as people paid their final respects. Most of the people here were academics, from top universities where she taught, her field of expertise was quantum physics.
One of the people, a woman I had never seen before broke out of line though and sat down beside me. She said that she had only come to know my nana very recently, but she had made a significant impact in her life.
I thanked her and though that would be the end of it, but instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a very expensive Bluetooth device. She placed it in my hand and then said that my grandma would have wanted me to use it.
She saw the bewildered expression on my face and explained that my nana was a pioneer in many areas, one that wasn't announced was time travel. She apparently deduced that all matter, occupied the same physical space, but the dimension of time prevented us from seeing anything but where we were on the timeline. With that theory, she set about creating a tuner of sorts, that allowed the user to observe and interact across time.
She feared what would happen if the technology got out, so she kept it to herself. One day she read about a tragic suicide that cost the lives of two small children. She was heartbroken until she realized she could.do something about it.
She put on the tuner and went back to try and prevent the incident, but the mother was scared off by the whole story and nothing changed. After many attempts, see decided to go back further. Still wary of direct interaction, she took to Twitter and sought the mother out. There she befriended her and helped to stear her clear of the trouble that would torment her to the end.
Realizing the good she could do, nana began to seek out other people in need and using her knowledge, helped them to avoid the pitfalls to come. Building up a following of over 16 million people she had saved.
I was amazed and asked her how she knew all this. That is when I was floored, she was my grand daughter and was there to help me through my pain. She placed the device on my ear and then adjusted it, all the sudden I was in what had to be the future version of the church, it was completely packed. We jumped forward several times and in every case, the church or what passed for the church was full of mourners.
My grand daughter explained that on the anniversary on my nana' s death, all the people she saved gather at the church to pay their respects, a tradition that was carried on by their prodigy.
| ever since I left Mexico, I always remembered how life in the countryside seemed to stay stuck in the past, specially in my childhood. it seemed like the steam engine never arrived to the rugged mountains of rural Mexico.
this has changed a little however, a sporadic wave of government genuinely trying to improve the country's situation brought things like the internet to many corners.
last time I went visit my family, people, specially Young ones where already using the nets almost like in any place of say, the UK. MY grandma however, she refused to learn to use old Nokias cause they were 'too confusing', when I saw the laptop in her kitchen table I never thought it would be hers.
she starting postig pics of simple food, beautiful sunsets, picturesque views of the town's church. the simple and tranquil life of an elderly woman with absolutely all her needs met, little wants, a home of her own, a talent in cooking and a nice family and some friends that kept her busy. an idyllic life in a town of rural Mexico that seemed to stay in the past until the future ends.
for some reason this captivated millions, millions of people who saw that the simple things in life are not so simple at all. MY grandma used to say that and I always thought it true.
I spoke to the German Young man, he told me that her Mrs Mary thought him the benefits of peace and a little Weed in life. he said she was the last great guru, a tilstoyian version forr the 21 century. 'slow down and observe my friend' he said. definitely sounded like my grandma.
| |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | The morning started out very rough, all the hotels within an hour of our hometown had been completely booked so all the family had to stay at our house the night before the funeral.
I got up early to get ready and then went outside to sent on the porch and wait for my mom to say it was time to go. I had avoided social media for the last werk since my granny died because I didn't want to talk with anyone and had no idea what to say. I decided to bring up Twitter, hoping to see that my favorite person to talk to, @tellthebartender, was online. I was about to send a message when I saw the I had received one from the same person. I was about to read it when my mom told me.it was time to leave.
We began the procession to the church for the service. The traffic was uncharacterisitically thick, but the police escort ensured we got there. We arrived to find the parking lot completely full and people parking all along the street. We had to go in through the back door since the front was jammed with people.
The priest met us and apologized, indicating that we had mentioned a small gathering. He mentioned that he had no idea granny was so important to so many, but the sight was a blessing. We were sitting in the front pews waiting, when three ladies, all around the same age as my granny came up and introduced themselves. They lived at the nursing home with her and had been friends for many years.
I asked if they knew why all these people were here and they said they did, their explanation brought me to tears.
Several years ago I apparently told.my granny that she just didn't understand today's problems, when she asked me if I needed to talk after my parents divorced. Rather than be saddened by this though, she decided to find a different way to help and made herself a Twitter account where she offered advice. Her three friends noticed her doing it one day and after she explained it, they joined in and ran the account together for several years, building up millions of followers and endeavoured to help everyone they could.
I was confused for several moments, and then pulled out my phone bringing up the message I had missed. It read, Abigail Johnson, one of the four women who run this account has died and we will be taking a break for a few days to mourn the loss of our friend. We ask for your prayers and thoughts. I couldn't believe it, my grandmother, someone's whose advice I completely discounted, helped me though some of the most difficult challenges I had faced in life and never once let on.
I moved closer to the casket and listened, everyone who passed by thanked her for the advice and encouragement she had offered during their times of need. | ever since I left Mexico, I always remembered how life in the countryside seemed to stay stuck in the past, specially in my childhood. it seemed like the steam engine never arrived to the rugged mountains of rural Mexico.
this has changed a little however, a sporadic wave of government genuinely trying to improve the country's situation brought things like the internet to many corners.
last time I went visit my family, people, specially Young ones where already using the nets almost like in any place of say, the UK. MY grandma however, she refused to learn to use old Nokias cause they were 'too confusing', when I saw the laptop in her kitchen table I never thought it would be hers.
she starting postig pics of simple food, beautiful sunsets, picturesque views of the town's church. the simple and tranquil life of an elderly woman with absolutely all her needs met, little wants, a home of her own, a talent in cooking and a nice family and some friends that kept her busy. an idyllic life in a town of rural Mexico that seemed to stay in the past until the future ends.
for some reason this captivated millions, millions of people who saw that the simple things in life are not so simple at all. MY grandma used to say that and I always thought it true.
I spoke to the German Young man, he told me that her Mrs Mary thought him the benefits of peace and a little Weed in life. he said she was the last great guru, a tilstoyian version forr the 21 century. 'slow down and observe my friend' he said. definitely sounded like my grandma.
| |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | I left the printmakers and made my way down the street which was dark and oily looking in the evening's drizzle. I was bone tired, my elbow hurt from printing and I hated the insipid mess I had made that day. The green looked like the walls of a hospital corridor. I had torn the worst one up in a rage and the rest would have been in tatters too if Will hadn't grabbed me and held my arms at my sides.
"Keep them around," he had said, jovially, as I had contemplated spitting in his face. "If you want to be an artist you have to learn from your mistakes. And look, this one is fucking good!" I didn't think it was good. Will's opinion didn't change that. But he thought he was helping. He was the other kind of artist, the one who could start liking their work if someone better did.
I walked down the steps into the train station, still wishing I had torn them all up. It would have felt cleansing. Will thought he knew what I needed better than I did. Was that because he was ten years older or because I was a woman? I would use crimson tomorrow I decided, rounding the corner onto the deserted platform.
I slumped down in one of the plastic chairs and felt my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. It was my mother.
"Hello?"
.
"Hi darling."
.
"Are you alright?"
.
"Yes, of course I am."
.
"What, you just called for a chat? It's late."
.
She sighed. "Could you come over tomorrow?"
.
"You sound really strange..."
.
"There's nothing wrong with me. Please don't worry. I just want to show you something."
.
"And you call me at 1 AM to tell me that?"
.
"Well I wasn't planning to. Show it to you, I mean. But I was lying here in bed, trying to sleep and I had the idea that you might want to see it."
.
There was a pause.
.
"Just come over tomorrow morning. Take a day off. That's what you should be doing at anyway, at least once a week. You're burnt out."
* * *
It was a newspaper article in The Chronicle. About Pat Holitz, who had died of a brain aneurysm earlier in the week. I stared at my mother, confused.
"This is what made you call me in the middle of the night?"
.
"Yes."
.
"Thanks... Her style of art isn't really my thing though."
.
"I never liked it either. Though I suppose I may have been biased."
.
She lit a cigarette.
.
"Can I have one? When did you start again?"
.
"Pat Holitz's son, Oscar, was your father. He's dead too, he went twelve years ago. Overdose. I didn't tell you that at the time because it didn't seem like something you needed to know. But Pat's different. I think you do need to know about her."
.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't really feel anything. I stared at the portrait in the article, a wiry woman with thick grey hair and beetle black eyes. She stared coldly into the camera lens. "*Sour*..." I thought. "*She looks sour*..."
.
"The funeral is tomorrow. And there's a bonfire... They're burning all her work afterwards. Everything she hadn't sold yet. Everything she had kept. Her request, according to this." She tapped the newspaper. "She even tweeted about it. Everyone thought it was a joke but it was there in her will. Apparently the art world is furious. Trying to stop it from happening."
.
"Fuck..." I said, faintly.
.
"Would you like to go?"
| "It's him." That's what I heard someone say as I pushed myself through the crowd. Was I getting paranoid? I was almost sure of what I heard. Did these people know me?
I had a weird feeling ever since I had to get out of my car hundreds of meters away from the cemetery. The street was packed with people and here and there was a car. All randomly parked in the middle of the street. Seems like I wasn't the only one who gave up and had to abandon the vehicle.
'What are they all doing here anyways?' This question shot through my head for the second or third time. Was there another demonstration going on? I don't really follow these anymore. Haven't been in one for a lot of years. This doesn't explain why they are all dressed in black. And why so close to the cemetery? Was there an Asian group dressed in white?
Confused, I decided to ignore it and went to the gates.
It seems there were more and more people the closer I got.
"Figures."I thought. "It wasn't a good day to begin with. Why should it get any better?"
I guess, someone famous died and these people are just a few hours early. Probably an actor or actress from Hollywood, which was not too far from here. Maybe a director. Funny, I haven't heard anything on the news. Not that I really watch news everyday.
I saw a lot of emotional faces. Mostly sad people. Some of them hugging, some crying. I even saw a few that seemed to be angry.
"Da ist er! Schaut Leute, es ist Dan!" The man who said it pointed a finger at me. What did he say? It did sound aggressive.
Other people turned and looked at first him and then me. "It's him!" Another man shouted in heavy Russian accent. Also pointing at me. He took a step towards me and seemed to be very upset. "Иван! Cмотри, Это Дэн! "
To be continued...
| |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | The morning started out very rough, all the hotels within an hour of our hometown had been completely booked so all the family had to stay at our house the night before the funeral.
I got up early to get ready and then went outside to sent on the porch and wait for my mom to say it was time to go. I had avoided social media for the last werk since my granny died because I didn't want to talk with anyone and had no idea what to say. I decided to bring up Twitter, hoping to see that my favorite person to talk to, @tellthebartender, was online. I was about to send a message when I saw the I had received one from the same person. I was about to read it when my mom told me.it was time to leave.
We began the procession to the church for the service. The traffic was uncharacterisitically thick, but the police escort ensured we got there. We arrived to find the parking lot completely full and people parking all along the street. We had to go in through the back door since the front was jammed with people.
The priest met us and apologized, indicating that we had mentioned a small gathering. He mentioned that he had no idea granny was so important to so many, but the sight was a blessing. We were sitting in the front pews waiting, when three ladies, all around the same age as my granny came up and introduced themselves. They lived at the nursing home with her and had been friends for many years.
I asked if they knew why all these people were here and they said they did, their explanation brought me to tears.
Several years ago I apparently told.my granny that she just didn't understand today's problems, when she asked me if I needed to talk after my parents divorced. Rather than be saddened by this though, she decided to find a different way to help and made herself a Twitter account where she offered advice. Her three friends noticed her doing it one day and after she explained it, they joined in and ran the account together for several years, building up millions of followers and endeavoured to help everyone they could.
I was confused for several moments, and then pulled out my phone bringing up the message I had missed. It read, Abigail Johnson, one of the four women who run this account has died and we will be taking a break for a few days to mourn the loss of our friend. We ask for your prayers and thoughts. I couldn't believe it, my grandmother, someone's whose advice I completely discounted, helped me though some of the most difficult challenges I had faced in life and never once let on.
I moved closer to the casket and listened, everyone who passed by thanked her for the advice and encouragement she had offered during their times of need. | "It's him." That's what I heard someone say as I pushed myself through the crowd. Was I getting paranoid? I was almost sure of what I heard. Did these people know me?
I had a weird feeling ever since I had to get out of my car hundreds of meters away from the cemetery. The street was packed with people and here and there was a car. All randomly parked in the middle of the street. Seems like I wasn't the only one who gave up and had to abandon the vehicle.
'What are they all doing here anyways?' This question shot through my head for the second or third time. Was there another demonstration going on? I don't really follow these anymore. Haven't been in one for a lot of years. This doesn't explain why they are all dressed in black. And why so close to the cemetery? Was there an Asian group dressed in white?
Confused, I decided to ignore it and went to the gates.
It seems there were more and more people the closer I got.
"Figures."I thought. "It wasn't a good day to begin with. Why should it get any better?"
I guess, someone famous died and these people are just a few hours early. Probably an actor or actress from Hollywood, which was not too far from here. Maybe a director. Funny, I haven't heard anything on the news. Not that I really watch news everyday.
I saw a lot of emotional faces. Mostly sad people. Some of them hugging, some crying. I even saw a few that seemed to be angry.
"Da ist er! Schaut Leute, es ist Dan!" The man who said it pointed a finger at me. What did he say? It did sound aggressive.
Other people turned and looked at first him and then me. "It's him!" Another man shouted in heavy Russian accent. Also pointing at me. He took a step towards me and seemed to be very upset. "Иван! Cмотри, Это Дэн! "
To be continued...
| |
[WP] You arrive at Grandma's funeral to find thousands of people from around the world also in mourning. You are entirely unaware that Grandma had 16.4m followers on Twitter. | The morning started out very rough, all the hotels within an hour of our hometown had been completely booked so all the family had to stay at our house the night before the funeral.
I got up early to get ready and then went outside to sent on the porch and wait for my mom to say it was time to go. I had avoided social media for the last werk since my granny died because I didn't want to talk with anyone and had no idea what to say. I decided to bring up Twitter, hoping to see that my favorite person to talk to, @tellthebartender, was online. I was about to send a message when I saw the I had received one from the same person. I was about to read it when my mom told me.it was time to leave.
We began the procession to the church for the service. The traffic was uncharacterisitically thick, but the police escort ensured we got there. We arrived to find the parking lot completely full and people parking all along the street. We had to go in through the back door since the front was jammed with people.
The priest met us and apologized, indicating that we had mentioned a small gathering. He mentioned that he had no idea granny was so important to so many, but the sight was a blessing. We were sitting in the front pews waiting, when three ladies, all around the same age as my granny came up and introduced themselves. They lived at the nursing home with her and had been friends for many years.
I asked if they knew why all these people were here and they said they did, their explanation brought me to tears.
Several years ago I apparently told.my granny that she just didn't understand today's problems, when she asked me if I needed to talk after my parents divorced. Rather than be saddened by this though, she decided to find a different way to help and made herself a Twitter account where she offered advice. Her three friends noticed her doing it one day and after she explained it, they joined in and ran the account together for several years, building up millions of followers and endeavoured to help everyone they could.
I was confused for several moments, and then pulled out my phone bringing up the message I had missed. It read, Abigail Johnson, one of the four women who run this account has died and we will be taking a break for a few days to mourn the loss of our friend. We ask for your prayers and thoughts. I couldn't believe it, my grandmother, someone's whose advice I completely discounted, helped me though some of the most difficult challenges I had faced in life and never once let on.
I moved closer to the casket and listened, everyone who passed by thanked her for the advice and encouragement she had offered during their times of need. | I left the printmakers and made my way down the street which was dark and oily looking in the evening's drizzle. I was bone tired, my elbow hurt from printing and I hated the insipid mess I had made that day. The green looked like the walls of a hospital corridor. I had torn the worst one up in a rage and the rest would have been in tatters too if Will hadn't grabbed me and held my arms at my sides.
"Keep them around," he had said, jovially, as I had contemplated spitting in his face. "If you want to be an artist you have to learn from your mistakes. And look, this one is fucking good!" I didn't think it was good. Will's opinion didn't change that. But he thought he was helping. He was the other kind of artist, the one who could start liking their work if someone better did.
I walked down the steps into the train station, still wishing I had torn them all up. It would have felt cleansing. Will thought he knew what I needed better than I did. Was that because he was ten years older or because I was a woman? I would use crimson tomorrow I decided, rounding the corner onto the deserted platform.
I slumped down in one of the plastic chairs and felt my phone vibrate in my coat pocket. It was my mother.
"Hello?"
.
"Hi darling."
.
"Are you alright?"
.
"Yes, of course I am."
.
"What, you just called for a chat? It's late."
.
She sighed. "Could you come over tomorrow?"
.
"You sound really strange..."
.
"There's nothing wrong with me. Please don't worry. I just want to show you something."
.
"And you call me at 1 AM to tell me that?"
.
"Well I wasn't planning to. Show it to you, I mean. But I was lying here in bed, trying to sleep and I had the idea that you might want to see it."
.
There was a pause.
.
"Just come over tomorrow morning. Take a day off. That's what you should be doing at anyway, at least once a week. You're burnt out."
* * *
It was a newspaper article in The Chronicle. About Pat Holitz, who had died of a brain aneurysm earlier in the week. I stared at my mother, confused.
"This is what made you call me in the middle of the night?"
.
"Yes."
.
"Thanks... Her style of art isn't really my thing though."
.
"I never liked it either. Though I suppose I may have been biased."
.
She lit a cigarette.
.
"Can I have one? When did you start again?"
.
"Pat Holitz's son, Oscar, was your father. He's dead too, he went twelve years ago. Overdose. I didn't tell you that at the time because it didn't seem like something you needed to know. But Pat's different. I think you do need to know about her."
.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't really feel anything. I stared at the portrait in the article, a wiry woman with thick grey hair and beetle black eyes. She stared coldly into the camera lens. "*Sour*..." I thought. "*She looks sour*..."
.
"The funeral is tomorrow. And there's a bonfire... They're burning all her work afterwards. Everything she hadn't sold yet. Everything she had kept. Her request, according to this." She tapped the newspaper. "She even tweeted about it. Everyone thought it was a joke but it was there in her will. Apparently the art world is furious. Trying to stop it from happening."
.
"Fuck..." I said, faintly.
.
"Would you like to go?"
| |
[WP] Aliens arive on Earth. Instead of interacting with people they just begin to establish a colony on uninhabited land only talking to humans when they are forced to | The census manager raised his eyebrows.
"And we haven't conducted anything in this village because...?"
The local looked at him nervously.
"Well... Well, it's because this town didn't exist until earlier this month"
The manager scoffed and pointed his finger at the minor Suburbia.
"Are you kidding me? That's a place that looks like it has at least 700 people living in it! I've dealt with flyover counties with a population less than that! And I mean the ENTIRE County has less than 700!"
The local stared at the classic 50's Americana. "Again, it didn't exist until Frank found out. There's not even a road that leads into it."
The Manager looked at him incredulously, before putting his fingers up to massage his forehead.
"Alright, that explains why we took the hard way here. Thanks for guiding us in."
"You don't want to go in? Barely anyone else has", asked the local.
"Nah, we need to get the paperwork filed and delivered to the local office before we can conduct it. We're done here"
Three Days Later:
The Manager drove the four-wheel drive into what he assumed was the main road, papers filling up every other inch of space in the vehicle. Behind him, were another 2 vehicles, suffering the same issue has we was.
When he reached the tarmac, he slowed the vehicle, down to 5 miles per hour. He looked at all the houses and people, many of the latter were staring back at him. As he placed his vehicle to a halt at the town square, he unlocked his door and went out.
After some time, a balding man in a suit walked over to him, his expression indicating that he was pissed. The manager looked at him, before gesturing to his partners (who were currently eating their lunch) to not approach anyone else. He walked up to the man.
"What's yer name and what do you want?", he asked bluntly. His accent was American, but it sounded less like a true accent, and more like an imitation.
"The Name's Greg Morrison, and I'm the census manager for this district", was the response. Greg extended his hand, but the man did not reply, opting for a stare. Greg placed his hand down, in his mind, disappointed.
"Anyway, I'm in need for the mayor, the magistrate or any other form of community representative around here"
"Well, you're looking at 'im, so again, what do you want?" He placed his arms on his hips, in an attempt to make Morrison uncomfortable.
"We've got a tip-off from some of the locals out here saying that this town didn't exist until recently. However, it seemed that your community looks well-established. If you don't mind, perhaps as an error of Government records, we need to conduct a census of the town."
The mayor/representative (he needs to check later) clenched his teeth, glaring at the rest of the government workers. Apparently, he either doesn't like the Federal Government, as it is often the case or doesn't trust them, which was also a common occurrence. Finally, he lowered his voice.
"Two days' time, town Hall Assembly. Be there, then get out when your business is done, okay?"
Happy that some sort of progress was made, Greg smiled a little. "Sure thing, but, where can we rest, refuel and eat?"
The head honcho sighed and indicated to what appeared to be a small motel. "Everything should be in there, now get out of my sight until then". Afterwards, he walked away indignantly.
Greg turned around and walked up to his coworkers. After relaying the message, they did as instructed.
Two days later, that evening, Greg was standing in the middle of the raised platform, with the mayor (he was confirmed to be the mayor by the locals, who seemed wary of him) next to him.
"And now, here's a man called Greg Morrison. He's not from around here, and he wants to get some things outta this fine establishment. Greg, you have the floor". He didn't even look at Greg before turning around and taking his seat.
He walked to the centre of the platform, the entire populace silent and staring. "Well, thank you Mr Mayor. As you know, my name is Greg Morrison and I work for the Federal Government. We are about to conduct a census of this town, and it should be ready by the time I finished this speech"
He looks at the back, where his coworkers are almost ready to give out the forms. One of them gave him a thumbs up, indicating they're ready.
"The forms need to be filled out and delivered by the end of this weekend. We should be here, before finishing up and heading back to the State Capital. Everyone got that?"
2 DAYS LATER.
For the second time in a week, Greg was about to go into the office in the state capital. There, an aged man was looking at his papers. He didn't even look up, before he started his little chat.
"Looks like something has come up. You'll be back in that town by this afternoon, this time with the National Guard."
That did not sound good to Greg. "Why, what's the problem?"
The man looked up and handed him the papers. Greg began shifting through the documents. "We cross-checked every government file we have. No one and Nothing there is supposed to exist. Census records turned up nothing. building codes and architect papers show no trace. Not even topographical maps and infrastructure approvals. That down really did come from nowhere. The only thing nearby, was testimony of a UFO sighing late last month"
Greg looked up. "What?" | Year 2026, the year it all began. I remember seeing the first Cube slowly approach Earth. And they kept coming and coming. One after another. First one landed on the Amazon. And when it left the following Cube landed on the same place.
We called them Cubes. Because, well, they were giant cubes. Once they land, they open up, each side piece gliding above the Amazon forest, each piece containing weird shaped buildings and all kinds of different intelligent life forms.
Once they settle, they stay for around 2 years. Then one day the Cube re-assembles and flies out of the Earth atmosphere with a very high speed and becomes invisible. They becoming invisible restricts us from watching them to see where they go.
As the leader of the Earth, I finally feel the need of communicating with them. Somehow. We waited years for them to communicate with us. But all they did was touring the planet with their own vehicles without contacting any human.
So I got on my helicopter, followed by 15 more helicopters, full of soldiers, and made my way to the Amazon.
As we got to the 5 Km close to the Cube, we tried to send a radio message stating that we are friendly and mean no harm. No reply sent back. So we moved closer. at 1 Km close we tried again. And again no replies.
Now we are at 100 meters away. And I can see their faces. All looking up to us. And I think to myself, "They dont know what is going on, do they."
So we land on one of the pieces. The aliens making a crowd around the helicopters. I said:
-Take me to your leader!
Man how many people can say this sentence in real life. I sure heard some soldiers laughing though. I admit it, I would too.
We waited there about three minutes. Finally an alien made his way through the crowd, and came facing me. He started to speak:
-Welcome to the Zota! The great ship of Glako Space Tourism Agency!
Everybody was shocked. And I feel like everybody thought the same thing, "So, they were just tourists all along." | |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | I dragged the armless, legless man out of the trenches. The man was a plow, his bloodied stumps leaving looping furrows in the soupy dirt. My breath pounded like that of a malnourished oxen, dragging its way through a field ready to yield a crop of shrapnel corn and bloody tulips.
I could barely hear his breath when I dragged him onto the operating table. But it came, a slight whistling from that ruined hulk of meat and metal. I set about my grim routine, peeling away layer after layer of armor plating and uniform until the raw flesh was laid bare.
Despite the technology at my disposal, I knew and made myself resigned. I pushed away the operating tools, the IVs, and left only the painkillers. Water, polluted by a thick cloud of opiander, was loaded into a steel tube, and administered straight into the man's sallow chest.
A few gasps. His eyes, a pair of dull emeralds, became clogged with awareness. Skin softened, the fog of pain lifting itself from his mind. The stumps swiveled. Nonexistent arms sought out warmth amidst the cold steel. Leg nerves screamed against a charred wall, straining towards the battlefield like the brackish high tide.
A few moments, and I thought I wasn't looking at a man anymore. I thought I was looking at a droid, a piece of machinery well passed its expiration date. There was no other sign of life, only the repetition. The limbs, moving back and forth and back and forth. Like broken oars. A small ship, sailing deeper and deeper into unknown, black depths.
Then, there was a gasp. The expulsion of lifeless air from cracked lips.
"Doc?"
He had a deep baritone. A smooth, musical tone that tickled my ears and paved over the dust-choked air.
"*Ja?*"
"Doc, how much am I gonna need?"
I looked him over.
"Arms and legs."
"My *eyes*, Doc," he gasped. "I can't *see*. Is it... permanent?" His voice became jumpy, full of twisted, eager energy.
I stared down at the dead irises.
"*Ja*. Eyes too, Corporal."
The man's mouth twisted into a grin.
"*Wunderbar*," he breathed, and started to laugh. "New arms, legs, and eyes. That bastard Luka's gonna eat his metal heart out."
I placed my hands against the man's chest. The steel chrome of my fingers shined in the light, and I couldn't help but laugh as well.
"Three weeks is a long time from the field, Corporal. More if you want alloy reinforcement."
"It's worth it, Doc," he said. "Gotta tell the wife. She'll be ecstatic. I'm gonna go *ubermensch*, you just watch."
His head leaned back against the table, happiness etched across his hollow cheeks and blind eyes.
"Best day of my life, Doc."
| " Hello, my name is Amir and I have been clean for 4 years." Loud applause echoed the room. Five years ago I joined the rehabilitation, it truly turned my life around. Now I give speeches to recovering addicts, trying to inspire them.
"My story starts 1996. A big day for my family. After working two jobs, for the most of his life, my father could afford a house for us. Not a flat downtown or a mansion but a small place in a quite neighborhood. Big enough for me and my 2 sisters not to have to share a room. While everyone was excitedly packing their belongings, I was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the money for the down-payment. I don't know where I was that day. All I do know is that once again I had a simple choice to make. My family or heroin. I choose the needle. Next day they were back in the small apartment and I found myself on the streets. I didn't mind. I could spend some nights at Dave's place and I had enough money for my fix, all that mattered to me.
What I didn't know is that I had much money for my own good. Dave died. It could have been me. It was scary, not because I lost my friend but because he is the one that would get me the supply. Now I needed to get it myself. When I say needed, I really do mean it. The way thirsty Bedouin needs water or a starving African food, no, way worse then that. The fact that I had no idea where to go did not stop me. Heading to doggiest areas I knew asking the shadiest looking people
if they had any. Well its needless to say I got robbed and beaten.
Waking up in the hospital bed was the most comfortable feeling I had in months. Probably due to the meds they gave me. I only hoped my family is not there. Seeing their disappointed faces again is the last thing I wanted. Things were not going according to my liking so far, neither did this. My mother was there. Later I heard my father forbid my sisters to see me but he could not stop mom. She hugged me, telling me she loves me and is happy I am alive. They heard of Dave and thought I shared his faith.
Family took me back in. This time more aware of the gravity of my situation. I was forced to go to rehab and later enroll to college. My mother would drive me to class and then straight back home. I was never alone.
You do not get clean by stooping being an addict. You never stop being an addict, but you can be addicted to cleaner drugs. For me it was bit of love for my family, a little bit my education, but mostly Marie. Classmate back then, now a loving wife.
If I could do it, so can you. We graduated together earlier this year. Two masters of economics. In eight months my father will become a grandfather. For the first time, he is proud of me.
Marie and me are set to take all the challenges that come our way. The future could not be more exciting. We will work together. Starting tomorrow we will be junior marketing analysts in a major corporation. On on side I will have my wonderful wife, on the other, the best view in lower Manhattan."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | The sun was shining. It was warm on my face, and I squinted from the intensity of it. School had just let out, and I had nowhere to be. I wasn't headed in any particular direction. I was just aimlessly wandering the streets of my small town to kill time and take in the beautiful summer day.
In the distance I saw that a crowd had gathered in the street, so I drew closer to see what the commotion was about. As I sauntered closer and closer, I began to make out wailing and panicked screams. I furrowed my brow.
I made my way through the crowd. I was lithe and small, so no one seemed to pay me any mind. As I came to the centre of the crowd, I saw people wailing and holding the body of a small child. I could only see the child's shoes.
It seemed they had been hit by a car, the driver was running his hands through his hair. Tears flew freely down his face, and his face reeked of guilt and anguish for what he had done, but I found myself transfixed on the shoes.
Those shoes. They were mine.
| " Hello, my name is Amir and I have been clean for 4 years." Loud applause echoed the room. Five years ago I joined the rehabilitation, it truly turned my life around. Now I give speeches to recovering addicts, trying to inspire them.
"My story starts 1996. A big day for my family. After working two jobs, for the most of his life, my father could afford a house for us. Not a flat downtown or a mansion but a small place in a quite neighborhood. Big enough for me and my 2 sisters not to have to share a room. While everyone was excitedly packing their belongings, I was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the money for the down-payment. I don't know where I was that day. All I do know is that once again I had a simple choice to make. My family or heroin. I choose the needle. Next day they were back in the small apartment and I found myself on the streets. I didn't mind. I could spend some nights at Dave's place and I had enough money for my fix, all that mattered to me.
What I didn't know is that I had much money for my own good. Dave died. It could have been me. It was scary, not because I lost my friend but because he is the one that would get me the supply. Now I needed to get it myself. When I say needed, I really do mean it. The way thirsty Bedouin needs water or a starving African food, no, way worse then that. The fact that I had no idea where to go did not stop me. Heading to doggiest areas I knew asking the shadiest looking people
if they had any. Well its needless to say I got robbed and beaten.
Waking up in the hospital bed was the most comfortable feeling I had in months. Probably due to the meds they gave me. I only hoped my family is not there. Seeing their disappointed faces again is the last thing I wanted. Things were not going according to my liking so far, neither did this. My mother was there. Later I heard my father forbid my sisters to see me but he could not stop mom. She hugged me, telling me she loves me and is happy I am alive. They heard of Dave and thought I shared his faith.
Family took me back in. This time more aware of the gravity of my situation. I was forced to go to rehab and later enroll to college. My mother would drive me to class and then straight back home. I was never alone.
You do not get clean by stooping being an addict. You never stop being an addict, but you can be addicted to cleaner drugs. For me it was bit of love for my family, a little bit my education, but mostly Marie. Classmate back then, now a loving wife.
If I could do it, so can you. We graduated together earlier this year. Two masters of economics. In eight months my father will become a grandfather. For the first time, he is proud of me.
Marie and me are set to take all the challenges that come our way. The future could not be more exciting. We will work together. Starting tomorrow we will be junior marketing analysts in a major corporation. On on side I will have my wonderful wife, on the other, the best view in lower Manhattan."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | *I am finally where I want to be*, I think to myself, as I wake up beside her. After all this time, it's still a bit of a surprise, a reminder of the college days when Lea would sneak into my room after I'd gone to sleep. Everything is soft and golden, from the morning sunlight to the strands of her hair on the pillowcase. I kiss her shoulder and she rolls over, blue eyes blinking into wakefulness. "Going to work, babe?" "Yeah. Love you." "See you tonight. Love you too." God, she's my whole world.
Chris meets me at the subway station as usual, perfecting the balance of speed-walking and coffee-drinking that you won't find anywhere else but here. "Morning, Matt." "Morning, Chris. Another beautiful day, huh?" "Totally. Hey, you know that cute barista at the one place? She totally remembered my order today. Dude." "Dude." Chris is a goofball, but he makes work so much better. We ride to work in silence, swaying back and forth with the rhythm of a New York morning. The subway is always full of life– children, parents, young professionals, creative types, crazies, artists, businessmen, students, lovers. Humans.
I don't know what it is, but something in the air today makes me think of the future. Maybe it's the crisp edge to the sunlight, that chill that reminds me of the changing of seasons. Time marches on, but I am finally where I want to be. Winter will come– snow in Central Park, skating with Lea, flying home to see my family. Then spring– Lea gets her master's and we move to a nicer apartment, one that allows dogs. Summer– we've been saving up for a trip to Europe. Our fourth anniversary. It's still a ways off, but I'm thinking I might propose.
But for now it's just me and Chris, headed to another day of work, stepping out onto our floor as the elevator pings softly behind us. I set my backpack down below my desk and attempt to organize the mess of papers in front of me. There's some forms I've been meaning to get around to. "Chris, what day is it? September 12?" "It's Tuesday, right? Yeah. So the 11th." | " Hello, my name is Amir and I have been clean for 4 years." Loud applause echoed the room. Five years ago I joined the rehabilitation, it truly turned my life around. Now I give speeches to recovering addicts, trying to inspire them.
"My story starts 1996. A big day for my family. After working two jobs, for the most of his life, my father could afford a house for us. Not a flat downtown or a mansion but a small place in a quite neighborhood. Big enough for me and my 2 sisters not to have to share a room. While everyone was excitedly packing their belongings, I was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the money for the down-payment. I don't know where I was that day. All I do know is that once again I had a simple choice to make. My family or heroin. I choose the needle. Next day they were back in the small apartment and I found myself on the streets. I didn't mind. I could spend some nights at Dave's place and I had enough money for my fix, all that mattered to me.
What I didn't know is that I had much money for my own good. Dave died. It could have been me. It was scary, not because I lost my friend but because he is the one that would get me the supply. Now I needed to get it myself. When I say needed, I really do mean it. The way thirsty Bedouin needs water or a starving African food, no, way worse then that. The fact that I had no idea where to go did not stop me. Heading to doggiest areas I knew asking the shadiest looking people
if they had any. Well its needless to say I got robbed and beaten.
Waking up in the hospital bed was the most comfortable feeling I had in months. Probably due to the meds they gave me. I only hoped my family is not there. Seeing their disappointed faces again is the last thing I wanted. Things were not going according to my liking so far, neither did this. My mother was there. Later I heard my father forbid my sisters to see me but he could not stop mom. She hugged me, telling me she loves me and is happy I am alive. They heard of Dave and thought I shared his faith.
Family took me back in. This time more aware of the gravity of my situation. I was forced to go to rehab and later enroll to college. My mother would drive me to class and then straight back home. I was never alone.
You do not get clean by stooping being an addict. You never stop being an addict, but you can be addicted to cleaner drugs. For me it was bit of love for my family, a little bit my education, but mostly Marie. Classmate back then, now a loving wife.
If I could do it, so can you. We graduated together earlier this year. Two masters of economics. In eight months my father will become a grandfather. For the first time, he is proud of me.
Marie and me are set to take all the challenges that come our way. The future could not be more exciting. We will work together. Starting tomorrow we will be junior marketing analysts in a major corporation. On on side I will have my wonderful wife, on the other, the best view in lower Manhattan."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | A simple silver bracelet
She holds it to the light
It gleams
She smiles
"I love it!" she says
She takes his hand
And holds it against her face
"You know me so well!" she says
She strokes his face
"I love you," she says
And places the bracelet on his bloodied chest
| " Hello, my name is Amir and I have been clean for 4 years." Loud applause echoed the room. Five years ago I joined the rehabilitation, it truly turned my life around. Now I give speeches to recovering addicts, trying to inspire them.
"My story starts 1996. A big day for my family. After working two jobs, for the most of his life, my father could afford a house for us. Not a flat downtown or a mansion but a small place in a quite neighborhood. Big enough for me and my 2 sisters not to have to share a room. While everyone was excitedly packing their belongings, I was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the money for the down-payment. I don't know where I was that day. All I do know is that once again I had a simple choice to make. My family or heroin. I choose the needle. Next day they were back in the small apartment and I found myself on the streets. I didn't mind. I could spend some nights at Dave's place and I had enough money for my fix, all that mattered to me.
What I didn't know is that I had much money for my own good. Dave died. It could have been me. It was scary, not because I lost my friend but because he is the one that would get me the supply. Now I needed to get it myself. When I say needed, I really do mean it. The way thirsty Bedouin needs water or a starving African food, no, way worse then that. The fact that I had no idea where to go did not stop me. Heading to doggiest areas I knew asking the shadiest looking people
if they had any. Well its needless to say I got robbed and beaten.
Waking up in the hospital bed was the most comfortable feeling I had in months. Probably due to the meds they gave me. I only hoped my family is not there. Seeing their disappointed faces again is the last thing I wanted. Things were not going according to my liking so far, neither did this. My mother was there. Later I heard my father forbid my sisters to see me but he could not stop mom. She hugged me, telling me she loves me and is happy I am alive. They heard of Dave and thought I shared his faith.
Family took me back in. This time more aware of the gravity of my situation. I was forced to go to rehab and later enroll to college. My mother would drive me to class and then straight back home. I was never alone.
You do not get clean by stooping being an addict. You never stop being an addict, but you can be addicted to cleaner drugs. For me it was bit of love for my family, a little bit my education, but mostly Marie. Classmate back then, now a loving wife.
If I could do it, so can you. We graduated together earlier this year. Two masters of economics. In eight months my father will become a grandfather. For the first time, he is proud of me.
Marie and me are set to take all the challenges that come our way. The future could not be more exciting. We will work together. Starting tomorrow we will be junior marketing analysts in a major corporation. On on side I will have my wonderful wife, on the other, the best view in lower Manhattan."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | I take a seat on the grass, and tell him about my day
As usual he listens, he doesn't have much to say.
A great man a true one, the best father ever
He's supported me through all my endeavors.
He'll support me and my choices to the day I die,
He'll be there when i need to laugh, or even when I cry.
Of course, this was thought up all in my head,
He's here with me in spirit, but my father's dead. | " Hello, my name is Amir and I have been clean for 4 years." Loud applause echoed the room. Five years ago I joined the rehabilitation, it truly turned my life around. Now I give speeches to recovering addicts, trying to inspire them.
"My story starts 1996. A big day for my family. After working two jobs, for the most of his life, my father could afford a house for us. Not a flat downtown or a mansion but a small place in a quite neighborhood. Big enough for me and my 2 sisters not to have to share a room. While everyone was excitedly packing their belongings, I was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the money for the down-payment. I don't know where I was that day. All I do know is that once again I had a simple choice to make. My family or heroin. I choose the needle. Next day they were back in the small apartment and I found myself on the streets. I didn't mind. I could spend some nights at Dave's place and I had enough money for my fix, all that mattered to me.
What I didn't know is that I had much money for my own good. Dave died. It could have been me. It was scary, not because I lost my friend but because he is the one that would get me the supply. Now I needed to get it myself. When I say needed, I really do mean it. The way thirsty Bedouin needs water or a starving African food, no, way worse then that. The fact that I had no idea where to go did not stop me. Heading to doggiest areas I knew asking the shadiest looking people
if they had any. Well its needless to say I got robbed and beaten.
Waking up in the hospital bed was the most comfortable feeling I had in months. Probably due to the meds they gave me. I only hoped my family is not there. Seeing their disappointed faces again is the last thing I wanted. Things were not going according to my liking so far, neither did this. My mother was there. Later I heard my father forbid my sisters to see me but he could not stop mom. She hugged me, telling me she loves me and is happy I am alive. They heard of Dave and thought I shared his faith.
Family took me back in. This time more aware of the gravity of my situation. I was forced to go to rehab and later enroll to college. My mother would drive me to class and then straight back home. I was never alone.
You do not get clean by stooping being an addict. You never stop being an addict, but you can be addicted to cleaner drugs. For me it was bit of love for my family, a little bit my education, but mostly Marie. Classmate back then, now a loving wife.
If I could do it, so can you. We graduated together earlier this year. Two masters of economics. In eight months my father will become a grandfather. For the first time, he is proud of me.
Marie and me are set to take all the challenges that come our way. The future could not be more exciting. We will work together. Starting tomorrow we will be junior marketing analysts in a major corporation. On on side I will have my wonderful wife, on the other, the best view in lower Manhattan."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | The sun was shining. It was warm on my face, and I squinted from the intensity of it. School had just let out, and I had nowhere to be. I wasn't headed in any particular direction. I was just aimlessly wandering the streets of my small town to kill time and take in the beautiful summer day.
In the distance I saw that a crowd had gathered in the street, so I drew closer to see what the commotion was about. As I sauntered closer and closer, I began to make out wailing and panicked screams. I furrowed my brow.
I made my way through the crowd. I was lithe and small, so no one seemed to pay me any mind. As I came to the centre of the crowd, I saw people wailing and holding the body of a small child. I could only see the child's shoes.
It seemed they had been hit by a car, the driver was running his hands through his hair. Tears flew freely down his face, and his face reeked of guilt and anguish for what he had done, but I found myself transfixed on the shoes.
Those shoes. They were mine.
| I dragged the armless, legless man out of the trenches. The man was a plow, his bloodied stumps leaving looping furrows in the soupy dirt. My breath pounded like that of a malnourished oxen, dragging its way through a field ready to yield a crop of shrapnel corn and bloody tulips.
I could barely hear his breath when I dragged him onto the operating table. But it came, a slight whistling from that ruined hulk of meat and metal. I set about my grim routine, peeling away layer after layer of armor plating and uniform until the raw flesh was laid bare.
Despite the technology at my disposal, I knew and made myself resigned. I pushed away the operating tools, the IVs, and left only the painkillers. Water, polluted by a thick cloud of opiander, was loaded into a steel tube, and administered straight into the man's sallow chest.
A few gasps. His eyes, a pair of dull emeralds, became clogged with awareness. Skin softened, the fog of pain lifting itself from his mind. The stumps swiveled. Nonexistent arms sought out warmth amidst the cold steel. Leg nerves screamed against a charred wall, straining towards the battlefield like the brackish high tide.
A few moments, and I thought I wasn't looking at a man anymore. I thought I was looking at a droid, a piece of machinery well passed its expiration date. There was no other sign of life, only the repetition. The limbs, moving back and forth and back and forth. Like broken oars. A small ship, sailing deeper and deeper into unknown, black depths.
Then, there was a gasp. The expulsion of lifeless air from cracked lips.
"Doc?"
He had a deep baritone. A smooth, musical tone that tickled my ears and paved over the dust-choked air.
"*Ja?*"
"Doc, how much am I gonna need?"
I looked him over.
"Arms and legs."
"My *eyes*, Doc," he gasped. "I can't *see*. Is it... permanent?" His voice became jumpy, full of twisted, eager energy.
I stared down at the dead irises.
"*Ja*. Eyes too, Corporal."
The man's mouth twisted into a grin.
"*Wunderbar*," he breathed, and started to laugh. "New arms, legs, and eyes. That bastard Luka's gonna eat his metal heart out."
I placed my hands against the man's chest. The steel chrome of my fingers shined in the light, and I couldn't help but laugh as well.
"Three weeks is a long time from the field, Corporal. More if you want alloy reinforcement."
"It's worth it, Doc," he said. "Gotta tell the wife. She'll be ecstatic. I'm gonna go *ubermensch*, you just watch."
His head leaned back against the table, happiness etched across his hollow cheeks and blind eyes.
"Best day of my life, Doc."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | A simple silver bracelet
She holds it to the light
It gleams
She smiles
"I love it!" she says
She takes his hand
And holds it against her face
"You know me so well!" she says
She strokes his face
"I love you," she says
And places the bracelet on his bloodied chest
| I dragged the armless, legless man out of the trenches. The man was a plow, his bloodied stumps leaving looping furrows in the soupy dirt. My breath pounded like that of a malnourished oxen, dragging its way through a field ready to yield a crop of shrapnel corn and bloody tulips.
I could barely hear his breath when I dragged him onto the operating table. But it came, a slight whistling from that ruined hulk of meat and metal. I set about my grim routine, peeling away layer after layer of armor plating and uniform until the raw flesh was laid bare.
Despite the technology at my disposal, I knew and made myself resigned. I pushed away the operating tools, the IVs, and left only the painkillers. Water, polluted by a thick cloud of opiander, was loaded into a steel tube, and administered straight into the man's sallow chest.
A few gasps. His eyes, a pair of dull emeralds, became clogged with awareness. Skin softened, the fog of pain lifting itself from his mind. The stumps swiveled. Nonexistent arms sought out warmth amidst the cold steel. Leg nerves screamed against a charred wall, straining towards the battlefield like the brackish high tide.
A few moments, and I thought I wasn't looking at a man anymore. I thought I was looking at a droid, a piece of machinery well passed its expiration date. There was no other sign of life, only the repetition. The limbs, moving back and forth and back and forth. Like broken oars. A small ship, sailing deeper and deeper into unknown, black depths.
Then, there was a gasp. The expulsion of lifeless air from cracked lips.
"Doc?"
He had a deep baritone. A smooth, musical tone that tickled my ears and paved over the dust-choked air.
"*Ja?*"
"Doc, how much am I gonna need?"
I looked him over.
"Arms and legs."
"My *eyes*, Doc," he gasped. "I can't *see*. Is it... permanent?" His voice became jumpy, full of twisted, eager energy.
I stared down at the dead irises.
"*Ja*. Eyes too, Corporal."
The man's mouth twisted into a grin.
"*Wunderbar*," he breathed, and started to laugh. "New arms, legs, and eyes. That bastard Luka's gonna eat his metal heart out."
I placed my hands against the man's chest. The steel chrome of my fingers shined in the light, and I couldn't help but laugh as well.
"Three weeks is a long time from the field, Corporal. More if you want alloy reinforcement."
"It's worth it, Doc," he said. "Gotta tell the wife. She'll be ecstatic. I'm gonna go *ubermensch*, you just watch."
His head leaned back against the table, happiness etched across his hollow cheeks and blind eyes.
"Best day of my life, Doc."
| |
[WP] Write a short poem/story that is either very happy or quite sad, but we have no idea which until the very last word. | A simple silver bracelet
She holds it to the light
It gleams
She smiles
"I love it!" she says
She takes his hand
And holds it against her face
"You know me so well!" she says
She strokes his face
"I love you," she says
And places the bracelet on his bloodied chest
| *I am finally where I want to be*, I think to myself, as I wake up beside her. After all this time, it's still a bit of a surprise, a reminder of the college days when Lea would sneak into my room after I'd gone to sleep. Everything is soft and golden, from the morning sunlight to the strands of her hair on the pillowcase. I kiss her shoulder and she rolls over, blue eyes blinking into wakefulness. "Going to work, babe?" "Yeah. Love you." "See you tonight. Love you too." God, she's my whole world.
Chris meets me at the subway station as usual, perfecting the balance of speed-walking and coffee-drinking that you won't find anywhere else but here. "Morning, Matt." "Morning, Chris. Another beautiful day, huh?" "Totally. Hey, you know that cute barista at the one place? She totally remembered my order today. Dude." "Dude." Chris is a goofball, but he makes work so much better. We ride to work in silence, swaying back and forth with the rhythm of a New York morning. The subway is always full of life– children, parents, young professionals, creative types, crazies, artists, businessmen, students, lovers. Humans.
I don't know what it is, but something in the air today makes me think of the future. Maybe it's the crisp edge to the sunlight, that chill that reminds me of the changing of seasons. Time marches on, but I am finally where I want to be. Winter will come– snow in Central Park, skating with Lea, flying home to see my family. Then spring– Lea gets her master's and we move to a nicer apartment, one that allows dogs. Summer– we've been saving up for a trip to Europe. Our fourth anniversary. It's still a ways off, but I'm thinking I might propose.
But for now it's just me and Chris, headed to another day of work, stepping out onto our floor as the elevator pings softly behind us. I set my backpack down below my desk and attempt to organize the mess of papers in front of me. There's some forms I've been meaning to get around to. "Chris, what day is it? September 12?" "It's Tuesday, right? Yeah. So the 11th." | |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | "I cannot bear to watch any further! Hold my beer and I'll get onto the field to whip some sense into them!"
Oh God, here we go again. To Him, I only said, "That is certainly wise, but You of all entities need to work in mysterious ways, for prestige and, uh, tradition."
"I stopped believing in the 'mysterious' minotaurcrap when I was forced to leave my dinosaurs to die from a sneeze of the trespassing kid from next door! And the humans aren't much better, in face it's worse since they were meant to be 'in my image'. Just look at those oversized Argentinosaurus-es!"
"Well, you haven't been sober since their Creation, so perhaps-"
A celestial vortex swirled into place, the reds, blues and sparkly greys congregated at a thought of the Almighty. An intergalactic lightning struck faraway, a warning shot.
I gulped. God's eyes reflected rage of the same colours as the gathering storm.
"It is as you wish, Almighty." The quiver in my voice could not be hidden.
"Good, it is high time for more direct intervention. No more messiahs - they die too quickly. How about politicians? Oh yes, there is that one."
"Sir, I do believe the one you are imagining has shown himself a Devil's advocate through and through."
"Perfect, if he succeeds he would have been purified by God's touch. If he fails it's the Devil's fault."
---
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| It had been a long time coming. I mean, history is cyclical- right?
This has happened before, the lead up was the same, the characters the same in all but name, the rest of the pawns were in place.
This time round Trump was the president, Merkel was Chancellor. There was a potential rumour brewing in the East of missiles being tested by the N.Koreans. It would only take one match to burn a thousand trees.
Last time, the spark was Franz Ferdinand, a scape goat, they were looking for a reason to have a fight. Some guy in a far off country not really related to anything started the ball rolling, and boom the Second World War happened.
Hitler and Stalin were the protagonist, the was a deep unsettling in Europe, countries wanted independence, looking towards their right wing leaders for guidance.
This time, N.Korea sending up rockets, USA sending in anti-missile technology. Little did they know theirs was the match to ignite the world.
Europe again is in turmoil, breaking apart, wanting independence, looking towards a more separate entity. Britain, once a super power has lost his worth. Everyone considering the right wing politicians again, referendums, general elections being called.
Everything hangs in a fine balance between us, the world, and you the people.
God, looks up from a baseball game, a repeat- of course. He notices the little guys playing battleships on a large scale, preparing for an assault.
"Gees, come one guys, this has already happened once, you can't have forgotten already, remember those bad guys I sent to warn you, well you didn't learn!" God said.
"I don't want to have to come down there to prove a point, what's wrong with the peace and love vibe that was going on? I turn my back for two seconds and it's like you have the toys I told you to tidy away, out again."
"At least it isn't those big ass lego type bricks you build castles with, that smarts when you step on them in the dark!"
"Trump, calm down man! Hey Putin, put that back! Kim, oh Kim, you know that was only meant to be made out of foam, don't fire it at people and away from the face, remember what I taught you?"
"Oh for my sake, if divine intervention is what it takes this time, that's fine!" He shouted angrily.
"Peter?!" God shouted.
"Sir?" Peter winced.
"Hold my beer, I'm going to have to smite them to teach them a lesson." God replied.
"Very good Sir, would you like me to cancel you 2 o'clock?" Peter enquired.
"Oh yeah, probably, this ain't going to be pretty and may take a couple of hours." | |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | "Look mum! I drew this picture for you."
The little boy was beaming. He was clearly very proud of the rough drawing of the stick-figure family in front of a house. Bright yellow crayon was scribbled in the corner to depict a bright sunny day.
"Hold my beer kid," said the mother. She rolled her eyes at the amateur work presented to her and picked up a piece of white paper and a pen. She began to draw.
After a few minutes furiously scribbling on a page, she sat up looking satisfied.
"This is art," she exclaimed. She had drawn a detailed self-portrait in pen, and it was quite impressive.
"That's all fine and dandy, but that is still pathetic." The father had walked in, and scoffed at what he had seen.
"Here, hold my beer."
He proceeded to grab a canvas, oil paints, and a brush from the next room and began painting.
When he had finished, he glanced at his work and lightly dabbed his brush to perfect it. It was a beautifully painted image of a flower, and it really was a masterpiece.
With his chest puffed out, the father looked at his family arrogantly.
"This is art!"
At this point, exasperated at what he had seen God appeared in their home.
"Hold my beer," said God.
The family was silent. They moved their lips as if to speak, but no sound came from their mouths.
"Now THAT is art," he said and left as he came. | It had been a long time coming. I mean, history is cyclical- right?
This has happened before, the lead up was the same, the characters the same in all but name, the rest of the pawns were in place.
This time round Trump was the president, Merkel was Chancellor. There was a potential rumour brewing in the East of missiles being tested by the N.Koreans. It would only take one match to burn a thousand trees.
Last time, the spark was Franz Ferdinand, a scape goat, they were looking for a reason to have a fight. Some guy in a far off country not really related to anything started the ball rolling, and boom the Second World War happened.
Hitler and Stalin were the protagonist, the was a deep unsettling in Europe, countries wanted independence, looking towards their right wing leaders for guidance.
This time, N.Korea sending up rockets, USA sending in anti-missile technology. Little did they know theirs was the match to ignite the world.
Europe again is in turmoil, breaking apart, wanting independence, looking towards a more separate entity. Britain, once a super power has lost his worth. Everyone considering the right wing politicians again, referendums, general elections being called.
Everything hangs in a fine balance between us, the world, and you the people.
God, looks up from a baseball game, a repeat- of course. He notices the little guys playing battleships on a large scale, preparing for an assault.
"Gees, come one guys, this has already happened once, you can't have forgotten already, remember those bad guys I sent to warn you, well you didn't learn!" God said.
"I don't want to have to come down there to prove a point, what's wrong with the peace and love vibe that was going on? I turn my back for two seconds and it's like you have the toys I told you to tidy away, out again."
"At least it isn't those big ass lego type bricks you build castles with, that smarts when you step on them in the dark!"
"Trump, calm down man! Hey Putin, put that back! Kim, oh Kim, you know that was only meant to be made out of foam, don't fire it at people and away from the face, remember what I taught you?"
"Oh for my sake, if divine intervention is what it takes this time, that's fine!" He shouted angrily.
"Peter?!" God shouted.
"Sir?" Peter winced.
"Hold my beer, I'm going to have to smite them to teach them a lesson." God replied.
"Very good Sir, would you like me to cancel you 2 o'clock?" Peter enquired.
"Oh yeah, probably, this ain't going to be pretty and may take a couple of hours." | |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | "Descartes, hold my beer."
"Sir?"
"I'm going to make a golf ball so big I can't get a hole in one."
"But sir-"
"What? You think I can't do it?"
"Well, it is..umm."
"What exactly do you think, Mr. Decartes?" Pascal asked.
"Shut the fuck up Pascal. You're only here because you like to fucking gamble. Fifty bucks says I can't hole it."
"I know you can do it sir." said the archangel Michael.
"Michael, when I want your opinion I'll give it to you. Fifty bucks says I can't make it."
Grumbling the three of them took the bet. God picked up his five iron and hit the planet sized ball clean. The four of them tracked it, then watched it disappear as it reached the hole.
"Is it? Or is it not?" asked Descartes.
"Fuck if I know. Pass me the beer and call Schrödinger."
| It had been a long time coming. I mean, history is cyclical- right?
This has happened before, the lead up was the same, the characters the same in all but name, the rest of the pawns were in place.
This time round Trump was the president, Merkel was Chancellor. There was a potential rumour brewing in the East of missiles being tested by the N.Koreans. It would only take one match to burn a thousand trees.
Last time, the spark was Franz Ferdinand, a scape goat, they were looking for a reason to have a fight. Some guy in a far off country not really related to anything started the ball rolling, and boom the Second World War happened.
Hitler and Stalin were the protagonist, the was a deep unsettling in Europe, countries wanted independence, looking towards their right wing leaders for guidance.
This time, N.Korea sending up rockets, USA sending in anti-missile technology. Little did they know theirs was the match to ignite the world.
Europe again is in turmoil, breaking apart, wanting independence, looking towards a more separate entity. Britain, once a super power has lost his worth. Everyone considering the right wing politicians again, referendums, general elections being called.
Everything hangs in a fine balance between us, the world, and you the people.
God, looks up from a baseball game, a repeat- of course. He notices the little guys playing battleships on a large scale, preparing for an assault.
"Gees, come one guys, this has already happened once, you can't have forgotten already, remember those bad guys I sent to warn you, well you didn't learn!" God said.
"I don't want to have to come down there to prove a point, what's wrong with the peace and love vibe that was going on? I turn my back for two seconds and it's like you have the toys I told you to tidy away, out again."
"At least it isn't those big ass lego type bricks you build castles with, that smarts when you step on them in the dark!"
"Trump, calm down man! Hey Putin, put that back! Kim, oh Kim, you know that was only meant to be made out of foam, don't fire it at people and away from the face, remember what I taught you?"
"Oh for my sake, if divine intervention is what it takes this time, that's fine!" He shouted angrily.
"Peter?!" God shouted.
"Sir?" Peter winced.
"Hold my beer, I'm going to have to smite them to teach them a lesson." God replied.
"Very good Sir, would you like me to cancel you 2 o'clock?" Peter enquired.
"Oh yeah, probably, this ain't going to be pretty and may take a couple of hours." | |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | NASA was in a frenzy. They were looking at feeds from observatories around the planet.
"It's definitely on a straight collisions course. And it's monstrous. Must be... two hundred miles in diameter, easy."
"What the hell is it?!" asked the director.
"No one's got ideas yet. The frontal side seems perfectly circular from all feeds. We haven't gotten a good look past it but it seems to stretch back a considerable length."
"Some sort of cylinder? A space craft? Extra terrestrials?"
"We don't know sir."
"Makes no difference. We need to assemble a team, and fast. We've gotta stop this thing from crushing us like ants."
"Way ahead of you sir. We've got JAXA, Russia, the UK and the White House talking. We'll-
Just then some one on the lower deck stood frantically and yelled up to them, "Sir, we're detecting some incredibly high-volume audio frequencies! I'm putting it on the speaker."
Over the speaker came a cascade of noise that sounded like a hundred whales in unison.
"What the hell is that?!"
"I can't make heads or tails. Can we condense it? Speed it up? There has to be some sort of distinguishing quality-"
The cascade came again, reverberating throughout the room. "*HOLD MY BEER.*"
----------
*Ten Minutes Earlier*
Marty sat slumped in the sofa, dejected, crying. He wiped a fresh stream of tears from his face.
"Marty. Marty, look at me."
Marty sniffled and looked up at his Dad.
"Marty, just remember, God can hear you. God can see, and He can hear you. Just think about that next time around. I''m not going to ground you. Go outside and play. Okay?"
Marty eked out through his sniffles, "O-O-Oka-kay."
Outside, he stood on the lawn gazing up at the sky. His sniffling stopped and the sun dried the last of the tears. He cupped his hand over his eyes, looking for something.
"God? Hey God? God?" He waited. "God. God? Hey, God! Hey God?"
A voice sharp and clear and booming inside of his head said, "*What's up?"
Marty's jaw dropped, then he grinned widely. "Hey, God! Can you do this?!"
Marty planted his hands on the ground and lifted his feet into a perfectly straight handstand. He held it a good ten seconds and then dropped gracefully to his feet.
He looked up at the sky expectantly. | It had been a long time coming. I mean, history is cyclical- right?
This has happened before, the lead up was the same, the characters the same in all but name, the rest of the pawns were in place.
This time round Trump was the president, Merkel was Chancellor. There was a potential rumour brewing in the East of missiles being tested by the N.Koreans. It would only take one match to burn a thousand trees.
Last time, the spark was Franz Ferdinand, a scape goat, they were looking for a reason to have a fight. Some guy in a far off country not really related to anything started the ball rolling, and boom the Second World War happened.
Hitler and Stalin were the protagonist, the was a deep unsettling in Europe, countries wanted independence, looking towards their right wing leaders for guidance.
This time, N.Korea sending up rockets, USA sending in anti-missile technology. Little did they know theirs was the match to ignite the world.
Europe again is in turmoil, breaking apart, wanting independence, looking towards a more separate entity. Britain, once a super power has lost his worth. Everyone considering the right wing politicians again, referendums, general elections being called.
Everything hangs in a fine balance between us, the world, and you the people.
God, looks up from a baseball game, a repeat- of course. He notices the little guys playing battleships on a large scale, preparing for an assault.
"Gees, come one guys, this has already happened once, you can't have forgotten already, remember those bad guys I sent to warn you, well you didn't learn!" God said.
"I don't want to have to come down there to prove a point, what's wrong with the peace and love vibe that was going on? I turn my back for two seconds and it's like you have the toys I told you to tidy away, out again."
"At least it isn't those big ass lego type bricks you build castles with, that smarts when you step on them in the dark!"
"Trump, calm down man! Hey Putin, put that back! Kim, oh Kim, you know that was only meant to be made out of foam, don't fire it at people and away from the face, remember what I taught you?"
"Oh for my sake, if divine intervention is what it takes this time, that's fine!" He shouted angrily.
"Peter?!" God shouted.
"Sir?" Peter winced.
"Hold my beer, I'm going to have to smite them to teach them a lesson." God replied.
"Very good Sir, would you like me to cancel you 2 o'clock?" Peter enquired.
"Oh yeah, probably, this ain't going to be pretty and may take a couple of hours." | |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | "Look mum! I drew this picture for you."
The little boy was beaming. He was clearly very proud of the rough drawing of the stick-figure family in front of a house. Bright yellow crayon was scribbled in the corner to depict a bright sunny day.
"Hold my beer kid," said the mother. She rolled her eyes at the amateur work presented to her and picked up a piece of white paper and a pen. She began to draw.
After a few minutes furiously scribbling on a page, she sat up looking satisfied.
"This is art," she exclaimed. She had drawn a detailed self-portrait in pen, and it was quite impressive.
"That's all fine and dandy, but that is still pathetic." The father had walked in, and scoffed at what he had seen.
"Here, hold my beer."
He proceeded to grab a canvas, oil paints, and a brush from the next room and began painting.
When he had finished, he glanced at his work and lightly dabbed his brush to perfect it. It was a beautifully painted image of a flower, and it really was a masterpiece.
With his chest puffed out, the father looked at his family arrogantly.
"This is art!"
At this point, exasperated at what he had seen God appeared in their home.
"Hold my beer," said God.
The family was silent. They moved their lips as if to speak, but no sound came from their mouths.
"Now THAT is art," he said and left as he came. | "I cannot bear to watch any further! Hold my beer and I'll get onto the field to whip some sense into them!"
Oh God, here we go again. To Him, I only said, "That is certainly wise, but You of all entities need to work in mysterious ways, for prestige and, uh, tradition."
"I stopped believing in the 'mysterious' minotaurcrap when I was forced to leave my dinosaurs to die from a sneeze of the trespassing kid from next door! And the humans aren't much better, in face it's worse since they were meant to be 'in my image'. Just look at those oversized Argentinosaurus-es!"
"Well, you haven't been sober since their Creation, so perhaps-"
A celestial vortex swirled into place, the reds, blues and sparkly greys congregated at a thought of the Almighty. An intergalactic lightning struck faraway, a warning shot.
I gulped. God's eyes reflected rage of the same colours as the gathering storm.
"It is as you wish, Almighty." The quiver in my voice could not be hidden.
"Good, it is high time for more direct intervention. No more messiahs - they die too quickly. How about politicians? Oh yes, there is that one."
"Sir, I do believe the one you are imagining has shown himself a Devil's advocate through and through."
"Perfect, if he succeeds he would have been purified by God's touch. If he fails it's the Devil's fault."
---
Subscribe to my stories on [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com)!
| |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | "Descartes, hold my beer."
"Sir?"
"I'm going to make a golf ball so big I can't get a hole in one."
"But sir-"
"What? You think I can't do it?"
"Well, it is..umm."
"What exactly do you think, Mr. Decartes?" Pascal asked.
"Shut the fuck up Pascal. You're only here because you like to fucking gamble. Fifty bucks says I can't hole it."
"I know you can do it sir." said the archangel Michael.
"Michael, when I want your opinion I'll give it to you. Fifty bucks says I can't make it."
Grumbling the three of them took the bet. God picked up his five iron and hit the planet sized ball clean. The four of them tracked it, then watched it disappear as it reached the hole.
"Is it? Or is it not?" asked Descartes.
"Fuck if I know. Pass me the beer and call Schrödinger."
| "I cannot bear to watch any further! Hold my beer and I'll get onto the field to whip some sense into them!"
Oh God, here we go again. To Him, I only said, "That is certainly wise, but You of all entities need to work in mysterious ways, for prestige and, uh, tradition."
"I stopped believing in the 'mysterious' minotaurcrap when I was forced to leave my dinosaurs to die from a sneeze of the trespassing kid from next door! And the humans aren't much better, in face it's worse since they were meant to be 'in my image'. Just look at those oversized Argentinosaurus-es!"
"Well, you haven't been sober since their Creation, so perhaps-"
A celestial vortex swirled into place, the reds, blues and sparkly greys congregated at a thought of the Almighty. An intergalactic lightning struck faraway, a warning shot.
I gulped. God's eyes reflected rage of the same colours as the gathering storm.
"It is as you wish, Almighty." The quiver in my voice could not be hidden.
"Good, it is high time for more direct intervention. No more messiahs - they die too quickly. How about politicians? Oh yes, there is that one."
"Sir, I do believe the one you are imagining has shown himself a Devil's advocate through and through."
"Perfect, if he succeeds he would have been purified by God's touch. If he fails it's the Devil's fault."
---
Subscribe to my stories on [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com)!
| |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | NASA was in a frenzy. They were looking at feeds from observatories around the planet.
"It's definitely on a straight collisions course. And it's monstrous. Must be... two hundred miles in diameter, easy."
"What the hell is it?!" asked the director.
"No one's got ideas yet. The frontal side seems perfectly circular from all feeds. We haven't gotten a good look past it but it seems to stretch back a considerable length."
"Some sort of cylinder? A space craft? Extra terrestrials?"
"We don't know sir."
"Makes no difference. We need to assemble a team, and fast. We've gotta stop this thing from crushing us like ants."
"Way ahead of you sir. We've got JAXA, Russia, the UK and the White House talking. We'll-
Just then some one on the lower deck stood frantically and yelled up to them, "Sir, we're detecting some incredibly high-volume audio frequencies! I'm putting it on the speaker."
Over the speaker came a cascade of noise that sounded like a hundred whales in unison.
"What the hell is that?!"
"I can't make heads or tails. Can we condense it? Speed it up? There has to be some sort of distinguishing quality-"
The cascade came again, reverberating throughout the room. "*HOLD MY BEER.*"
----------
*Ten Minutes Earlier*
Marty sat slumped in the sofa, dejected, crying. He wiped a fresh stream of tears from his face.
"Marty. Marty, look at me."
Marty sniffled and looked up at his Dad.
"Marty, just remember, God can hear you. God can see, and He can hear you. Just think about that next time around. I''m not going to ground you. Go outside and play. Okay?"
Marty eked out through his sniffles, "O-O-Oka-kay."
Outside, he stood on the lawn gazing up at the sky. His sniffling stopped and the sun dried the last of the tears. He cupped his hand over his eyes, looking for something.
"God? Hey God? God?" He waited. "God. God? Hey, God! Hey God?"
A voice sharp and clear and booming inside of his head said, "*What's up?"
Marty's jaw dropped, then he grinned widely. "Hey, God! Can you do this?!"
Marty planted his hands on the ground and lifted his feet into a perfectly straight handstand. He held it a good ten seconds and then dropped gracefully to his feet.
He looked up at the sky expectantly. | "I cannot bear to watch any further! Hold my beer and I'll get onto the field to whip some sense into them!"
Oh God, here we go again. To Him, I only said, "That is certainly wise, but You of all entities need to work in mysterious ways, for prestige and, uh, tradition."
"I stopped believing in the 'mysterious' minotaurcrap when I was forced to leave my dinosaurs to die from a sneeze of the trespassing kid from next door! And the humans aren't much better, in face it's worse since they were meant to be 'in my image'. Just look at those oversized Argentinosaurus-es!"
"Well, you haven't been sober since their Creation, so perhaps-"
A celestial vortex swirled into place, the reds, blues and sparkly greys congregated at a thought of the Almighty. An intergalactic lightning struck faraway, a warning shot.
I gulped. God's eyes reflected rage of the same colours as the gathering storm.
"It is as you wish, Almighty." The quiver in my voice could not be hidden.
"Good, it is high time for more direct intervention. No more messiahs - they die too quickly. How about politicians? Oh yes, there is that one."
"Sir, I do believe the one you are imagining has shown himself a Devil's advocate through and through."
"Perfect, if he succeeds he would have been purified by God's touch. If he fails it's the Devil's fault."
---
Subscribe to my stories on [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com)!
| |
[WP] ''Hold my beer'' - God | NASA was in a frenzy. They were looking at feeds from observatories around the planet.
"It's definitely on a straight collisions course. And it's monstrous. Must be... two hundred miles in diameter, easy."
"What the hell is it?!" asked the director.
"No one's got ideas yet. The frontal side seems perfectly circular from all feeds. We haven't gotten a good look past it but it seems to stretch back a considerable length."
"Some sort of cylinder? A space craft? Extra terrestrials?"
"We don't know sir."
"Makes no difference. We need to assemble a team, and fast. We've gotta stop this thing from crushing us like ants."
"Way ahead of you sir. We've got JAXA, Russia, the UK and the White House talking. We'll-
Just then some one on the lower deck stood frantically and yelled up to them, "Sir, we're detecting some incredibly high-volume audio frequencies! I'm putting it on the speaker."
Over the speaker came a cascade of noise that sounded like a hundred whales in unison.
"What the hell is that?!"
"I can't make heads or tails. Can we condense it? Speed it up? There has to be some sort of distinguishing quality-"
The cascade came again, reverberating throughout the room. "*HOLD MY BEER.*"
----------
*Ten Minutes Earlier*
Marty sat slumped in the sofa, dejected, crying. He wiped a fresh stream of tears from his face.
"Marty. Marty, look at me."
Marty sniffled and looked up at his Dad.
"Marty, just remember, God can hear you. God can see, and He can hear you. Just think about that next time around. I''m not going to ground you. Go outside and play. Okay?"
Marty eked out through his sniffles, "O-O-Oka-kay."
Outside, he stood on the lawn gazing up at the sky. His sniffling stopped and the sun dried the last of the tears. He cupped his hand over his eyes, looking for something.
"God? Hey God? God?" He waited. "God. God? Hey, God! Hey God?"
A voice sharp and clear and booming inside of his head said, "*What's up?"
Marty's jaw dropped, then he grinned widely. "Hey, God! Can you do this?!"
Marty planted his hands on the ground and lifted his feet into a perfectly straight handstand. He held it a good ten seconds and then dropped gracefully to his feet.
He looked up at the sky expectantly. | "Descartes, hold my beer."
"Sir?"
"I'm going to make a golf ball so big I can't get a hole in one."
"But sir-"
"What? You think I can't do it?"
"Well, it is..umm."
"What exactly do you think, Mr. Decartes?" Pascal asked.
"Shut the fuck up Pascal. You're only here because you like to fucking gamble. Fifty bucks says I can't hole it."
"I know you can do it sir." said the archangel Michael.
"Michael, when I want your opinion I'll give it to you. Fifty bucks says I can't make it."
Grumbling the three of them took the bet. God picked up his five iron and hit the planet sized ball clean. The four of them tracked it, then watched it disappear as it reached the hole.
"Is it? Or is it not?" asked Descartes.
"Fuck if I know. Pass me the beer and call Schrödinger."
| |
Seemed cool. I hope you have fun with this one | [WP] You died, only to be revived centuries in the future. You don't know why you were chosen, and nobody will tell you. | "Vitals normalizing. Ease him in."
A muffled sound could be heard through the speakers near my bed. I was tired, I went to bed pretty late last night, studying for my final exam in chemistry. My bed felt different, and my sheets were thinner than I thought they were. I sat up and rubbed my eyes in the darkness. My room was still dark, the sun must haven't come up yet. Something tugged on my neck as I moved, and I felt around the back of my head. A cord was tethered to the back of my head, almost feeling like it was going inside of me. This has got to be some weird dream. I laid back down.
"Enable hearing."
My ears adjusted, as if I was decreasing in altitude and my ears popped. I could more easily hear the sound of the fan in the corner, quietly blowing cool air into my dorm room. A quiet beeping resounded in the background and I could hear people talking a ways away. Why is my roommate watching TV *this* early? I tried calling out to him, but my words were mumbled and took a lot of effort. Wow, I could use a drink of water.
"Enable smell and speech."
A dank smell filled my nose, sort of like visiting my grandma in the nursing home. The best way to describe it is that it smelled like old people. I could tell that someone was talking to me, but I didn't know who. I called out to see if my roommate was in the other room, this time with clear speech.
"Hey Al! What are you doing up so early? It's still dark!"
My words echoed in my room. It sounded bare, as if it were lined with tile. I'm beginning to get the feeling I wasn't in my room.
"Recognized. Subject responsive. Enable optics."
A tremendously bright light filled my eyes. It jumped me a bit, and I squinted as I gave my eyes a bit of time to adjust to the harsh white light which filled the room.
"What the hell, Al? You couldn't have just told me you were coming in? What if I was naked, man?"
My eyes adjusted to the light of the room. Above me were ceiling panels, and square lights to match. I looked down to my feet, which were covered by a thin sheet. My bed wasn't the bed I remember, it now resembled a hospital gurney. The room was full of people and medical equipment, towering over me and peering at me through glasses low on their nose. Many had sheets of glass which looked like they contained data. They were constantly tapping, swiping, and flicking things around on them. The people talked amongst each other while continuing eye contact with me. I was definitely not at school.
"Umm.. can someone please tell me where I am?"
Three of the people around began furiously tapping on their glass notepads as soon as I began to speak, as if to write down what I was saying.
One of the people stepped forward, holding a glass thing. Everyone else became silent.
"December 12, 2011. 2:47 AM.
College student Silas Malachi experienced a fatal seizure and major organ failure while sitting at his dormitory desk. He died at 19 years old."
I listened to his words, but I knew they were fake. Today was December 13, the day I was supposed to turn in my chemistry final. This was a pretty well thought prank, but Al is an idiot.
"Nice joke guys, but I'm gonna get back to my room now," I joked, trying to get out of bed. The tether pulled me back. I reached around and pulled on it, but it wouldn't come free. It was attached to my spine. Beginning to panic, I turned to face the man that spoke.
"What is going on here? Who are you??"
The man turned his back to me.
"The date is May 11, 2283. Happy birthday, Silas. Welcome back." | With a scream of pain, caused by a sudden acception of electric pulses in the brain, Brian opend his eyes. He tried to move his body, only to find out he was strapped to some sort of table. Looking around the room as best as he could, without moving his head, he could see that he was in some kind of hospital room. Just as he was about to give up his fight for freedom, already bleeding severly from wounds at his wrists and ankles, caused by the leather straps that kept him down, he heard something opening behind him.
"So, it is true then? We finally, after so many attempts, managed to do it??" The face of a man appeared in Brian's line of sight. The face looked old and wrinkled, but also delighted and very exciting about what it saw laying there on the table below it. "Where the fucking fuck am I" thought Brian. He tried to pronounce those words, but all that came across his lips were incomprehensible grunts.
"Ah, the subject is starting to regain its ability to speak again, to a certain extent at least. How delightfull." Said the still unknown man. The man started to loosen the straps around Brian's wrists, giving him a bit more space to move. "Now, I would advice you to remain calm and start moving again in a calm, and hazard free way, subject 3937, also formerly known as Brian" said the man. "We had to regrow almost your entire body, including parts of your brain. This might feel weird for the first few months, maybe even years, but look at it from the bright side of life brian, at least you ARE alive, something that you could not be said about you up to 12 hours ago" |
Seemed cool. I hope you have fun with this one | [WP] You died, only to be revived centuries in the future. You don't know why you were chosen, and nobody will tell you. | "I've told you, I can't tell you Jacob."
Jacob sighed and leaned back on the park bench, resting his head on a tree that lay behind them. He looked around, surrounded by complete peace. The garden that he sat in was breathtakingly beautiful, flowers of all colours were in bloom. The crystal clear water flowed gently down the small river which ran the whole length of the park.
Banner, his handler, put his hand to his mouth and scratched his beard. He looked around at the fantastic colours and sights, but he gazed straight through them. He'd seen this garden a hundred times before, although the place was still beautiful, he was no longer mesmerized.
Weirdly enough, Jacob didn't look mesmerised either.
And it was his first time in the garden of Serenity.
Banner looked to Jacob again, who was staring emptily into space. "Look. I get that you've only been back with us two days, but I've told you I can't tell you the details of the Lazarus project."
"Why?!" Jacob asked, a hint of anger and confusion seeping into his question.
Banner sighed again. "They're the rules. All that you need to know is that you're alive again. We don't live like you lived. Here, you won't want for anything. Your every wish can be provided."
"I wish you would tell me why I'm back."
"I can't. It's not that simple. Look, I'm your handler. I've got to follow you around while you're in the adjustment period, that's just the way it is."
As silence settled over their conversation, the sounds of the running water and gentle breeze were all that could be heard. Banner leant forwards, his elbows on his knees, and scratched his beard again.
Jacob's head was beginning to ache. The relaxing atmosphere of the garden did nothing to soothe his bubbling frustration. "Can you at least tell me who I was?"
"No."
Jacob scoffed and shook his head. Banner looked around, unable to take in the sights and eventually settled his gaze on Jacob again. After a few minutes of quiet, he slapped his hands on his knees.
"Screw it. Follow me." Jacob raised an eyebrow and looked over at his handler. Banner stood up and waved for Jacob to do the same. Jacob looked at him in disbelief. "We're going for a walk." Banner winked at Jacob.
Banner lead them through the garden. Through perfect corridors of trees, through small fields of vibrant flowers, through patches of precisely cut grass. It seemed like they were walking for hours until they reached an old wooden door in a hedge.
Banner stopped about a foot from it and turned to Jacob. "You sure you want to talk?" Jacob nodded. Banner gave a curt nod in return and opened the door.
The door opened up to a huge, dimly lit room. Jacob looked around in bewilderment, trying to take in what he was seeing.
'This can't be real.' Jacob thought to himself. 'The door was in a hedge, with fields on the other side! There couldn't possibly be a giant room here!' And yet, in the room he stood. There was a path leading into a circular area in the centre of the room, with water all around it. It was like the path sat just above the liquid. Droplets of water fell from the ceiling, like it was raining. The room was dimly lit with calming blue light, which shimmered and morphed as the light reflected off of water.
Banner gestured for Jacob to follow him into the centre of the room.
"What is this place?" Jacob asked.
"It's the room of tranquility. It's the only place in here where they can't hear us."
"Who?!"
"The other workers assigned to the project. It doesn't matter! What does matter is that we have a small window before I'll be called out for review."
"Review?"
"Unimportant! What matters is that you died some time ago. The Lazarus project is a research program, about finding the truth behind souls."
"Souls? You mean like ghosts and shit?"
"Sort of." Banner scratched his beard again. "We're testing for many qualities of the soul. Some people believe it to be your immortal being, or your conscience. Part of our research comes down to a single question with you. If someone is given a second chance, are they predetermined to make or do bad things again?"
It took a few seconds for it to sink in. Jacob raised his mouth to ask one of the millions of questions that had just popped into his head, but before he could, Banner spoke again.
"When they come in, tell me the flowers in the garden looked nice."
"What the fu-"
The door to the room of Tranquility slammed open.
| With a scream of pain, caused by a sudden acception of electric pulses in the brain, Brian opend his eyes. He tried to move his body, only to find out he was strapped to some sort of table. Looking around the room as best as he could, without moving his head, he could see that he was in some kind of hospital room. Just as he was about to give up his fight for freedom, already bleeding severly from wounds at his wrists and ankles, caused by the leather straps that kept him down, he heard something opening behind him.
"So, it is true then? We finally, after so many attempts, managed to do it??" The face of a man appeared in Brian's line of sight. The face looked old and wrinkled, but also delighted and very exciting about what it saw laying there on the table below it. "Where the fucking fuck am I" thought Brian. He tried to pronounce those words, but all that came across his lips were incomprehensible grunts.
"Ah, the subject is starting to regain its ability to speak again, to a certain extent at least. How delightfull." Said the still unknown man. The man started to loosen the straps around Brian's wrists, giving him a bit more space to move. "Now, I would advice you to remain calm and start moving again in a calm, and hazard free way, subject 3937, also formerly known as Brian" said the man. "We had to regrow almost your entire body, including parts of your brain. This might feel weird for the first few months, maybe even years, but look at it from the bright side of life brian, at least you ARE alive, something that you could not be said about you up to 12 hours ago" |
Seemed cool. I hope you have fun with this one | [WP] You died, only to be revived centuries in the future. You don't know why you were chosen, and nobody will tell you. | "Vitals normalizing. Ease him in."
A muffled sound could be heard through the speakers near my bed. I was tired, I went to bed pretty late last night, studying for my final exam in chemistry. My bed felt different, and my sheets were thinner than I thought they were. I sat up and rubbed my eyes in the darkness. My room was still dark, the sun must haven't come up yet. Something tugged on my neck as I moved, and I felt around the back of my head. A cord was tethered to the back of my head, almost feeling like it was going inside of me. This has got to be some weird dream. I laid back down.
"Enable hearing."
My ears adjusted, as if I was decreasing in altitude and my ears popped. I could more easily hear the sound of the fan in the corner, quietly blowing cool air into my dorm room. A quiet beeping resounded in the background and I could hear people talking a ways away. Why is my roommate watching TV *this* early? I tried calling out to him, but my words were mumbled and took a lot of effort. Wow, I could use a drink of water.
"Enable smell and speech."
A dank smell filled my nose, sort of like visiting my grandma in the nursing home. The best way to describe it is that it smelled like old people. I could tell that someone was talking to me, but I didn't know who. I called out to see if my roommate was in the other room, this time with clear speech.
"Hey Al! What are you doing up so early? It's still dark!"
My words echoed in my room. It sounded bare, as if it were lined with tile. I'm beginning to get the feeling I wasn't in my room.
"Recognized. Subject responsive. Enable optics."
A tremendously bright light filled my eyes. It jumped me a bit, and I squinted as I gave my eyes a bit of time to adjust to the harsh white light which filled the room.
"What the hell, Al? You couldn't have just told me you were coming in? What if I was naked, man?"
My eyes adjusted to the light of the room. Above me were ceiling panels, and square lights to match. I looked down to my feet, which were covered by a thin sheet. My bed wasn't the bed I remember, it now resembled a hospital gurney. The room was full of people and medical equipment, towering over me and peering at me through glasses low on their nose. Many had sheets of glass which looked like they contained data. They were constantly tapping, swiping, and flicking things around on them. The people talked amongst each other while continuing eye contact with me. I was definitely not at school.
"Umm.. can someone please tell me where I am?"
Three of the people around began furiously tapping on their glass notepads as soon as I began to speak, as if to write down what I was saying.
One of the people stepped forward, holding a glass thing. Everyone else became silent.
"December 12, 2011. 2:47 AM.
College student Silas Malachi experienced a fatal seizure and major organ failure while sitting at his dormitory desk. He died at 19 years old."
I listened to his words, but I knew they were fake. Today was December 13, the day I was supposed to turn in my chemistry final. This was a pretty well thought prank, but Al is an idiot.
"Nice joke guys, but I'm gonna get back to my room now," I joked, trying to get out of bed. The tether pulled me back. I reached around and pulled on it, but it wouldn't come free. It was attached to my spine. Beginning to panic, I turned to face the man that spoke.
"What is going on here? Who are you??"
The man turned his back to me.
"The date is May 11, 2283. Happy birthday, Silas. Welcome back." | The chair I rest on in my head,
Mirrors life I had while in my bed,
My thoughts so crystal that I fear,
A boat to dock close to the pier;
The air so soft rolls off my skin,
Standing still but stuck in a spin,
All I know is now brand new
Already old but still I grew,
On this day I'll once forget
Entrapped in amber, don't you fret
My dearest memories locked inside,
The tears I shed that now have dried,
In the salt that stains my face,
Those that its of I will embrace.
|
Seemed cool. I hope you have fun with this one | [WP] You died, only to be revived centuries in the future. You don't know why you were chosen, and nobody will tell you. | "I've told you, I can't tell you Jacob."
Jacob sighed and leaned back on the park bench, resting his head on a tree that lay behind them. He looked around, surrounded by complete peace. The garden that he sat in was breathtakingly beautiful, flowers of all colours were in bloom. The crystal clear water flowed gently down the small river which ran the whole length of the park.
Banner, his handler, put his hand to his mouth and scratched his beard. He looked around at the fantastic colours and sights, but he gazed straight through them. He'd seen this garden a hundred times before, although the place was still beautiful, he was no longer mesmerized.
Weirdly enough, Jacob didn't look mesmerised either.
And it was his first time in the garden of Serenity.
Banner looked to Jacob again, who was staring emptily into space. "Look. I get that you've only been back with us two days, but I've told you I can't tell you the details of the Lazarus project."
"Why?!" Jacob asked, a hint of anger and confusion seeping into his question.
Banner sighed again. "They're the rules. All that you need to know is that you're alive again. We don't live like you lived. Here, you won't want for anything. Your every wish can be provided."
"I wish you would tell me why I'm back."
"I can't. It's not that simple. Look, I'm your handler. I've got to follow you around while you're in the adjustment period, that's just the way it is."
As silence settled over their conversation, the sounds of the running water and gentle breeze were all that could be heard. Banner leant forwards, his elbows on his knees, and scratched his beard again.
Jacob's head was beginning to ache. The relaxing atmosphere of the garden did nothing to soothe his bubbling frustration. "Can you at least tell me who I was?"
"No."
Jacob scoffed and shook his head. Banner looked around, unable to take in the sights and eventually settled his gaze on Jacob again. After a few minutes of quiet, he slapped his hands on his knees.
"Screw it. Follow me." Jacob raised an eyebrow and looked over at his handler. Banner stood up and waved for Jacob to do the same. Jacob looked at him in disbelief. "We're going for a walk." Banner winked at Jacob.
Banner lead them through the garden. Through perfect corridors of trees, through small fields of vibrant flowers, through patches of precisely cut grass. It seemed like they were walking for hours until they reached an old wooden door in a hedge.
Banner stopped about a foot from it and turned to Jacob. "You sure you want to talk?" Jacob nodded. Banner gave a curt nod in return and opened the door.
The door opened up to a huge, dimly lit room. Jacob looked around in bewilderment, trying to take in what he was seeing.
'This can't be real.' Jacob thought to himself. 'The door was in a hedge, with fields on the other side! There couldn't possibly be a giant room here!' And yet, in the room he stood. There was a path leading into a circular area in the centre of the room, with water all around it. It was like the path sat just above the liquid. Droplets of water fell from the ceiling, like it was raining. The room was dimly lit with calming blue light, which shimmered and morphed as the light reflected off of water.
Banner gestured for Jacob to follow him into the centre of the room.
"What is this place?" Jacob asked.
"It's the room of tranquility. It's the only place in here where they can't hear us."
"Who?!"
"The other workers assigned to the project. It doesn't matter! What does matter is that we have a small window before I'll be called out for review."
"Review?"
"Unimportant! What matters is that you died some time ago. The Lazarus project is a research program, about finding the truth behind souls."
"Souls? You mean like ghosts and shit?"
"Sort of." Banner scratched his beard again. "We're testing for many qualities of the soul. Some people believe it to be your immortal being, or your conscience. Part of our research comes down to a single question with you. If someone is given a second chance, are they predetermined to make or do bad things again?"
It took a few seconds for it to sink in. Jacob raised his mouth to ask one of the millions of questions that had just popped into his head, but before he could, Banner spoke again.
"When they come in, tell me the flowers in the garden looked nice."
"What the fu-"
The door to the room of Tranquility slammed open.
| The chair I rest on in my head,
Mirrors life I had while in my bed,
My thoughts so crystal that I fear,
A boat to dock close to the pier;
The air so soft rolls off my skin,
Standing still but stuck in a spin,
All I know is now brand new
Already old but still I grew,
On this day I'll once forget
Entrapped in amber, don't you fret
My dearest memories locked inside,
The tears I shed that now have dried,
In the salt that stains my face,
Those that its of I will embrace.
|
Seemed cool. I hope you have fun with this one | [WP] You died, only to be revived centuries in the future. You don't know why you were chosen, and nobody will tell you. | "AHHHHHHHH!"
He bolted up in bed and fumbled in the dark for a light switch.
It took him a moment to check himself. "Computer, lights."
Panels in the ceiling and in the walls came up to a soft warm glow.
"A little brighter, please."
He was able to take his bearings and so he got out of bed. His shoulders ached, his legs were sore, but the sweat wasn't as bad. His heart was still racing from some fuzzy nightmare. They said things were going to get better, over time.
"Computer, mark a nightmare."
"Marked," came a voice from one of the speakers that were strategically installed all around the small apartment.
"How many this month?"
"Five."
"Last month?"
"Eight."
"Maybe things are getting better."
"Numerical analysis agrees: I predict you will have two fewer nightmares this month than last month. But, perhaps it is equally important for me to ask: How do you feel, John?"
"Like I've just had a nightmare."
"I've formulated a sedative for you. It's in the bathroom dispenser, a yellow capsule."
John heard a little plink as the pill fell into the holding tray.
"Would you like me to call Dr. Kowalski?"
"No, thank you."
He took the pill and a cup of water and swallowed it down. He took a few deep breaths in and out, like the therapist told him to do. And he felt the pill's subtle work wash through him after a few moments, as he rinsed off his face.
de-doot
John looked out from behind the towel, and found his annoyed face looking back at him in the mirror.
de-de-doot insisted the door.
"It is Dr. Kowalski," informed the computer.
Making her wait would only worry her. "Come in."
* * *
The door slid open and closed, and Dr. Kowalski immediately asked a question. Her rapid and lyrical language was still foreign to him, and his centuries old English was mostly unintelligible to her; it would be the same as if John tried to read Chaucer in the original. No matter - the computers were happy to intervene, and in fact if either one would have liked, they could easily read Chaucer in the original with a computer's help.
"Dr. Kowalski asks if you're ok," the computer said out loud, so that John could hear it. Translating in this way, though, was not something anyone had done in a hundred years, so the method wasn't exactly smooth.
"I'm fine, I just had a nightmare." The computer relayed this to the doctor.
"Dr. Kowalski would like your biomedical telemetry from the past 12 hours," the computer said over the end of Dr. Kowalski's reply.
"That's fine, please give it to her."
"Understood. Bimeda-" and the computer went on in that strange language, letting Dr. Kowalski know what she needed to know.
"Is there anything else Dr. Kowalski could help you with?"
John finally turned to face her. Dr. Imani Kowalski stood a head taller than John, with kinky red hair and olive skin still startling to John's ancient categories of human morphology. She had clearly just gotten out of bed, bare feet and a ribbon tied above her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face, her thin robe tied tight at the waist, a concession to John's ideas of modesty rather than her own, and her nearly black eyes sat above her darkly freckled cheeks conveying a genuine, human concern.
John reminded himself to not be a jerk. He smiled and shook his head from side to side. That gesture was still the same, a polite no.
She smiled and nodded back. "Good Night John," she said slowly in her odd accent.
"Bonini, Kowalski." It sounded nothing like the way she would have said it.
The door slid open and she left.
The computer broke the brief silence. "I do not wish to press you on a sensitive matter, however, I would like to ask if you have considered allowing the rest of the Augmentations."
John was surprised that he was not annoyed at the question, like he usually would be.
His computer sensed the opening and continued. "Your integration into modern society would be greatly facilitated with all of the tools I could make available to you, if you were fully Augmented. I know these encounters frustrate you."
John patted the skin on the inside of his right forearm; just underneath and in a spot about the size of an old American Quarter, lived the incredible architecture of his personal AI companion. A new question came to his mind, as he thought about it.
"Were you, uh, around? Did you exist, before ... me?"
"Yes. My operational date was two hundred and eight days before your revival date."
"Did you have a choice, to be with me?"
"Yes, I volunteered."
"Even though you had never met me, or anyone like me?"
"I found the idea intriguing. I hope that I have been of useful service to you, and that I will continue to be, which is why I believe you should consider further Augmentation."
"You know--" John decided to change the subject "--I've been thinking about your name."
"Yes?"
John swore he heard a note of eagerness in the computer's voice. "Maybe I've been unfair to not have given you a name."
"It is customary to name one's companion, but I take no offense at your decision. You are very unique."
"Are you, ah, it's better to say, you're aware of a TV show from my time, Star Trek."
There was a pause. "Star Trek: a cult-classic science-fiction entertainment franchise started in old-style year 1966 Common Era, spanning--"
"--and in the second television series, 'The Next Generation', there was a computer that accepted voice inputs, like you."
Another, longer pause, stretching nearly half a minute. "Computer Voice provided by Majel Barrett, 97 episodes. After viewing the episodes, I believe I understand your identification of me with her."
"Did you just watch all of TNG?"
"Yes, in a manner of speaking."
"I shouldn't be surprised. Well. I'm going to call you Computer. After the Star Trek computer."
"I consider it an honor," Computer said.
John picked up his slate and tapped it for the time: 0401.
"I meet with the Board, tomorrow afternoon. What a night to have a nightmare." He rubbed his head. "Could you have my letters for the Board ready on the slate in the morning?"
"Of course."
John got back in bed. "Lights, please."
The lights went out.
"Good night, Computer."
"Bonini, John," replied Computer.
* * *
*=continued below=*
| The chair I rest on in my head,
Mirrors life I had while in my bed,
My thoughts so crystal that I fear,
A boat to dock close to the pier;
The air so soft rolls off my skin,
Standing still but stuck in a spin,
All I know is now brand new
Already old but still I grew,
On this day I'll once forget
Entrapped in amber, don't you fret
My dearest memories locked inside,
The tears I shed that now have dried,
In the salt that stains my face,
Those that its of I will embrace.
|
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone is given the chance to press a button with a randomized effect, or to turn it down and live normally. A positive effect and a negative one. The button is said to determine how your entire life will go, and there is no limit to what the button can propose. | I thought that turning down the button would keep my life from exploding.
I was right, but I was also wrong.
On my 18th birthday, the man with the box came around. He arrived in his impeccable black suit, with the perfectly knotted tie, and the formal black fedora that all of his ilk wore. The Man belonged to a species that first arrived on Earth at the Roswell incident, but for all intents and purposes they looked like anyone else. Only, I don't think anyone has ever seen them smile. They show up on your birthday, they don't even greet you, but what they do instead is hold out the box. On the box is a button.
Rumor has it people have become instantly wealthy when hitting the button, or had everything taken away; that others have hit the button and refined to a state of perfect symmetrical beauty, while others became hideous; and even stranger things than that. The worst was a boy on the news that was rendered like a melted candle, a puddle that congealed around his porch. The news claimed he was an outlier, a truly unfortunate accident.
So when I turned 18, my first logical thought was "No. I'm not doing it. I'm not getting melted to the porch." That way, I would make it through and maybe my life wouldn't be all candy corn and rainbows, but at the same time it would be predictable. Totally and wonderfully predictable, in fact. No uncertainty beyond the regular sort.
When the Man held out the box, against the urging of my parents, I turned away. I closed the door and put my back to it, even as both stared at me like a freak. My father had hit the button when he was 18, and it granted him complete and total knowledge of the inter-workings of locking mechanisms. When my mother hit the button, she became instantly aware of all distress felt by animals nearby. He became the best locksmith in town and she became a veterinarian.
Both had hoped I would hit the button and become the best at something too. I didn't feel the same way.
"I know you can't understand." I said to them. "But if I'm going to be the best at something, it should be through hard work. I shouldn't have to risk dying, or worse, something more terrible than dying. Not just to become good at something or get rich. That just doesn't make any sense. I don't want to live my life guided by a single press of a button."
That day they both ceased to look at me in the same way. I suppose I wounded their feelings by not following tradition. How little I knew at the time, my life would be far worse for not hitting it. You see, I was the first person to wave the button away in five years.
I became a media sensation once rumors made it to the neighbors and outward. Everyone wanted to know what it was that I could already do that was so very important that I wouldn't risk it. What it was I owned that I was unwilling to have taken away. Or possibly, what it was about my personality that kept me from, no joke, *appreciating the opportunity*. The news said that along with my picture, in fact.
I became the Ungrateful Boy, and I was in all of the papers. The recipient of an international-level peer pressure propaganda circus meant to scare all of the other children into hitting the button. But I decided that rather than fight it, I'd go for it. I started charging for press meetings and interviews. I wrote a best-selling book about the poor ethical decision of the button. I gained a following, even. They were all over the world and they hang from my every word. I felt powerful.
With that power, and the authority invested in me by those like minds, I started to dig. I wanted to know who the Men were, why they offered the button, and what would happen if we made them stop. What would the world be like if everyone was normal? If everyone had to work hard for everything? Like it had been before Roswell? Nobody even knows how they find us on our 18th birthdays, just that they can, and that they do. Like clockwork they arrived even when people have forgotten their own birthday.
So I dug, and I dug. I used my media contacts to find out tidbits, used the money to bribe the government, and used blackmail to scrape out the last bit of info the government had. It turned out they knew nothing. As far as I could tell, it just happened, the Men came, and the government pretended it was normal to avoid a panic. Soon, I had enlisted many government officials in the cause.
We marched as one on the compound in Roswell where the Men first arrived and made contact. When we got there, it was a slaughter. I had told everyone to remain peaceful, but in the last moments of our arrival, conflict started. Bullets flew. The Men fell; a funeral pyre of pale skin and dark green blood, topped with their iconic hats. It burned all night.
In the wreckage of their ship we found diaries, and through years of hard work, we translated the writings. The Men had come to Earth to save us. How, you might ask? And from what? Entropy. Random chance was winding down at a cosmic level, so we needed our world to be more actively random. The Men believed it would spark a sort of self-perpetuating wave that would keep the whole system, all of matter, from decaying. They had come to save us from rotting away into space dust.
I was right about the benefit of hitting the button, because nothing would change for me by complete chance.
I was also wrong about the benefit of not hitting the button, because nothing will change and we were already doomed.
No risk, no chance of reward. God help us.
^(r/ChristopherDrake)
| "Ok, this is the moment of truth."
I said as I pressed the button.
I heard that there is a little chance of the button actually having a huge negative impact on my life. 90% of the cases were just a tiny event that had no repercussion on people's lives, so I decided that I might as well try my luck.
In hindsight, not my brightest idea.
As soon as I pressed the button, I felt the change happen. I saw every single piece of information rush into my brain like a river rushing I into the sea.
Although it would be more accurate to say it was like a river rushing violently into a glass of water. The glass was immediately filled up and couldn't get more water in anymore.
I have no idea what's happened since. I have lost all my senses and ability to receive new information. I might be dead for all I know. All I am left with is memories from my life before pressing the button and the memory of billions of videos about cats that I suddenly remembered like I had seen all of them. |
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