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[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | The first day was a shock. Almost as a gift from heaven. In all my years working at this dump, I have never heard a silence be as deafening as the very moment our branch manager announced to the floor that Google shut down.
Our PR branch was losing their shit that day when all the employees in their sector each had to handle at least 100 different companies trying to shift their advertisement efforts to other search engines.
It was chaotic but lively, because everybody had hope that we would be the new Google. But we weren't ready for the news. We weren't ready.
Our servers couldn't handle the traffic, and our TelCom was leveraging against us. We spent 3 days going back and forth on conference calls and flying lawyers to each other as if we were playing ping pong and the lawyers were helpless victims spending 3 hours of flying between every hour of hearing rejections and renegotiation.
Meanwhile, back on my floor, everybody with a brain cell was trying to come up with MacGuyver solutions to handle the incoming traffic with the preexisting tools we had. First, we stopped our links to be completely static and unchanging. I guess we underestimated how quickly things can go viral, and apparently some jag was streaming himself eating shit. We got overwhelmed by searches for "Guy eat shit", understandably since the people searching weren't getting any results, seeing as how our links were stopped in time.
The backlog was too great, and everybody was in to their 8th hour of overtime at least.
The clock struck 12, and now we're here in Day five: the day Bing crashed. | Bill Gates smiled. Already the richest man in the world, his worth had quadrupled as Microsoft's stock when up in the past week. Surely he could rid the world of malaria now. And even better was the feeling the wave of change in public opinion, of respect...
He clicked play on the next Vimeo video. Buying Vimeo, DailyMotion and Twitch at the same time had been expensive but worth it. Mossberg began:
"Hey, Bing is really really good! Everything is here! Maps, News, Images.. how did we not know?"
| |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | I remember the day it happened. It was July 25. I was watching a Youtube video about some guy creating a fidget spinner using gallium. Halfway through the video, I got bored and decided a new video it is. I saw another video about how lizard people run the world in my recommendation list. When I clicked it, an error page appeared saying
"ERROR 404 PAGE NOT FOUND"
I didn't know what to think. I was confused for a moment and then I realized this may be very bad. Thing is, I believe the Illumanati are running the world and whenever I try to tell others, they just roll their eyes at me and tell me to not believe in that conspiracy crap. However, I fear this is exactly their way of messing with me. They fear I know too much so they are trying to block me out.
Out of fear, I typed in Google to quickly figure out how to change my IP address to try and throw them off. To my horror,
"ERROR 404 PAGE NOT FOUND"
I quickly disconnected my computer from the Internet and unplugged my router. It has been five days since then. I am sitting in my apartment watching television filled with paranoia about me being kidnapped and probably killed by our world leaders for knowing what I know. I'm too scared to leave but yet too scared to stay. I don't know what to do.
Then I think. Maybe I could try and find help online. I reconnect the router and computer and quickly open up my web browser. However, I fear Google will say the same thing. But I still need information from just about anywhere. So it has come to this. The day I hoped would never happen in my life. I reluctantly, against all of my best wishes. Slowly typed in...
"www.bing.com"
Well, this was my first ever writing prompt. Hopefully this story was good enough for Reddit. Feedback would be good. Have a nice day. | The vending machines at the service station sold out of Sprite first. I thought it would have been the Jack Links Jerky, but that went soon enough after the Sprite. There must have been two dozen or so of us camped out there at the rest stop. Once Maps went down we stopped off to see what was up. We saw soon enough.
It was apparently universal. I remember being stunned that cell phones still seemed to work, what little good they did us was alert us that people on the outside were going through the same thing.
On the radio now they are saying to stay put, that the National Guard is on their way to assist us, but people are getting hungry. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | The first day was a shock. Almost as a gift from heaven. In all my years working at this dump, I have never heard a silence be as deafening as the very moment our branch manager announced to the floor that Google shut down.
Our PR branch was losing their shit that day when all the employees in their sector each had to handle at least 100 different companies trying to shift their advertisement efforts to other search engines.
It was chaotic but lively, because everybody had hope that we would be the new Google. But we weren't ready for the news. We weren't ready.
Our servers couldn't handle the traffic, and our TelCom was leveraging against us. We spent 3 days going back and forth on conference calls and flying lawyers to each other as if we were playing ping pong and the lawyers were helpless victims spending 3 hours of flying between every hour of hearing rejections and renegotiation.
Meanwhile, back on my floor, everybody with a brain cell was trying to come up with MacGuyver solutions to handle the incoming traffic with the preexisting tools we had. First, we stopped our links to be completely static and unchanging. I guess we underestimated how quickly things can go viral, and apparently some jag was streaming himself eating shit. We got overwhelmed by searches for "Guy eat shit", understandably since the people searching weren't getting any results, seeing as how our links were stopped in time.
The backlog was too great, and everybody was in to their 8th hour of overtime at least.
The clock struck 12, and now we're here in Day five: the day Bing crashed. | The vending machines at the service station sold out of Sprite first. I thought it would have been the Jack Links Jerky, but that went soon enough after the Sprite. There must have been two dozen or so of us camped out there at the rest stop. Once Maps went down we stopped off to see what was up. We saw soon enough.
It was apparently universal. I remember being stunned that cell phones still seemed to work, what little good they did us was alert us that people on the outside were going through the same thing.
On the radio now they are saying to stay put, that the National Guard is on their way to assist us, but people are getting hungry. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | Tim Cook woke up in the morning like any other day. After showering, trimming his stubble, and dowsing himself in cologne, he felt energized and ready to pump money out of more consumers.
He smiled, sitting down at his desk in Apple Park and firing up his iMac Pro. Almost immediately he clicked to open a saved link that would search for the latest cat videos.
But there were no cat videos.
“...fuck,” Cook swore, standing bolt upright and flinging his space grey Magic Mouse across the room. “Goddammit Google, the ONE time I actually need you...”
Edit: Replaced "pumped" with "energized" to improve fluency.
^^This ^^is ^^my ^^first ^^attempt ^^at ^^writing ^^in ^^this ^^sub, ^^criticism ^^is ^^appreciated. | The vending machines at the service station sold out of Sprite first. I thought it would have been the Jack Links Jerky, but that went soon enough after the Sprite. There must have been two dozen or so of us camped out there at the rest stop. Once Maps went down we stopped off to see what was up. We saw soon enough.
It was apparently universal. I remember being stunned that cell phones still seemed to work, what little good they did us was alert us that people on the outside were going through the same thing.
On the radio now they are saying to stay put, that the National Guard is on their way to assist us, but people are getting hungry. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | Day 5: Google and YouTube have been down, and the whole world is starting to revert back to a primitive level. Arguments are being left unsettled, conversions are starting to get stale, I actually overheard a discussion on what the temperature might be,
'it feels like 22°"
"are you fucking nuts? It's clearly 25°plus humidity!"...
" What does humidity have to do with it? You're such a liar!"
"I just wanna watch a cat ride a Roomba"
Ahhhhh it's more than I can bare.
Luckily I have been preparing for this day for 20 odd years.
I bought stock in 'Ask Jeeves' back in '97 and it's about to pay off baby! Daddy's gonna be a rich bitch!
Finally, the 'one true search engine' can rise to the glory that it was formerly denied. | The vending machines at the service station sold out of Sprite first. I thought it would have been the Jack Links Jerky, but that went soon enough after the Sprite. There must have been two dozen or so of us camped out there at the rest stop. Once Maps went down we stopped off to see what was up. We saw soon enough.
It was apparently universal. I remember being stunned that cell phones still seemed to work, what little good they did us was alert us that people on the outside were going through the same thing.
On the radio now they are saying to stay put, that the National Guard is on their way to assist us, but people are getting hungry. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | Day 5:
Chaos consumes the world. Today I created a Yahoo email account and wept. Mindy from work is upset; her husband tried to go to a new coffee shop and, using Apple maps, ended up somewhere in Florida. I fear that we all might find ourselves in Florida one day.
Ginger and I haven't spoken in 36 hours. We had a terrible argument over what the capital of Mongolia is. We tried looking it up on Bing, but found only recipes for Mongolian chicken. I sent her an apology email this afternoon, God only knows if it went through. She's making Mongolian chicken in the kitchen right now, crying softly. I wonder if she checked her spam folder.
Earlier, I attempted to make amends by bringing home a cat, knowing how Ginger loved watching cat videos on Youtube. There's a cat that hangs out by my office building. I lured him close to me with bologna leftover from my lunch and captured him with a reusable grocery bag. As fate would have it, the cat got out of the bag on my drive home. I have never felt such terror or witnessed such rage. I looked up 'how to treat cat scratches' on Bing and found the song lyrics to 'Cat Scratch Fever'. Is Bing mocking me? Or is this an ill-fated omen of things to come? I came home covered in blood and wounds. Ginger didn't care.
The Mongolian chicken is done. Ginger is beckoning me to the table. Five days ago, I would have said that Ginger and I were the happiest couple alive. Now when I look at her with my one unbandaged eye, it's like I'm looking at a stranger. I am defeated, mentally and emotionally...and I suppose physically as well, in regards to the cat.
Even with one eye, I can see that Ginger is glaring at me. I should go eat. Pray for me, my friends. Pray for us all.
| The vending machines at the service station sold out of Sprite first. I thought it would have been the Jack Links Jerky, but that went soon enough after the Sprite. There must have been two dozen or so of us camped out there at the rest stop. Once Maps went down we stopped off to see what was up. We saw soon enough.
It was apparently universal. I remember being stunned that cell phones still seemed to work, what little good they did us was alert us that people on the outside were going through the same thing.
On the radio now they are saying to stay put, that the National Guard is on their way to assist us, but people are getting hungry. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | The first day was a shock. Almost as a gift from heaven. In all my years working at this dump, I have never heard a silence be as deafening as the very moment our branch manager announced to the floor that Google shut down.
Our PR branch was losing their shit that day when all the employees in their sector each had to handle at least 100 different companies trying to shift their advertisement efforts to other search engines.
It was chaotic but lively, because everybody had hope that we would be the new Google. But we weren't ready for the news. We weren't ready.
Our servers couldn't handle the traffic, and our TelCom was leveraging against us. We spent 3 days going back and forth on conference calls and flying lawyers to each other as if we were playing ping pong and the lawyers were helpless victims spending 3 hours of flying between every hour of hearing rejections and renegotiation.
Meanwhile, back on my floor, everybody with a brain cell was trying to come up with MacGuyver solutions to handle the incoming traffic with the preexisting tools we had. First, we stopped our links to be completely static and unchanging. I guess we underestimated how quickly things can go viral, and apparently some jag was streaming himself eating shit. We got overwhelmed by searches for "Guy eat shit", understandably since the people searching weren't getting any results, seeing as how our links were stopped in time.
The backlog was too great, and everybody was in to their 8th hour of overtime at least.
The clock struck 12, and now we're here in Day five: the day Bing crashed. | I remember the day it happened. It was July 25. I was watching a Youtube video about some guy creating a fidget spinner using gallium. Halfway through the video, I got bored and decided a new video it is. I saw another video about how lizard people run the world in my recommendation list. When I clicked it, an error page appeared saying
"ERROR 404 PAGE NOT FOUND"
I didn't know what to think. I was confused for a moment and then I realized this may be very bad. Thing is, I believe the Illumanati are running the world and whenever I try to tell others, they just roll their eyes at me and tell me to not believe in that conspiracy crap. However, I fear this is exactly their way of messing with me. They fear I know too much so they are trying to block me out.
Out of fear, I typed in Google to quickly figure out how to change my IP address to try and throw them off. To my horror,
"ERROR 404 PAGE NOT FOUND"
I quickly disconnected my computer from the Internet and unplugged my router. It has been five days since then. I am sitting in my apartment watching television filled with paranoia about me being kidnapped and probably killed by our world leaders for knowing what I know. I'm too scared to leave but yet too scared to stay. I don't know what to do.
Then I think. Maybe I could try and find help online. I reconnect the router and computer and quickly open up my web browser. However, I fear Google will say the same thing. But I still need information from just about anywhere. So it has come to this. The day I hoped would never happen in my life. I reluctantly, against all of my best wishes. Slowly typed in...
"www.bing.com"
Well, this was my first ever writing prompt. Hopefully this story was good enough for Reddit. Feedback would be good. Have a nice day. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | Day 5: Google and YouTube have been down, and the whole world is starting to revert back to a primitive level. Arguments are being left unsettled, conversions are starting to get stale, I actually overheard a discussion on what the temperature might be,
'it feels like 22°"
"are you fucking nuts? It's clearly 25°plus humidity!"...
" What does humidity have to do with it? You're such a liar!"
"I just wanna watch a cat ride a Roomba"
Ahhhhh it's more than I can bare.
Luckily I have been preparing for this day for 20 odd years.
I bought stock in 'Ask Jeeves' back in '97 and it's about to pay off baby! Daddy's gonna be a rich bitch!
Finally, the 'one true search engine' can rise to the glory that it was formerly denied. | Tim Cook woke up in the morning like any other day. After showering, trimming his stubble, and dowsing himself in cologne, he felt energized and ready to pump money out of more consumers.
He smiled, sitting down at his desk in Apple Park and firing up his iMac Pro. Almost immediately he clicked to open a saved link that would search for the latest cat videos.
But there were no cat videos.
“...fuck,” Cook swore, standing bolt upright and flinging his space grey Magic Mouse across the room. “Goddammit Google, the ONE time I actually need you...”
Edit: Replaced "pumped" with "energized" to improve fluency.
^^This ^^is ^^my ^^first ^^attempt ^^at ^^writing ^^in ^^this ^^sub, ^^criticism ^^is ^^appreciated. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | Day 5:
Chaos consumes the world. Today I created a Yahoo email account and wept. Mindy from work is upset; her husband tried to go to a new coffee shop and, using Apple maps, ended up somewhere in Florida. I fear that we all might find ourselves in Florida one day.
Ginger and I haven't spoken in 36 hours. We had a terrible argument over what the capital of Mongolia is. We tried looking it up on Bing, but found only recipes for Mongolian chicken. I sent her an apology email this afternoon, God only knows if it went through. She's making Mongolian chicken in the kitchen right now, crying softly. I wonder if she checked her spam folder.
Earlier, I attempted to make amends by bringing home a cat, knowing how Ginger loved watching cat videos on Youtube. There's a cat that hangs out by my office building. I lured him close to me with bologna leftover from my lunch and captured him with a reusable grocery bag. As fate would have it, the cat got out of the bag on my drive home. I have never felt such terror or witnessed such rage. I looked up 'how to treat cat scratches' on Bing and found the song lyrics to 'Cat Scratch Fever'. Is Bing mocking me? Or is this an ill-fated omen of things to come? I came home covered in blood and wounds. Ginger didn't care.
The Mongolian chicken is done. Ginger is beckoning me to the table. Five days ago, I would have said that Ginger and I were the happiest couple alive. Now when I look at her with my one unbandaged eye, it's like I'm looking at a stranger. I am defeated, mentally and emotionally...and I suppose physically as well, in regards to the cat.
Even with one eye, I can see that Ginger is glaring at me. I should go eat. Pray for me, my friends. Pray for us all.
| Tim Cook woke up in the morning like any other day. After showering, trimming his stubble, and dowsing himself in cologne, he felt energized and ready to pump money out of more consumers.
He smiled, sitting down at his desk in Apple Park and firing up his iMac Pro. Almost immediately he clicked to open a saved link that would search for the latest cat videos.
But there were no cat videos.
“...fuck,” Cook swore, standing bolt upright and flinging his space grey Magic Mouse across the room. “Goddammit Google, the ONE time I actually need you...”
Edit: Replaced "pumped" with "energized" to improve fluency.
^^This ^^is ^^my ^^first ^^attempt ^^at ^^writing ^^in ^^this ^^sub, ^^criticism ^^is ^^appreciated. | |
[WP] In a spectacular "fuck you" to the world, Google and all of its branches (yes, even YouTube) shut down. Closed. For good. No warnings, no previous musings that it might happen. Tell me a story of how "day five" might be going. | Day 5:
Chaos consumes the world. Today I created a Yahoo email account and wept. Mindy from work is upset; her husband tried to go to a new coffee shop and, using Apple maps, ended up somewhere in Florida. I fear that we all might find ourselves in Florida one day.
Ginger and I haven't spoken in 36 hours. We had a terrible argument over what the capital of Mongolia is. We tried looking it up on Bing, but found only recipes for Mongolian chicken. I sent her an apology email this afternoon, God only knows if it went through. She's making Mongolian chicken in the kitchen right now, crying softly. I wonder if she checked her spam folder.
Earlier, I attempted to make amends by bringing home a cat, knowing how Ginger loved watching cat videos on Youtube. There's a cat that hangs out by my office building. I lured him close to me with bologna leftover from my lunch and captured him with a reusable grocery bag. As fate would have it, the cat got out of the bag on my drive home. I have never felt such terror or witnessed such rage. I looked up 'how to treat cat scratches' on Bing and found the song lyrics to 'Cat Scratch Fever'. Is Bing mocking me? Or is this an ill-fated omen of things to come? I came home covered in blood and wounds. Ginger didn't care.
The Mongolian chicken is done. Ginger is beckoning me to the table. Five days ago, I would have said that Ginger and I were the happiest couple alive. Now when I look at her with my one unbandaged eye, it's like I'm looking at a stranger. I am defeated, mentally and emotionally...and I suppose physically as well, in regards to the cat.
Even with one eye, I can see that Ginger is glaring at me. I should go eat. Pray for me, my friends. Pray for us all.
| Day 5: Google and YouTube have been down, and the whole world is starting to revert back to a primitive level. Arguments are being left unsettled, conversions are starting to get stale, I actually overheard a discussion on what the temperature might be,
'it feels like 22°"
"are you fucking nuts? It's clearly 25°plus humidity!"...
" What does humidity have to do with it? You're such a liar!"
"I just wanna watch a cat ride a Roomba"
Ahhhhh it's more than I can bare.
Luckily I have been preparing for this day for 20 odd years.
I bought stock in 'Ask Jeeves' back in '97 and it's about to pay off baby! Daddy's gonna be a rich bitch!
Finally, the 'one true search engine' can rise to the glory that it was formerly denied. | |
[WP] You're God and you've finally done it, your greatest creation, the dog. | Finally, my greatest creation it was, but... hmm, there was something missing...
"Oh yes, a tail" I spread my arm saying "Let there be a cute tail!"
"woof woof!" said the creature, while turning around chasing its new fluffy tail.
Hmm, turning around... that gave me a good idea, "How about... we turn my name around and give it to you?"
"woof woof!" responded the creature, in a sitting position while sticking his tongue out.
"Then be it! your name is now Dog! you love it?" I asked the creature.
"Oww, woof woof!" replied the dog in great happiness.
"Alright, then be it! Dog, now all that is left, is creating a useless specy that will feed, protect, and take care of you and your descendants"
The dog seemed even happier than ever, barking endlessly.
"Hmm, you love the idea? then be it! Let there be Homos, eh no, H-Humans, I think that's a better name."
"Woof!" 🐕
| **You! Come here, elf.**
I'm an angel, your supreme divine ruler.
**Same thing, really. Anyhoo, yes, 'tis I, God. Grab yourself a beer out of the fridge and check this shit out.**
What is it?
**I know, right? I've done some great things in my tenure. Mountains. Sunsets. The whole me damn universe. But this is-- wait, why are you looking at me funny?**
You have a mustard stain on your t-shirt.
**I do? Oh, my. I had a bratwurst earlier. I'll change before my jazzercise class anyways. But look, this thing right here? I call it... Dog.**
Dog?
**It's God backwards. D-O-G.**
I see. What does it do?
**Oh, man.. what doesn't it do?**
Does it solve math problems?
**Well... No.**
Operate machines?
**I don't, you see, that's not what I had in mind. No, this thing will run after a ball if you throw it, then bring it back.**
And?
**And? The universe is like three days old. You already can't appreciate the little things? Why don't you go back to the workshop and finish this year's toys? It's almost October.**
Sir, like I said, I'm an angel, not an elf.
**Just for that, boom. Youre an elf. Have fun freezing your balls off, Bing Bong.**
Oh, no! (Vanishes, appears in Santa's workshop, is put to work shovelling reindeer shit for many years gone by and even more yet to be) | |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is not a robed, skull like figure. He's a cab driver who picks up people who just died and don't realize it yet. | "Excuse me, I don't think this is the fastest way" I said, biting my nails and trying to maintain composture, he had taken many wrong turns.
"Believe me, it is. I took this path countless times." He answered, his voice was silvery and peaceful.
I furrowed my brows, "maybe you didn't hear the address correctly, we should've already arrived there a long time ago." Panic came out of my tremulous voice.
"Oh, you think so? Why don't you repeat the address for me once again?" He said with extreme calm as we entered a dark tunnel.
"The address is... the address is..." I couldn't remember, sweat started dripping from my armpits through my shirt, my nails begged to be bitten and my left eye started twitching. "I don't remember, I don't remember anything. What's going on?" I screamed at the cab driver.
"Look through the window, maybe that will calm you down"
As he said that, I realized that he was driving in absolute darkness, he had no lights on and I couldn't even see my hands when I placed them in front of my eyes. I took a deep breath and followed his advice.
First, there was nothing but a silent void, I could hear the blood flowing through my veins and each one of my heartbeats, It felt uneasy and intrusive. Abruptly, the darkness turn into colours, shiny, magnificent colours and then they become a movie, the movie of my life. I watched it entirely, I didn't even blink, I enjoyed it with profound sorrow, melancholy and happiness. I couldn't contain the tears watching my beautiful mom singing me lullabies and hugging me nor when I heard my loving father reading me a book in my old bed. I missed them profoundly.
I swallowed hard and wip the tears off my face. "Where is the end, how did I die?" I asked, sobbing. He didn't answer, we exited the tunnel and suddenly we were driving on a narrow meandering road surrounded with tall grass at either side. The sun shone brightly over the whole field bathing it in a yellow, pleasant tint.
The engine stopped, and my right door opened brusquely, I took the hint and got out of the car. I stood next to the car just to find my old house at the end of the road, surrounded by that mesmerizing yellow paradise. A soft breeze caressed my skin as I felt a gentle touch in my back. I turned around, the car was gone but he was now in front of me. I can't describe how he looked, but It felt like being in front of every single person that I cared about in my life.
"This is my end?" I asked gazing at those hundreds different eyes.
"It is, enjoy it." Said the voices as he slowly fade away.
*"John, come in here it's cold outside!"* I heard someone yelling at me. A woman with a voice that I hadn't hear in years yet I never forgot.
I turned around. "I'm coming mom."
My father stood by her side with my a book between his hands.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed it then check out /r/chasisoxidado for more! Also, suggestions, critics, etc are more than welcome! | “Where to, pal?” The cab driver asked MacReady while a steady, thin stream of smoke flowed from his lit cigar and out the open window, into the night.
It had been ages since he'd seen a cabbie smoking a cigarette on the job in this city, much less a smelly cigar (how some people enjoyed the odor of those things he'd never know). The street was oddly empty of other cabs, though, and he was already late, so he had climbed in. “The Ratner building, uptown,” replied MacReady as he rolled his own window down. “Sure thing,” the cabbie said, and they rolled forward.
As the cab made its way through the foggy streets, MacReady noticed there wasn't much traffic of any kind tonight, not just cabs, and the other cars he did see were heavily obscured by the mist that was invading the streets. “I'm sorry Mr., uh...,” said MacReady after about five minutes of silence, wrinkling his face as the acrid smoke found its way directly to his nostrils in the rear passenger-side seat. “Hendrik,” said the cab driver, glancing back at MacReady through the rear-view. “Sam Hendrik. It's the cigar, ain't it?” Hendrik asked through a wry grin, his voice slightly hoarse and dry as a bone. “Well, yes,” MacReady said, feeling somewhat sheepish, but annoyed as well. “You mind holding off til I'm on my way? Sorry, those things just give me headaches, and honestly I'd rather not walk into my meeting smelling like a stogie.”
Hendrik chuckled. “Sure thing, Mr. MacReady, I don't blame you. I was just celebrating a little, that's all,” he said as he snubbed the cigar out into the car's center-console ashtray (something else MacReady hadn't seen in a very long time). “Tell me something, though: did it give you a headache this time?” Already annoyed by the cigar in the first place, and again now by the presumptuousness of this stranger, Tim MacReady opened his mouth to snap back that yes, in fact, it had, nothing else in the world could get his temples pounding like those smelly fucking things, but he stopped. It didn't this time. It didn't give him a headache.
“No.... huh. That's weird, it didn't,” MacReady replied quietly after a pause, a look of slight confusion on his face. “Wait a minute, though, how did you know my name? I never told you that,” he said, looking up at the rear-view again. This time he noticed a garish pair of violet fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror, showing him snake eyes as they swayed ever so slightly with the calm motions of the car. How had he missed those before? At this, Hendrik turned around to face him full-on, taking his hands off of the wheel and letting his elbows hang down off the back of the driver's seat while he put his head on his hands in a weirdly childlike pose, like he was getting ready to take his 3rd grade class pictures.
“Watch the road!” MacReady yelled, fear slipping into his voice as he watched this weirdo turn to look at him. Through his near-panic, MacReady thought in a surprisingly serene way that this man was the most average-looking person he'd ever seen. It was no judgment of attractiveness, or lack thereof, this man just had the most bland, normal facial features he'd ever seen on a human being. It frightened him more, somehow.
Hendrik ignored his outburst and said, “Well, I could tell you that I got your name off of your briefcase you got with you back there, or that I read your name badge you've got dangling on that lanyard, but neither of those things would be true, not entirely.” The cab, despite not having anyone actively controlling the wheel, continued on its path with no trouble, and even seemed to be stopping at the appropriate lights. What the hell was happening? “No, Mr. MacReady, the fact of the matter is, I know the names of all my passengers, I make it my business to know them.” He smiled kindly, but MacReady was nearing the finish line of a full-blown panic attack; this man was obviously some sort of maniac, or serial killer.
“Look, man, I don't know what you want, but please just let me out here, I swear to God I won't go to the cops,” MacReady said in a shaky voice he barely recognized as his own. He thought he'd be sweating, but he wasn't. “Easy, Tim, easy,” said Hendrik in a soothing voice, “And easy with those swears, they might come back to bite you shortly. You're a smart guy, you haven't figured this out yet? You think I'm some kinda loon, but really look at what's happening here." He started tapping his right index finger to the fingers on his left hand as he listed the night's oddities off one by one. "I had a lit cigar, smoke everywhere, and you didn't feel so much as a twinge upstairs. Mine was the only cab you saw when you stepped out your door; have you ever seen that, much less on a weekend night? Similar vein, there's hardly any other traffic around, when does that happen? And back to what really set you off, I know your name. Care to take a guess at the situation, now?" Hendrik asked pleasantly.
MacReady sat silently looking at his lap for what seemed like an eternity, before raising his eyes to Hendrik's again. "I... I-I'm d-dead, aren't I?" he croaked, and Hendrik smiled warmly at him again. "Right you are, bud. But don't look so down about it, I can promise you this: there's rarely a dull moment once my passengers get to where they're going."
"How did it happen?" MacReady asked, still trying to wrap his mind around being dead. "The morgue is gonna call it cardiac arrest, but we both know the truth, Tim, you worked yourself to death," Hendrik replied. "Just look at what you're doing now. Before you had your revelation, I mean. You were going to a meeting on a Saturday night, and not your first, or even second this month! A doctor could've told you that you should loosen up and lower your stress in life, but you worked so damn hard you never even took the time to see one! You worked 70 hour weeks for that company for 10 years, you had to know it'd catch up to you sooner or later."
MacReady was quiet for a moment, then asked, "When you said 'where they're going,' I mean... do you know where I'm going to end up?"
"Can't say for sure, Tim," said Hendrik, "But you seem alright to me. I'll put in word for you if you want." He turned back around to face the road again, which was becoming brighter through the fog. "You wanna climb up here with me, maybe give one of these old cigars a shot for a change since they don't give you headaches anymore?"
MacReady thought about it for minute as the cab bumped along a road that was beginning to positively shine, and said, "You know what, Mr. Hendrik? I think I will." | |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is not a robed, skull like figure. He's a cab driver who picks up people who just died and don't realize it yet. | "Excuse me, I don't think this is the fastest way" I said, biting my nails and trying to maintain composture, he had taken many wrong turns.
"Believe me, it is. I took this path countless times." He answered, his voice was silvery and peaceful.
I furrowed my brows, "maybe you didn't hear the address correctly, we should've already arrived there a long time ago." Panic came out of my tremulous voice.
"Oh, you think so? Why don't you repeat the address for me once again?" He said with extreme calm as we entered a dark tunnel.
"The address is... the address is..." I couldn't remember, sweat started dripping from my armpits through my shirt, my nails begged to be bitten and my left eye started twitching. "I don't remember, I don't remember anything. What's going on?" I screamed at the cab driver.
"Look through the window, maybe that will calm you down"
As he said that, I realized that he was driving in absolute darkness, he had no lights on and I couldn't even see my hands when I placed them in front of my eyes. I took a deep breath and followed his advice.
First, there was nothing but a silent void, I could hear the blood flowing through my veins and each one of my heartbeats, It felt uneasy and intrusive. Abruptly, the darkness turn into colours, shiny, magnificent colours and then they become a movie, the movie of my life. I watched it entirely, I didn't even blink, I enjoyed it with profound sorrow, melancholy and happiness. I couldn't contain the tears watching my beautiful mom singing me lullabies and hugging me nor when I heard my loving father reading me a book in my old bed. I missed them profoundly.
I swallowed hard and wip the tears off my face. "Where is the end, how did I die?" I asked, sobbing. He didn't answer, we exited the tunnel and suddenly we were driving on a narrow meandering road surrounded with tall grass at either side. The sun shone brightly over the whole field bathing it in a yellow, pleasant tint.
The engine stopped, and my right door opened brusquely, I took the hint and got out of the car. I stood next to the car just to find my old house at the end of the road, surrounded by that mesmerizing yellow paradise. A soft breeze caressed my skin as I felt a gentle touch in my back. I turned around, the car was gone but he was now in front of me. I can't describe how he looked, but It felt like being in front of every single person that I cared about in my life.
"This is my end?" I asked gazing at those hundreds different eyes.
"It is, enjoy it." Said the voices as he slowly fade away.
*"John, come in here it's cold outside!"* I heard someone yelling at me. A woman with a voice that I hadn't hear in years yet I never forgot.
I turned around. "I'm coming mom."
My father stood by her side with my a book between his hands.
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If you enjoyed it then check out /r/chasisoxidado for more! Also, suggestions, critics, etc are more than welcome! | **Hi**
"Hey"
Death looked upon his new passenger as he stepped into the backseat. Young, not even twenty, and with a slight smile on his face. Not a happy smile, more like it's just what his face looks like when it's relaxed, or like he's pretending to be happy.
**So where to?**
"What? Oh, right, taxi. Um, just take me to the train-station."
They were usually like this. Like they've just woken up. Death looked at the boy through the rear-view mirror. He was still wearing that smile, but his eyes weren't playing along, they were tired, apathetic. He was glancing out the window, but he wasn't actually looking at anything, didn't even seem to notice the car-wreckage.
"So, what are you?"
For a second death froze. It was unusual for people to figure out something was wrong this quickly.
**Pardon?**
"Are you the type of taxi-driver that likes to talk and ask questions, or are you the quiet kind?"
**Oh, I usually like to ask questions and talk. If the passenger allows it.**
"Yeah, that's fine by me, I guess."
He still had the same hollow smile, but he seemed to be waking up a bit.
**So, any regrets?**
"What?"
**If you were to die today, would you have any regrets.**
"Wow, starting off with the deep questions are we?"
The boy looked out the window, and for a brief moment showed a genuine smile.
"Naw, I think I'd be pretty satisfied with my life."
**Really? You've really accomplished all you wanted at your age?**
"Well it's not so much about accomplishing everything I wanted, as it is taking every opportunity given to me. Sure if I were to die today, I would have unfullfilled dreams. But not because I made the wrong choices, instead it would be because of a lack of time."
**So there's no friend you would've treated better, no girl you would've asked out?**
The boy's smile became a bit less hollow.
"Well there was a girl in my class. She had this beautifull blond hair that seemed red when the sun struck it at the right angle, and a laugh so sweet that it could make sugar seem sour."
**So what, were you too shy to talk to her?**
The boy was smiling. But it was no longer just his mouth, his eyes had gotten some life in them too.
"Well at first, yes. Eventually though, we started talking. Just a bit at first, but we started talking. And you know the wierd thing? I wasn't nervous. No butterflies, no dry mouth, no shaking. Talking to her just felt comfortable, like the world was more colourful, it was fun."
**But then?**
"But then school ended, we went our different ways, we only started talking towards the end so we weren't that close and chances were slim that we'd meet again soon."
**So you regret not asking her out?**
"Well I knew she only saw me as a friend, but I felt like I couldn't leave it like that so I sent her a text telling her that I liked her. And like i suspected, she didn't share my feelings."
**But you didn't ask her out! You didn't say it in person! Looking her in her blue eyes and seeing those freckled cheeks turn red as her friend finally gathered the courage to tell her what she already knew!**
His smile slowly faded and his eyes became glossy as he looked down at the floor.
"No."
The boy looked out. They were still by the wreckage, but this time, his eyes were looking at it.
**Guess you've realised by now**
The boy nodded, with a slight smile on his face, betrayed by foggy eyes.
**So, any regrets?**
"Yeah" | |
[WP] A Detective makes a deal with Death. He has 48 hours to solve his own murder | Death was wearing mismatched socks. It’s strange where one’s eyes and mind wander to in stressful situations. Looking down at your own bloodied body probably counted as one.
“Your socks don’t match,” Carter muttered, keeping his eyes toward the ground, while also somehow simultaneously being a dead body.
“Who gives a fuck?” Death quipped.
Sheets of rain pelted down on top of both dead Cater, and the Carter standing beside Death. All three remained silent and stoic, getting wet to the bone. Blood from Carter’s bullet wounds flowed out, staining his suit, mixing with the rainwater and diluting it so that even a foot away no red could be seen.
The industrial alleyway was otherwise deserted. Carter knelt down to his body, and took his own pulse, finding none. Just cold dead flesh. Carter’s eyes darted towards two spent 9mm shells a foot away. As he rose from his crouch to examine the casing closer, Death yawned.
“I’ve been told you’re a smart guy, so you don’t need me to give you the full rigamarole right?” Death asked.
Carter ignored him, standing up and walking the grid, instinct taking over. He pulled out his notebook and starting jotting down first impressions. After he got a page or so in, he looked at Death, who was preoccupied with tugging a loose strand of fabric off the cuff of his suit jacket. Death made no effort to try and shield himself from the downpour.
“I need to find who did this,” Carter stated. Death remained as apathetic as dead Carter.
“If you must,” Death said ripping the rogue strand off and tossing it away.
“Really?” Carter asked surprised at the reply.
“Don’t cops say that if no leads are found within 48 hours, then the murder will likely never be solved?” Death asked
“Something like that,” Carter responded.
“Well then let’s say 48 hours,” Death said checking his watch.
Carter turned and lifted his body up, checking underneath it for any additional shell casings or other clues. As he set his body back down, he paused, stood up, and walked back over to Death, who continued to stand staring blankly.
“Who killed me?” Carter asked, notepad in hand, ready to jot down notes.
“I have no idea,” Death replied.
“Aren’t you all knowing or something?”
“No, you’re thinking of God. I’m not God, I’m Death.”
Carter rolled his eyes and went back to working the crime scene. Examining a scene in the rain was always tough. Evidence washed away in a downpour like this, fingerprints were impossible to find. Carter glanced over his shoulder.
“Don’t you have other...” Carter paused to choose his words. “Souls to claim?”
“No, you’re dead now, so we’re outside of the normal human constructs of space and time,” Death said, a hint of agitation peppering his words now. Carter was nonplussed for a moment.
“If that’s the case then why did you just give me 48 hours to find my killer?” Carter asked, his own voice starting to rise.
“I just said that to make you feel better,” Death admitted shrugging his shoulders.
“Thanks,” Carter grunted sarcastically.
Crime scene forensics weren’t Carter’s speciality. He was more of a closer. Get the suspect into interrogation, get a confession out by any means necessary. However, Carter knew enough to get by. And the scene seemed simple enough. Based on the entry wounds in the back of the body, and the location of the shell casings, the perp had approached the victim from behind and fired two shots. Carter had worked enough cases to know the Medical Examiner would likely say death was caused by massive and immediate cardiac trauma. The victim likely didn’t suffer. At least Carter didn’t remember suffering.
“My gut instinct,” Carter said turning to look at Death and pointing at the body “Is that this I was getting too close to something big. Yesterday, I had gotten some good intel off a CI, he was ready to rat on his Capo.”
“Yesterday? I just told you time is irrelevant now,” Death reminded him. Carter slumped his shoulders dejected.
“How long have we been here?” Carter asked cautiously.
“We’ve been standing here talking for a nanosecond, and a billions years, and everywhere in between,” Death responded. Carter grimaced. The rain continued to fall. Seconds, days, years, centuries ticked by and at the same time, didn’t.
“We’ve been here less than 5 minutes,” Carter said confidently.
“If you say so, like I said, who gives a fuck?” Death replied.
| The lit end of the detective's cigarette was the only bright point in a world of shifting greys.
"Hell of a thing for a Sunday," he said to Lance. His hand sketched out a wide arc that took in the overflowing gutter, the corpse lying slumped in it, and the two of them, standing where the blood mingling with the rainwater wouldn't get on their shoes.
Lance hadn't been with the department long, but he had seen enough to nod in weary agreement. The town was like that. One damn thing after another. The case in front of him was typical. He'd seen a hundred just like it. Why, there was the time - and there his mind dissolved in sudden confusion. For some reason his mind couldn't provide any examples, for all that he'd had the impression of hundreds.
Fighting through the confusion, he leaned forward over the corpse and lifted a sodden lump of brown hair out of the guy's face, trying to get a good look through the driving rain.
With a sudden jolt of recognition, he realised the glazed-over eyes he was looking at were his own.
"Hey - " he tried to say, but the raincoated figure beside him spoke on as if nothing had happened.
"The way I see it, a rookie cop went into the wrong neighbourhood without backup, found out the hard way how much damage a fire axe can do to your chest cavity."
Lance gasped at a sudden shadowy pain that felt half-immediate, half-remembered. One hand went protectively to his chest and found that, beneath his stained white shirt, no resistance met his fingers. It was as if half his ribs were missing - as if, underneath his uniform, he had the same injuries as the corpse in front of him.
The detective turned to him in grim satisfaction. "What do you think, Lance? Should we chalk it up to inexperience?"
Lance blinked and struggled to focus. Feeling the pain had done something to his perceptions. The rain had lessened, and a little colour seemed to be filtering back into the world. The corpse at his feet wasn't dressed in a tattered three-piece suit, but a modern police uniform. And it wasn't even raining where he was - Lance could see the sun shining high in the sky, even though for some reason the warmth wasn't reaching him.
"Still just as dead, though," the detective said, and chuckled. It wasn't an unkind sound. "Looks like you've got your bearings pretty quickly, Lance. Usually people spend a couple of months here as beat cops before stumbling on themselves."
Lance's mind was still racing, trying to piece together all the disparate elements of what had happened. "So - is this a dream? Is that really me down there?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders. "Only in metaphor, Lance. Right now you're actually in the morgue, I'm sorry to say. This is you as you were for twenty minutes, before your back-up arrived far too late."
"And - why am I seeing it? What is this place?"
The detective sighed, and seemed to focus his eyes on something impossibly distant. "You were a cop, Lance. A good one, as it happens. Forgive me for the rookie shtick, you were anything but. You had ten years working cases, and then something happened and you wound up dead in the street. Unfortunately for us both, the mind of a trained detective wasn't going to take that lying down. So here we are."
"Where is 'here', exactly?"
The detective grinned and shrugged his arms wide. "You could call it limbo, you could call it an ever-evolving crime scene. This is my beat. Everyone who dies passes through some version of here. My job is to work out why, and make a record."
There was a lot to digest, but Lance had always been a good interviewer. His mind had started to chug away, storing away everything the detective said for correlating against other information. "So - you're death, then? I always thought you were the guy who actually did the deed, you know? One big scythe swing, and then I'd be in the afterlife."
The detective looked pained. "Why would I need a scythe? Whoever did you looks like they didn't exactly need any help. C'mon, Lance. You know policing. In the end, it's all about the paperwork. People are backed up in limbo like you don't even know, waiting for their case files to become available."
With that, he pulled a small notebook and pencil from his pocket, flipped to a certain page, and crossed out a few lines.
"What's that you've got there?" Lance asked.
"Case notes," the detective said without looking up. "I had you down as DOA, time of dissolution pretty identical to time of death. You and I were going to shake our heads over this poor unfortunate then wander back down the precinct, at which time your consciousness would have relaxed and let go. Instead, look at us, huh?"
"Wait, what? What do you mean dissolution? Am I going to die again?"
The detective sighed. "No, you're already dead. Lance, look, I'll be honest with you. The prognosis isn't great. You're just a shade of yourself, held together by your own curiosity about how you died. It would probably be better if you just dissolved here and now, since it's unlikely you'll get any closure from figuring out how you got popped."
"Not going to happen." Lance found himself remembering more and more of his personality as the minutes ticked past, and right then he'd remembered he wasn't the kind of guy to be pushed around by anyone.
"Suit yourself," the detective said. "If you really want to investigate, you'll find it pretty easy to get from place to place - just think, and you're there. And please excuse the decoration in this world. I kind of got stuck on the noir stuff. It's a strong aesthetic."
Forty-eight hours wasn't long, but it wasn't nothing, either. Lance had a few stray notions beginning to coalesce in the back of his head, details of the last few cases he'd worked on, mugshots from people he'd like to have a serious beyond-the-grave chat with. "Alright. Can I talk to anyone?"
The detective shook his head. "No can do, partner. About all you've got is your own memories. The solution is in there, though, I promise you."
"Thanks," Lance said. "I, uh - I won't let this department down."
The detective looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah," he said levelly. "I know you won't. Look, here's my notebook. You figure anything out, you write it down in here, OK? Might help me get sorted with it faster."
Lance took the notebook, nodded his thanks, turned to leave.
"Detective!"
When he turned back, something was gleaming in the other detective's hand.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
The other detective stepped forward and pinned the badge to Lance's lapel, then stepped back and nodded at him in recognition.
"Welcome to the force."
| |
[WP] A Detective makes a deal with Death. He has 48 hours to solve his own murder | "I've always admired your work," said Death. He was leaning against an overgrown elm situated in the back corner of the cemetery. Around him, old tombstones sat weathered with age and their barely legible numerals spoke of precious visits. Propped against one of the rotting stones was the Detective. His corpse showed the stains of several bullet holes and his tired face looked peaceful in its final escape from the world.
"And I've always admired yours," said the Detective. He stood crouched in front of his corpse investigating the scene. Death had a playful smile on his face as he watched the Detective work. The man lifted the flap of his overcoat and looked closely at the wounds. "Large caliber. Explains why I didn't see it coming." He stood and looked around him before his sight settled on the old church and its stone tower. He looked at death, "May I?"
Death nodded solemnly. "Be my guest," he said as he gestured for them to walk. "We have no hurry." They crossed the cemetery walking between the graves and entered the church through its large wooden doors. As they walked down the aisle, their footsteps failed to sound on the old field stone. The Detective paused, and bent down to the ground. He stood up holding a cigarette smoked almost to the filter. He put it to his lips and felt for the lighter in his coat pocket. He smiled sheepishly. "Suppose I left it with my body."
Death smiled and held out a flame. The Detective bent close to the skeletal hand and dragged in a breath of stale smoke. "Chesterfields," he said. He spit it back onto the floor where it scattered the ash of its cherry. Death nodded and continued to walk toward the tower. The winding stone staircase rose above the surroundings and at the top they looked out from the fallen wooden shudders which once protected the bells. He stared at his his corpse in the distance. He kicked a shell casing which lay at his feet. "This is where he got me. Clear shot. Might as well have offed myself." He shook his head and muttered beneath his breath. Death believed he said "stupid."
The Detective stood in silence; his face solemn in deep thought. Finally he looked at where Death waited patiently. "I know who it was." They stared at one another for some time as a flight of crows landed in the bell tower and looked curiously at the pair. "All I need is one day."
Death nodded. "I expect I will see you soon."
The Detective woke and looked across the tombstones as the crows scattered from the belfry. He stood and dusted off his bloody clothes. "Time to work." | The lit end of the detective's cigarette was the only bright point in a world of shifting greys.
"Hell of a thing for a Sunday," he said to Lance. His hand sketched out a wide arc that took in the overflowing gutter, the corpse lying slumped in it, and the two of them, standing where the blood mingling with the rainwater wouldn't get on their shoes.
Lance hadn't been with the department long, but he had seen enough to nod in weary agreement. The town was like that. One damn thing after another. The case in front of him was typical. He'd seen a hundred just like it. Why, there was the time - and there his mind dissolved in sudden confusion. For some reason his mind couldn't provide any examples, for all that he'd had the impression of hundreds.
Fighting through the confusion, he leaned forward over the corpse and lifted a sodden lump of brown hair out of the guy's face, trying to get a good look through the driving rain.
With a sudden jolt of recognition, he realised the glazed-over eyes he was looking at were his own.
"Hey - " he tried to say, but the raincoated figure beside him spoke on as if nothing had happened.
"The way I see it, a rookie cop went into the wrong neighbourhood without backup, found out the hard way how much damage a fire axe can do to your chest cavity."
Lance gasped at a sudden shadowy pain that felt half-immediate, half-remembered. One hand went protectively to his chest and found that, beneath his stained white shirt, no resistance met his fingers. It was as if half his ribs were missing - as if, underneath his uniform, he had the same injuries as the corpse in front of him.
The detective turned to him in grim satisfaction. "What do you think, Lance? Should we chalk it up to inexperience?"
Lance blinked and struggled to focus. Feeling the pain had done something to his perceptions. The rain had lessened, and a little colour seemed to be filtering back into the world. The corpse at his feet wasn't dressed in a tattered three-piece suit, but a modern police uniform. And it wasn't even raining where he was - Lance could see the sun shining high in the sky, even though for some reason the warmth wasn't reaching him.
"Still just as dead, though," the detective said, and chuckled. It wasn't an unkind sound. "Looks like you've got your bearings pretty quickly, Lance. Usually people spend a couple of months here as beat cops before stumbling on themselves."
Lance's mind was still racing, trying to piece together all the disparate elements of what had happened. "So - is this a dream? Is that really me down there?"
The detective shrugged his shoulders. "Only in metaphor, Lance. Right now you're actually in the morgue, I'm sorry to say. This is you as you were for twenty minutes, before your back-up arrived far too late."
"And - why am I seeing it? What is this place?"
The detective sighed, and seemed to focus his eyes on something impossibly distant. "You were a cop, Lance. A good one, as it happens. Forgive me for the rookie shtick, you were anything but. You had ten years working cases, and then something happened and you wound up dead in the street. Unfortunately for us both, the mind of a trained detective wasn't going to take that lying down. So here we are."
"Where is 'here', exactly?"
The detective grinned and shrugged his arms wide. "You could call it limbo, you could call it an ever-evolving crime scene. This is my beat. Everyone who dies passes through some version of here. My job is to work out why, and make a record."
There was a lot to digest, but Lance had always been a good interviewer. His mind had started to chug away, storing away everything the detective said for correlating against other information. "So - you're death, then? I always thought you were the guy who actually did the deed, you know? One big scythe swing, and then I'd be in the afterlife."
The detective looked pained. "Why would I need a scythe? Whoever did you looks like they didn't exactly need any help. C'mon, Lance. You know policing. In the end, it's all about the paperwork. People are backed up in limbo like you don't even know, waiting for their case files to become available."
With that, he pulled a small notebook and pencil from his pocket, flipped to a certain page, and crossed out a few lines.
"What's that you've got there?" Lance asked.
"Case notes," the detective said without looking up. "I had you down as DOA, time of dissolution pretty identical to time of death. You and I were going to shake our heads over this poor unfortunate then wander back down the precinct, at which time your consciousness would have relaxed and let go. Instead, look at us, huh?"
"Wait, what? What do you mean dissolution? Am I going to die again?"
The detective sighed. "No, you're already dead. Lance, look, I'll be honest with you. The prognosis isn't great. You're just a shade of yourself, held together by your own curiosity about how you died. It would probably be better if you just dissolved here and now, since it's unlikely you'll get any closure from figuring out how you got popped."
"Not going to happen." Lance found himself remembering more and more of his personality as the minutes ticked past, and right then he'd remembered he wasn't the kind of guy to be pushed around by anyone.
"Suit yourself," the detective said. "If you really want to investigate, you'll find it pretty easy to get from place to place - just think, and you're there. And please excuse the decoration in this world. I kind of got stuck on the noir stuff. It's a strong aesthetic."
Forty-eight hours wasn't long, but it wasn't nothing, either. Lance had a few stray notions beginning to coalesce in the back of his head, details of the last few cases he'd worked on, mugshots from people he'd like to have a serious beyond-the-grave chat with. "Alright. Can I talk to anyone?"
The detective shook his head. "No can do, partner. About all you've got is your own memories. The solution is in there, though, I promise you."
"Thanks," Lance said. "I, uh - I won't let this department down."
The detective looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah," he said levelly. "I know you won't. Look, here's my notebook. You figure anything out, you write it down in here, OK? Might help me get sorted with it faster."
Lance took the notebook, nodded his thanks, turned to leave.
"Detective!"
When he turned back, something was gleaming in the other detective's hand.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
The other detective stepped forward and pinned the badge to Lance's lapel, then stepped back and nodded at him in recognition.
"Welcome to the force."
| |
You can assume a host of powers in your character already formed and honed. But do tell us what powers they have, what they got it from and how it links. Give us something fun and entertaining!
edit: I'd like to thank everyone that responded to the prompt, everyone who upvoted (and downvoted - yes, your opinions matter too), and everyone who commented. I enjoyed reading your stories, and you all leave me wanting more! Keep writing and keep reading! | [WP] You have an unusual superpower - you absorb one ability of anything that bites you and breaks your skin. You get bitten by a dog? You suddenly have super hearing. Stung by a jellyfish? Immortality. For the first time in your life - you are bitten by a human. | The first time I was Bitten was by my cat. At first it was a bite like any other, I yelped at the sharp pain blossoming from the back of my hand, and watched the crimson droplets slowly well up from the wound. I was entranced. Staring at the blood, I knew something was different this time. I'd been bitten before, but this time I had been... Bitten. Capital B. I had no idea how different it really was.
It was only later that afternoon that I came to understand just how I had changed. I was stepping out to cross the street, headphones blaring, eyes locked onto the screen before my eyes, oblivious to the world around me. Suddenly a horn blared through the music, my head whipped around just in time to see the horror on the driver's face. Their next ten years flashed through their eyes, as my last ten seconds slowed to an eternity in mine. I remember the impact clearly. The weightlessness as my limp body was thrown into the air. The audible crack as my skull collided with the asphalt. The sensation of losing sensation as my life oozed from the back of my head. I vaguely remember the screaming, a muffled noise in the background as my hearing and vision faded to nothing, the sirens soon added to the muted cacophony. I don't remember the ambulance ride at all. Next thing I know I'm waking up on a stainless steel table, my body whole and undamaged. I sat up to look around, and saw what I could only believe to be a coroner's office. Surgical tools, laid out with precision on a tray next to what should have been my corpse. The halogen light above me glaring down, threatening to burn its image into my retinas if I were foolish enough to look at it directly. All of that was negligible compared to the itch in the back of my hand, which burned and demanded my full attention. The number eight tattooed in scarlet. Red was definitely my colour that day.
I was Bitten by a venomous spider next. A Black Widow to be precise, painful to say the least. It was worth it though, after that I could walk on any surface as if it were flat ground, defying all common sense as I strolled along the ceilings of my home. Seven.
The third Bite was while I was swimming in the reefs just off the coast of eastern Australia. I had cut my leg on a jagged piece of coral. Just a small split in my skin, just below the knee, but enough to bleed. Enough to attract the wrong kind of attention from the local wildlife. It's said that shark bites are an unpleasant business at the best of times, I can tell you that the lethal ones are far worse. Being able to breathe underwater was a welcome addition to my growing pool of powers though. Six.
Black mamba. Producing deadly venom. Five.
Stung repeatedly by a swarm of hornets. I could fire a bolt of bone the size of a sewing needle from any finger. Four.
Savaged by a crocodile when I fell overboard on a tour of the river Nile. I could bite through steel. Three.
Mauled by a polar bear in the Arctic Circle. I became stronger than any before me. Two.
Hunted down by a cheetah while backpacking through the Serengeti. I could sprint a hundred metres in under six seconds. One.
By this point I was beyond all others. I was the pinnacle in human evolution, a living weapon that could walk into a building from an open window on the 18th floor. I could kill a man silently from across the room by pointing my finger and firing a sliver of bone, slathered in venom. I could bite through any chains that would bind my prodigious strength, if they could catch me in the first place. Many had tried to drown me, but of course that failed too. So who could blame me for being arrogant when faced with a drunkard in a bar? I had bested him in combat, he had stood no chance against me and I knew it. So I gloated. I leaned in close and told him what he was compared to me. Trash. Barely worthy of my notice. An insignificant speck of dust on the grand tapestry of my life. That was the moment he chose. He lunged forward faster than I thought anybody other than myself could move, I was frozen in shock that he would dare continue his resistance. His teeth latched onto my throat a moment before he jerked his head savagely to the side, tearing my windpipe open. He had Bitten me. There is one trait that all of humanity shares, whether they make use of it, or leave it to waste away, we are all stubborn to a fault.
This time I refused to die. | Life was pointless if you're a piece of chicken breast.
I gasped as I could smell my incredibly tasty, crispy skin. "Mmmmm..." I found myself saying, as I licked my delicious, greasy, heart destroying lips.
"What...in the f--"
That's when I realized that while I was enjoying my deliciousness, someone else was also enjoying me.
Well, *was* being the keyword.
As in, he is no longer sharing in my tastiness. I felt his hands holding me further away from his face and down towards his plate. "Are you seeing this?" the male voice asked.
I opened my eyes to see my crumbs sticking to his chin via all of my grease. "AUUUAGH!" he shouted, dropping me to his plate.
"*Umph,*" I grunted. Even a small drop hurt.
His bite had given me consciousness, although it obviously came with its drawbacks; I could enjoy my deliciously yummy face, but I could also recognize his look of horror and disgust.
"Oh. MY. **GOD!**" the lady yelled.
"Ohhhh boy," I said under my aromatic breath.
"**THROW IT OUT! THROW IT OUT!**" she shouted at him, although he was more than eager to.
He immediately shook his plate into the trash bag, knocking me in with the napkins, plastic wraps, and banana peels, before tying it up and throwing the entire bag into the trash can.
"Mmmmmm..." I said, still enjoying my taste, before a rancid smell finally overcame it and assaulted my smell buds. "Hey, who ripped it in here? It stinks!"
"Sorry," the old bread replied. "That would be me." |
[WP] You live with your struggling single mom. It's your 21st birthday and a unknown individual comes to your home and says he's your father and his name is Zeus. | Author note: Ahem... I have taken some liberties. Not in the enslaving way that governments do, but in the artistic sense... but you probably already guessed that.
I had started living in Japan at the age of ten when a scientist busted me out of the research facility and sent me to some of his friends who lived there. I knew I was not a normal child, I had the ability to channel and manipulate electricity, but I was always afraid to use those powers in case those researchers ever caught onto my scent again. At one point, I began using them when I was introduced to a club that fought of strange monsters, like in some anime, but that's a story for another time.
See, one day, when my adopted father was at work, mother was shopping, and my sister was out with her friends, there was a knock at the door. I reached for the knob and felt a jolt. I paused, peeked through the peephole, then opened the door.
The man standing there was a thick and chiseled man with prominent Greek features. His eyes were as dark and sharp as mine, his hair as shockingly blonde. A white t-shirt with a faint ketchup stain on the collar is what he wore, a pair of faded jeans around his waist.
"*Geia sou, o gios mou.*"
I tried to figure out what language he was speaking, probably Greek. "Do you speak English?' I asked, figuring Japanese was not something he would know.
"He chortled and scratched his head, "Sorry! I got so excited when I saw you! It's been so long since I've seen you, son."
I narrowed my eyes, "who are you?"
"Why, I'm your father, Zeus!"
I'm sure he was expecting some reaction like Hercules in Disney's Hercules... but that show wasn't even accurate to begin with.
"I'm sorry, but you're not my father."
His smile faded, "what would make you say that?"
I stepped forward and to the side past him, summoning my war hammer. It struck him cleanly in the gut and sent him flying over the balcony. I leapt up the railing and pushed off after him.
"Wrong deity!" I shouted, "Moljnir! Strike!" | They say never meet your heroes.
My hero was the dad that I never met. He was everything a father should be: smart, kind, gentle, every cliché in the book. He loved my mother and I, but he had to go away on a long business trip. He was a pilot whose plane travelled around the world for years at a time. He didn’t write, because, as I rationalized in my head, he was stuck on a deserted island waiting for a way to come home to my mother and me.
Instead, my father stood before me in a cheap suit, while smelling of cologne and whiskey. His five o’clock shadow was somehow lazy, but impeccably maintained. He looked like a college athlete twenty years after his prime.
He extended out a peace offering: a bottle of champagne.
“I guess I should ask if you want to sit down.” I managed. He shuffled awkwardly past me and walked through the door.
He stepped into our apartment without a word. He gazed at the meager surroundings with an air of superiority, but then looking towards me his guilt returned. He left us, with nothing. He could have visited me countless times, but instead he chose tonight to make his grand entrance.
He gazed at a photograph of my mother and I, one of the rare happy pictures of us. She was smiling at me as I ran towards the camera with a big grin on my face. I was four. She was barely twenty-five. He picked it up in his bear-paw sized hands and examined it with a smile.
“That was when my Aunt Mary got married, when I was four. Mom was trying to get me to sit still for a posed picture on the beach, but I thought Uncle Mitchell’s camera was more interesting.” I noted, to fill the silence.
He studied me for thirty-or so seconds, and then smiled. His smile was like he tried to mimic the expression from others, rather than feeling actual amusement. The silence grew louder with each passing second.
“Mom is out at work right now. She’s a secretary, but she also picks up some shifts at a local bar to make extra money now and again. Sometimes she can make like four hundred a night.”
“Hardworking, as always.” He chuckled softly for a second.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
“I thought it was time I should introduce myself.” He came closer, trying to put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s not right for a girl to go her entire life without knowing who her father is.”
“Believe me, Daddy issues are the least of my worries.”
“Perhaps not, but you cannot deny that you never considered who the mystery man your mother fell for in her youth was?” He grinned wickedly at me, knowing that I considered this every day throughout my childhood.
“You left her, so why should I care that you’re here now?” I felt the tears welling up. I could not show this guy my weakness. I needed to remain strong.
“I stayed away because I only seem to mess things up for my children. I did not want you or your mother to just become another mythological story.”
“So, instead, you decide to become the absent father and offer me a bottle of cheap champagne as a consolation prize?”
He winced in pain, knowing that his master plan was flawed from it’s very conception. My conception.
“Diana, please, I want to get to know you. I want to be a father to you.” His sky-blue eyes searched mine, pleading with me.
Looking back at the man who made a broken woman whole again, even if briefly, I saw what my mother saw. A man who was running from his past, who wanted to create a better future without the slightest idea how to start. An ideologue with blind love for humanity.
But I also saw the man who made her break down sobbing for years after my birth. A man no other could possibly measure to. A man with a reckless tendency to leave as soon as he began to feel attached.
“I guess we should start with the basics then.” I said, closing the door to the hallway behind me. | |
[WP] In a lucid dream, you find something you really want to hold onto and make an effort to bring it with you to the real world when you wake up. | I grabbed hold, with all my might, muscles screaming, body aching, my mind telling me to just let go, to give up. *No*, I scream into the night, *I will not give up!* I have been searching for too long, wanting, needing for too long. I can't let go now. I wake up, sweating, my bed is damp with sweat for the struggle, as pointless as it was. I hang my head in shame and roll over, determined to fall back asleep. *What is that?* I ask myself, looking under the sheet. I did it, I brought back my greatest want, my biggest desire, A MOTHERFUCKING LIGHTSABER FUCK YEAH! | See, sometimes you just look at something, you know, and you know you have to keep it. You have to have it.
And I saw it. I saw it when I was waiting in the rain. And I felt the rain: I felt it. I felt it on my shoulders.
They say this is a dream; I don’t believe it.
So I take the rain. I seize it. I raise my hands, as if in prayer, and I dream to whoever listens. I dream that I may dream
that I may take it with me. When I might leave this place.
The end is coming soon. I feel it. So I hold my hands raised as if in prayer, and I feel each drop as if it were a tear, and I close my eyes as I sense it
and it is cold and is ice and is perfect
and I tremble as it trembles
down my arm
and I open my eyes as I wake.
-
-
-
and there are no raindrops here, only tears. And a bed which is dry as the desert I have left, as dry as my tongue which is parched and deserted.
And the water is here. The water is to my right. I turn to my side as I raise my hand, as I reach for the water which is right here beside me.
Perhaps I knew I needed it. Somehow, I took it with me.
I rise to make my morning coffee as drops strike the pane of my window.
| |
[WP] A long time ago, you were given the chance to become immortal. You accepted without a doubt. But you never actually thought you would outlive the human race. | I walked along the gravel, which now covers the earth almost completely. The once vivid blues and greens which were sprinkled upon this living geode has all decayed to nothing but reds and Greys. Makes me wonder if Mars had life.
I sit upon the gravel, besides the last. I groaned in discomfort as the blanket I would lay upon the ground had recently become all but useless, it was now just a headband I wore to shield my brow from the red giant which lay before our orb of clay and iron. Sipping a bit of water that I dug up hours earlier, I started, once more, conversing with the grave.
"Muhammad... That was a facinating man. Created amazing thing, that he truly did. You might have liked him actually." I paused and took another sip. " Too bad history had it's way of bending the truth. Yea, you know he was actually quite tall?" I awaited a response. "Yes! I kid you not Dahlia, I swear, as tall as Micheal Jordan. Giant man. Of course it was the point of his cause,which was to spread the word of his God." I took another sip of my water and listened to the sound of dead winds. "Me? Oh I was raised as an Egyptian so, for a long while I worshiped Ra, Amun Ra. You know them I presume?" I looked towards her headstone, my face quickly turning an assortment of pale whites and greens. I looked towards my water and spoke yet again, an effort to change the topic of a non existent conversation. "Been weeks since I last had a drink you know? I remember when you all started to get worried about the planet. ""Will our children have water to drink?". The environment, the animals. The water. Heck, if only they could see it all now huh?" looking down at my bottle which I so treasured, I recalled meeting her. Dahlia was the last woman. Of course Dahlia wasn't her name, but when I discovered her corpse, I had to call her something. She was dark skin, with tight black curls, her skin and hair denoted African decent, however the ethicities had mingled so much by his time that, anyone could look to her and point out features of every race. Her teeth, gapped, nostrils, tight and small, the bridge long and thick. She was lean, yet muscular, I presume made that way by thousands of years of evolution. I presumed she died of dehydration, and as I wanted to preserve her memory, the human memory, I ensured her grave was safe from the predators of this region.
"I wish I could have helped you. Maybe we could have left this planetary pebble together. Maybe we could have began anew on one of Jupiter's moons, they discovered an alge forest on one you know!?" I turned to the shallow grave, holding up my bottle. Waiting for a response, although I knew I would never receive one. " I'm sorry Dahlia. Truly I am." The grim reality of my situation getting closer and closer, year by year, millennia by millennia.
I pulled myself off the red gravel and poured the rest of my drink onto the dirt, seeing my tears once again join the water which I ritualistically poured every month. "I wish I had someone Dahlia." I grabbed ahold of the stone which was her marker for both physical and emotional support. "Anyone would be fine. A dog, a bird, for God's sake even Walle had a cockroach!" I fell back to the earth, sobbing as if I'd just been born again. I began to snicker a cynical snicker. "Hehe...Heheheh. you know, in only a couple hundred thousand years this rock will be devoured by the big red giant?" Tears began to fall even faster now. I knew this grave was not shallow, her body probably has been fossilized for more than fifty millennia, and yet I always placed new stones to keep track. Looking up at the crimson horizon, I knew my days were numbered. I spoke aloud. "Only one hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine years to go. Give or take fifty thousand years.", I shot up, dusted myself off, and sulked over to my cave. Filled with nothing. Like the rest of Earth.
I wrote this on my phone at 5:00 Am so please be gentle. I hope I can write more like this. | When I was little, a long time ago, I used to play in the snow outside of my home with my siblings. We'd play tag. I'd tag someone "Tag, you're it." and run away, and we would play for hours or so long as we could until someone got hurt. It seems inevitable that when children play, they play until someone gets hurt. It is, I suspect, a condition of human nature.
Once, as I tore around the house with my younger sister bounding behind me I lost traction. It's a strange feeling I'm sure you've experienced. The surprise. The falling. The ground. You play witness to your own mistake and in your head you hear, "Well John. You've bungled this one, haven't you?" before *kerplunk!* Right into the ground you go. I broke my arm that time. It was one of my first mistakes in life I remember clearly. Not my last.
That perplexing feeling hasn't a name that I'm aware of. It's a jumble of emotions really. Helplessness is certainly a big part of it, but not all of the picture. Regret is in equal parts with helplessness I think because of course afterwords you always say "Now, Why did you do that?"
There is fear in there as well. Fear of what's about to happen. About what you cannot stop from happening. This enigmatic emotion I suspect is the last thing many a person may feel just before their death.
It passes though. That feeling that strikes so quickly is also quickly passed as new information comes to light. Either you break your arm, or you are OK, or you (there is no you) die. The resolution, gives way to new, comprehensible feelings.. It leaves you to live (or die) with the consequences.
And so now I must ask myself. Why do I still feel the unnerving and hopeless spiral? Why does this feeling still persist? Am I still falling? | |
[WP] A long time ago, you were given the chance to become immortal. You accepted without a doubt. But you never actually thought you would outlive the human race. | "You were made to suffer a fate even harder, my child who fears death. Will you still accept it?"
"Yes," she said, and life with all its darkness clung to her from that moment on.
---
The last feeling was nostalgia. A sense in her body that time had passed, things had changed, and all the insignificant details were worth remembering.
Grief, she shook off in her first two hundred years. It was a lesson learned even by children, after all, and she had learned it better than anyone else could - watching not just parents and sister, but nephews and nieces and the whole sprawling web called "family" march into something unknown without her. She tended to them the same way she tended to a series of pet birds in her childhood, with full attention and no shortcuts taken, but love limited by the knowledge that their time was short. Limited, too, by the fact that they could never know who she was. She had mourned her last unmarried relative in all the proper ways, but then walked away in the lightness of freedom.
Wonder ceased to touch her after five hundred. For a long time, the world seemed to get flashier, but less substantial - nothing invented but new ways to spend money, new ways to make life better for people who already had it alright, and sometimes "new" ways of cruelty which threatened to obliterate the rest of the newness. In history, good always triumphed, progress would eventually turn out for the better - no one voiced that opinion as firmly, and resignedly, as she did. Watching a city of 21 million lives vanish into nothingness, the ground where it stood now a bite-like crater, she understood that history would vanish exactly when that was no longer true. Slowly, even as the world seemed to recover, she began to realize that she would see that end.
Anger meant nothing after nine-hundred years. Her tired sense of justice made itself felt more than ever, but grudges couldn't endure so long.
Fear left her, when the days became difficult to count and all proper measurements of time vanished. Before that, with the news getting worse and worse, it became ever-present. Others, talking feverishly fast with wide eyes, gave her heart a twisting feeling she couldn't explain. Nothing would kill her - she had already learned that in bathtubs, in hospital escapes, in nights spent under a blanket of snow. In dreams of running from shadows and promises made out of fear. But there were other things that chilled her more. The intent in others' eyes, which later escaped into their actions. There was selflessness in the world, but where it showed up, its only effect was to mark its own scarcity.
Some humans had to be the last humans - she didn't know if she could give herself that label, anymore. They were possessed by the urgency of survival, the willingness to kill each other to live a miserable moment more. One by one, they lay quiet on the ground, and she held their hands as they looked at her with slowly fading hatred.
She learned to meet their eyes. They were made with the same unquenchable fear that ruled her too, there was no difference between them except that she was - somehow - immortal.
It was with them that she lost that fear. She wandered on.
She forgot about disgust, having seen her body disfigured in almost every way that wouldn't kill her. She forgot what it was like to look into her own hungry eyes and feel disturbed, having not seen her reflection for some immeasurable time. In some time, she realized that she was no longer eating. She wondered whether she even needed to breathe anymore, but that was a habit that wouldn't stop. And one day, she walked across a span of land and realized that she hadn't seen knew land in - well, she didn't know how long.
She lay down for good. She no longer thought about what it was like, not to sleep most of the day and then wake up only to stare at the moon which was in one blink a crescent, in the next a full orb. Sometimes, she thought that there had been a time that rain didn't fall all around her, burying her in mud. A time not spent on the ground, something like a withered root. But she remembered only the fact that there had once been something different, and by some slowly accumulated shading, *then* had slowly become *now*.
Nostalgia lived, in vague dreams.
In the tomb of eternal life she opened her eyes to rocks and dirt, tumbling around her body. Fast or slow, she no longer knew, but an old memory stirred.
She wept as the ground hardened around her, as over millions of years the core of the earth took her in a hungry embrace, as life became something other than a living body. She sang, screaming, the dying song of the last survivors - their desperation, their acquiescence, the final pain of their last few heartbeats - the sound that should have been hers, too. And then, something in the fire seemed to answer her. She reached out with what remained of her being, feeling through the layers of soil and rock, feeling her life sink into every inch of the earth.
Something small was out there, and it was hers to shape.
---
"You are the future of the world," she said, and the dreamer could only imagine what brought such sorrow into her voice. He could not guess it was just that she already knew his mind. "One who is meant to love life above all, who will call it back from the end by your own suffering. Will you do it?"
"Yes." | It would've surprised most people that 2000 years after the turn of the 20th century the world looks the same. The trees are tall, the grass is green. The oceans are blue, and the polar ice caps remain intact. The last human died over 500 years ago, and yet the world turns. Nature thrives, the cool rain comes, the irresistible, ever-bright sun gives life, as the Earth seems to have even paused in it's approach to a final heat death. Mankind is gone, confined to my history books. And gone is it's stain, it's stench. There is no trace of society and civilization. Every building torn down, every city raized. Only the stories remain. I wrote these stories. I collected tales and records from every culture years before their destruction. I, the Keeper, the Pale Man, Savior of the Earth, Scourge of Humanity. They watched my cold form approach from over the horizon, they screamed as their homes fell, and their souls died as their children did. As I crushed the life from the last woman, it was clear I was no longer a man, with no humanity to be found. | |
[WP] A long time ago, you were given the chance to become immortal. You accepted without a doubt. But you never actually thought you would outlive the human race. | The year was 2014. I was interning at a reputable university for the summer, performing state of the art research. But on this particular day, July 1st, I was relaxing with my fellow interns under the cool shade of a grand oak tree. Filled with blossoming passion and sophomoric curiosity, we asked all the unanswerable questions imaginable. What is the meaning of life? What would you do if the apocalypse came tomorrow? Do fish get thirsty?
After much deliberation and debate, we decided to play ‘Would You Rather’. For those of you unaware, ‘Would You Rather’ is a pastime where two scenarios are offered and one must be chosen. For example, would you rather be extremely pulchritudinous but dumber than a rock or very unattractive but sharper than a tack? For some reason, I can only clearly recollect the last question of the game: would you rather live for twenty hours or twenty thousand years? It seemed so simple at the time; I didn’t even think twice about my answer. We all chose the latter option except for one peculiar individual. I ascribed his strange decision to some sort of idiosyncratic trait. If only I understood what he understood…
The year is 4014. I am tethering at the edge of a treacherous cliff for what must be the millionth time, trying to fall to my death yet again. It was on this day, two thousand years ago, that I sealed my faith with my foolish decision. There is no shade from foliage anymore; all the trees have desiccated and died. My blossoming passion has become withered hope. My sophomoric curiosity is now melancholic shrewdness.
What is the meaning of life?
There is no life now.
What would you do if the apocalypse came tomorrow?
Welcome it with eager arms.
Do fish get thirsty?
The seas have all dried out. There are no fish. There is only me, the cliff, and the fall.
| (let me start by saying i am writing on a phone so it might be rubbish, and it is 12:08 am and i am 13 years old. Thank you.)
I looked around not really knowing what to do now. There was nothing. I remember not two hours ago talking to the cashier at tesco and now im in a crater and its all on fire.
My day started as any other. I woke up, brushed me teeth, took my morning poop, made breakfast and strolled out the door. I lived in a rough area in south london. But i really didnt mind. Its not like i could be killed. I entered the shop in which i worked, not a supermarket but more of an off license and said goodbye to sara (the lady that worked the night shift) and gave her a kiss on the cheek then sat at the counter and waited.
I waited and waited and god knows i was a patient man, but nobody showed. I was confused and looked at my phone to see if the world was ending... to my disbelief it was, i tapped on reddit and sure enough it was all over reddit in big letters, WE ARE DOOMED. I had read enough and was about to leave when i got a call, it was from my boss telling me to not leave no matter what, i scoffed and told him he would have to work if he wanted to keep the place. He hung up.
There were so many things going on inside my head but the main was, what will happen to me.
Now it is 2004 and i was in a rough place. I was smoking crack, homeless, no job and no family. I remember the day to the exact point. I found a knife. A kid or something must of dropped it after a gang fight or something but i found it. I sat under the bridge like a troll thinking about life and about how rubbish it was and without thinking anymore i slit my throat. Not my wrist, my throat. And when i fell into the small river i recall the figure. It was death and it was not female or male. It did not look like the stereo typical dark robed skeleton but rather a small jackal. Like anubis from ancient egypt. It barked but i understood it. I told me it was not ready for me and that it will find me when the time is right, for now though it gave me immortality.
We are back in 2017 now and i was racing down the street, it was complete anarchy, buildings were on fire or being looted and cars were all smashed and i had no clue what to do. I had nothing at home so no point being there and then it hit me, the pub. Why not, no one will be in there and i can sit and watch the solar flare come towards us whilst having a nice cold pint. But as i approached i noticed it had been transformed like shaun of the dead into a safe house for some reason. I rapped my fingers on the front window and got a reply, a young girl in her late teens, she looked at me for a second then unlocked the door.
//this is my first ever writing prompt story and would like some feed back. Dont hold back if its rubbish. And if this gets 50 upvotes i will do a part 2// | |
[WP] A long time ago, you were given the chance to become immortal. You accepted without a doubt. But you never actually thought you would outlive the human race. | **entry_381599_final_entry**
Who would have knew I would outlive humanity. If there was still a historian alive, it would probably be called ancient time or maybe even past that. I lost track of time a couple million years ago while floating through space on my generation ship (maybe billions? I don't know).
Well, it's still a generation ship, just without anyone anymore. I guess humanity never change. Always having problem here and there, and by problem, I mean wars. I've carefully selected my crew for the generationship but after a couple generations, there was a revolt about who should be the captain of the ship. Some wanted to go back down to a planet and settle. Some wanted to travel throgh a blackhole just because. Some just want me to give up to the inevitable.
I built this generation ship for my own purpose and my crew was there tp serve my purpose. They were not there to start revolts nor oppose me. I was forced to put them all down. I should've went with AI in the first place but I thought of being alone in the universe for quite a long time can be lonely without human interactions.
Well, they're all dead now, for quite sometimes too. All I have left is my AI, who only do what's necessary. It's comforting program can be a little funny too. Like when I'm crying, it would extend one of the mechanical arm to pat my back. Can't really consider it a pat, as it's more of a slap.
If there's another universe in another dimension, I would never take this deal ever again. A lifetime, literally, of running is enough for me. Well, that damn snail is now only a couple lightyears away from me. Damn intelligent snail. It would only be a matter of a couple more thousand years before it catches up to me. So this is my final data entry. If somehow these data entries survived into the new big bang or whatever, know that immortality exist, but so does that damn snail.
**end_of_entry_381599** | (let me start by saying i am writing on a phone so it might be rubbish, and it is 12:08 am and i am 13 years old. Thank you.)
I looked around not really knowing what to do now. There was nothing. I remember not two hours ago talking to the cashier at tesco and now im in a crater and its all on fire.
My day started as any other. I woke up, brushed me teeth, took my morning poop, made breakfast and strolled out the door. I lived in a rough area in south london. But i really didnt mind. Its not like i could be killed. I entered the shop in which i worked, not a supermarket but more of an off license and said goodbye to sara (the lady that worked the night shift) and gave her a kiss on the cheek then sat at the counter and waited.
I waited and waited and god knows i was a patient man, but nobody showed. I was confused and looked at my phone to see if the world was ending... to my disbelief it was, i tapped on reddit and sure enough it was all over reddit in big letters, WE ARE DOOMED. I had read enough and was about to leave when i got a call, it was from my boss telling me to not leave no matter what, i scoffed and told him he would have to work if he wanted to keep the place. He hung up.
There were so many things going on inside my head but the main was, what will happen to me.
Now it is 2004 and i was in a rough place. I was smoking crack, homeless, no job and no family. I remember the day to the exact point. I found a knife. A kid or something must of dropped it after a gang fight or something but i found it. I sat under the bridge like a troll thinking about life and about how rubbish it was and without thinking anymore i slit my throat. Not my wrist, my throat. And when i fell into the small river i recall the figure. It was death and it was not female or male. It did not look like the stereo typical dark robed skeleton but rather a small jackal. Like anubis from ancient egypt. It barked but i understood it. I told me it was not ready for me and that it will find me when the time is right, for now though it gave me immortality.
We are back in 2017 now and i was racing down the street, it was complete anarchy, buildings were on fire or being looted and cars were all smashed and i had no clue what to do. I had nothing at home so no point being there and then it hit me, the pub. Why not, no one will be in there and i can sit and watch the solar flare come towards us whilst having a nice cold pint. But as i approached i noticed it had been transformed like shaun of the dead into a safe house for some reason. I rapped my fingers on the front window and got a reply, a young girl in her late teens, she looked at me for a second then unlocked the door.
//this is my first ever writing prompt story and would like some feed back. Dont hold back if its rubbish. And if this gets 50 upvotes i will do a part 2// | |
[WP] A long time ago, you were given the chance to become immortal. You accepted without a doubt. But you never actually thought you would outlive the human race. | The year was 2014. I was interning at a reputable university for the summer, performing state of the art research. But on this particular day, July 1st, I was relaxing with my fellow interns under the cool shade of a grand oak tree. Filled with blossoming passion and sophomoric curiosity, we asked all the unanswerable questions imaginable. What is the meaning of life? What would you do if the apocalypse came tomorrow? Do fish get thirsty?
After much deliberation and debate, we decided to play ‘Would You Rather’. For those of you unaware, ‘Would You Rather’ is a pastime where two scenarios are offered and one must be chosen. For example, would you rather be extremely pulchritudinous but dumber than a rock or very unattractive but sharper than a tack? For some reason, I can only clearly recollect the last question of the game: would you rather live for twenty hours or twenty thousand years? It seemed so simple at the time; I didn’t even think twice about my answer. We all chose the latter option except for one peculiar individual. I ascribed his strange decision to some sort of idiosyncratic trait. If only I understood what he understood…
The year is 4014. I am tethering at the edge of a treacherous cliff for what must be the millionth time, trying to fall to my death yet again. It was on this day, two thousand years ago, that I sealed my faith with my foolish decision. There is no shade from foliage anymore; all the trees have desiccated and died. My blossoming passion has become withered hope. My sophomoric curiosity is now melancholic shrewdness.
What is the meaning of life?
There is no life now.
What would you do if the apocalypse came tomorrow?
Welcome it with eager arms.
Do fish get thirsty?
The seas have all dried out. There are no fish. There is only me, the cliff, and the fall.
| Its gotten to the point now, years are like days and each one passes as I drift endlessly into the dark expanse of space. Not only did I outlive humans, but the entire solar system. I was there when the last human died, I was there when the extraterrestrial archaeologists visited the remains of Earth, and boy where they surprised to see me. I convinced them to give me a space craft to leave Earth before the sun would engulf it in a fiery death.
When I first accepted immortality I thought it would be cool, but as time when on and I outlived my wife, my kids and my grandkids, things got dark. What I wouldn't give to see them again. So I spent all my time from there on researching, doing the math. I had convinced NASA to let me use their telescopes for my research (after they found out I was immortal it was kinda hard to say no). And if my calculations are correct I should be arriving soon, but then again I forgot to grab a watch before I left Earth, and its hard to keep track of time around here.
But wait, I see something, a small speck of light ahead. Could this be it? Could my millenniums of research be right? Its growing bigger, and brighter. It looks like a bright cloud, with a gate. Wait! There are people on the other side of the gate! They are all familiar faces. Oh I hope they will let me in. Everything up until now was worth it, this moment I have waited lifetimes for.
I have found it...
heaven. | |
[WP] A long time ago, you were given the chance to become immortal. You accepted without a doubt. But you never actually thought you would outlive the human race. | **entry_381599_final_entry**
Who would have knew I would outlive humanity. If there was still a historian alive, it would probably be called ancient time or maybe even past that. I lost track of time a couple million years ago while floating through space on my generation ship (maybe billions? I don't know).
Well, it's still a generation ship, just without anyone anymore. I guess humanity never change. Always having problem here and there, and by problem, I mean wars. I've carefully selected my crew for the generationship but after a couple generations, there was a revolt about who should be the captain of the ship. Some wanted to go back down to a planet and settle. Some wanted to travel throgh a blackhole just because. Some just want me to give up to the inevitable.
I built this generation ship for my own purpose and my crew was there tp serve my purpose. They were not there to start revolts nor oppose me. I was forced to put them all down. I should've went with AI in the first place but I thought of being alone in the universe for quite a long time can be lonely without human interactions.
Well, they're all dead now, for quite sometimes too. All I have left is my AI, who only do what's necessary. It's comforting program can be a little funny too. Like when I'm crying, it would extend one of the mechanical arm to pat my back. Can't really consider it a pat, as it's more of a slap.
If there's another universe in another dimension, I would never take this deal ever again. A lifetime, literally, of running is enough for me. Well, that damn snail is now only a couple lightyears away from me. Damn intelligent snail. It would only be a matter of a couple more thousand years before it catches up to me. So this is my final data entry. If somehow these data entries survived into the new big bang or whatever, know that immortality exist, but so does that damn snail.
**end_of_entry_381599** | Its gotten to the point now, years are like days and each one passes as I drift endlessly into the dark expanse of space. Not only did I outlive humans, but the entire solar system. I was there when the last human died, I was there when the extraterrestrial archaeologists visited the remains of Earth, and boy where they surprised to see me. I convinced them to give me a space craft to leave Earth before the sun would engulf it in a fiery death.
When I first accepted immortality I thought it would be cool, but as time when on and I outlived my wife, my kids and my grandkids, things got dark. What I wouldn't give to see them again. So I spent all my time from there on researching, doing the math. I had convinced NASA to let me use their telescopes for my research (after they found out I was immortal it was kinda hard to say no). And if my calculations are correct I should be arriving soon, but then again I forgot to grab a watch before I left Earth, and its hard to keep track of time around here.
But wait, I see something, a small speck of light ahead. Could this be it? Could my millenniums of research be right? Its growing bigger, and brighter. It looks like a bright cloud, with a gate. Wait! There are people on the other side of the gate! They are all familiar faces. Oh I hope they will let me in. Everything up until now was worth it, this moment I have waited lifetimes for.
I have found it...
heaven. | |
[WP] You are the least gifted member of your superhero family. You generally lead an ordinary life, except when your various family members beg you help them solve their super problems. | The biggest problem with my superpower, is the fact that I have one at all. No, really. I was given the worst of both worlds.
I'm not a "normal" person. I can't go to regular schools, or play in regular sporting teams, but I'm also useless in any situation that requires a hero to save the day. Well, technically that's not true, but you try and name a situation where the ability to control other men's erections could save someones life.
My family has never made my power public. Technically I'm listed as a "manipulator of human biology". Luckily most people think that means I'm a shapeshifter, but I doubt turning a flaccid penis into a throbbing erection would technically classify. You can say I'm "lucky to be gifted in the first place", but you would eat those words if you knew the amount of times my father has approached me asking for some "marital aid".
You see, the body of a superhero doesn't respond to traditional human medications. It doesn't usually need to either, however, when dealing with the stress of a 24/7 job that usually involves matters of life or death, it can be next to impossible to achieve a hard-on without some sort of "assistance". That's where I come in.
It only made matters worse when 10 year old me made the mistake of bragging that it took "no concentration at all" to maintain a steady stream of blood flowing down south. Now everyone thinks that it's okay to just approach me whenever they're feeling a bit frisky. I've been doing this for 11 years now. By the time I realised what my power was being used for, and that it was weird to control other guys penises, it was too late.
Before you say it, I have considered telling everyone I will no longer power their machines. Unfortunately for me, that would technically be a violation of the Superhero Code:
"I swear to use my powers to the best of my ability, and promote peace in the society I am sworn to protect"
I don't know about you, but I don't want to be sent to prison for not using my powers, only to have my cellmates find out I CAN CONTROL THEIR ERECTIONS. That would *not* be good.
So I'm left with this dilemma; I can either accept the responsibility thrust upon me and continue to aid my family members in their own thrusting endeavours, or risk becoming a walking viagra dispenser for the world's most hardened criminals with superpowers. I don't know about you, but I know which one I'd prefer.
Forget Batman, mine is the real superhero struggle.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
r/SandfordStories
| My superpower was...not having one. When people heard my surname, they instantly linked me to any one of my illustrious family members, be it my courageous father, my vivacious mother or my surprisingly strong brother. All of them had saved people before. I had saved none.
But my power, or lack thereof, had indirectly saved lives too. My mother had trouble defeating a particularly resilient villian, so I pointed out a logical course of action that her super brain had long since dismissed. My father had, more than once, needed a person who could spy and seduce enemies. I resented those job opportunities, but I took them nonetheless. But my brother was always adept at his work, never requiring my assistance. So when he approached me at last I sensed something...amiss.
"Leia," he said, his voice quivering with hidden emotion, "I need your help."
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The cold sets on my skin like dew on a leaf, embellishing a beauty on me that otherwise would not exist. I feel empowered by its clutch like the warm embrace of an old friend. Ha.
Its dark and only the dim light of the top of the lampost illuminate the cobbled streets of which the old church lies alongside. Pinhead people without a clue on this earth stupidly selling their souls as they enter and leave hoping that the good fortune of their presence will provide good fortune back to them in as little as a crunchy loaf of bread or clearer skin. Pfft.
I will execute every detail meticulously so the outcome will be provided back to me.
Their leader, a short fat pastor with a shiny plump nose and a cackling sense of humour can be heard miles off so its no.......cba to carry on cos its late but was this any good? I really wanna be good at english | The half-naked weakling limped along the silver-like path, deep green trees shaped into tall cones stood uniformly either side all the way to the church courtyard. Of those who visited the church, nearly all of them struggled to admire the eternal peach sunset; their gaze forced by even themselves towards the holy pathway. At every seventh tree, alternating from left to right, hovered golden lamps which bore the appearance of roses in full bloom. Unfurled they slowly gave way to a gleaming stream of light which lined both edges of the path.
Knees trembling and skin covered in weathered grazes, the weakling shed tears of awe and desperation for the holy grace surrounding him. If only such beauty could embrace him beyond the church's holy boundaries.
At the end of the path towered doors far too great for a human to move. Without the holy markings which gilded the doors, the weakling may as well have been looking at a rock face. The doors felt smooth and lukewarm as the weakling surfed his palms over them. The golden light of the doors' markings converged towards the weakling's hands in defence.
A sudden force increasingly pushed the weakling back; the doors silently began to open. A gentle cool breeze cleaned the weakling's face of dirt and dried blood, his hair now streamlined and his blue eyes saturated. He could not help but smile as he wiped away the tears. A golden floor leaked from the doorway, dispersing all around and into the deepest corners of the church's walls.
Stood in the doorway was a priest dressed in a silver robe, a robe which looked as comfortable as fresh flower petals.
The weakling limped forward into a great hall, his footsteps echoing in the pure silence. All around was a plethora of silver walls, pillars, altars, chandeliers, sculptures of deities, and holy symbols, all dressed in some way by gold, silver, or variations of colourful gems.
The priest slowly looked back towards a looming figure sat high up near the rear of the hall. Looking up, the weakling saw the silhouette of a person sat on a giant throne. He could not identify the person, the surrounding light was too bright.
A deep voice broke the silence, echoing all around.
"Not this one", said the giant silhouette.
The priest turned back, looking down at the weakling who collapsed in despair and curled into a ball.
"You must leave", said the priest, "we offer you mercy."
A loud yell, easily likened to that of vomiting, emerged from the weakling. The weakling's shadow expanded into thick branches which lunged out from the ground and all over the room. Startled, priest took several paces back and grabbed a nearby holy symbol.
Thick black sludge shot at the priest's legs and began dragging him into the weakling's shadow. By now even the weakling had melted into a bubbling black puddle of oil. The priest aimed the holy symbol at the weakling, the sludge somewhat repelled by it, but several frantic whips from the sludge successfully flung the symbol from the priest's hands and into the air.
With nought nearby to protect him, the priest entered the dark sludge. His skin now stained by blackened veins, his eyes pitch black, and his skin a lifeless grey. A silver beam of light caught the priest by his hand, the silhouette attempted to pull the priest from the void. But the priest's whimpers were silenced as he swiftly gave way to the overwhelming agony of the void surrounding him.
The silhouette's beam of light faded, soon replaced by a shadow which had since consumed most of the hall by the doorway. The giant doors closed and the pathway's lamps withered into darkness. The once eternal sunset died into a dull grey and the trees turned gold until they became a violent orange fire.
"Bless... me", asked the black puddle as it slowly ascended into a rippling figure, in multiple voices of anger and extreme sadness.
The silhouette's hands were suddenly smothered in the same black sludge. Even the walls were now drenched in darkness which dribbled from the ceiling and onto the statues.
"You are... too far gone", said the silhouette, distracted by the sludge which inevitably covered his throne and body.
"Then I will bless you", replied the sludge. Its figurine descended into the ground near the doorway and emerged before the throne. The silhouette gasped for air as the oil funnelled into its mouth; the light shining from its mouth and eyes was drowned out by the darkness. Eventually the hall was in complete darkness, the throne now a bulge of sludge. In relief the sludge leaked jets of steam in all directions and deflated into a shiny black orb. There the orb rested, waiting for the next priest to investigate. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The plan was simple, get in, get blessed and get out. I don't think anyone of my friends would willingly go into a holy space. Not that it really does anything it's just a bit awkward. Like getting invited in by someone you dont really like and having to sit inside with them for half an hour, trapped by their friendliness.
Ugh... I can't stand when they start praising the lord as if he's some holy being. That lazy ass sitting in his throne playing with the world as he sees fit. But I guess if you only live 70 years a lot of things seem special.
Now if only they hadn't picked one of these grim types of churches for me. All he did when I sneezed during the sermon was raise an eyebrow at me!
Isn't blessing you the thing they usually do? I never understood why humans did this but it seemed like a good plan. So then I had to sit there and think of a new way of getting his blessing and as if by "divine plan" the pastor asks someone from the audience.
My raised arm was the only one in the room and it stuck out like a sore thumb. Really, no one else? I guess admitting fault isn't a strong point in humans. All eyes were on me as I walked up to the platform, I wonder if they figured something was off about me.
As my confession went on the horrified faces started to look more and more outraged. I felt I might as well have a little fun while I was here. I had to suppress my smile though as the the lady in front covered her childs ears as if that would protecr him from this side of the world. These things do happen you know. Although I have a bit of a tendency to seek out sins.
About halfway through the pastor walked up to me and told me that was enough and that I had to leave. I guess I pushed it too far but it was such fun. As started to walk away I turned to the pastor and mouthed the words "Hail Satan" to him. Guess I'm not allowed back there.
As soon as I walked out my friends grouped around me. "What happened?" I told them I had failed to obtain a blessing from the pastor. "Alright a bet is a bet man, pay up."
Fair enough.
| The half-naked weakling limped along the silver-like path, deep green trees shaped into tall cones stood uniformly either side all the way to the church courtyard. Of those who visited the church, nearly all of them struggled to admire the eternal peach sunset; their gaze forced by even themselves towards the holy pathway. At every seventh tree, alternating from left to right, hovered golden lamps which bore the appearance of roses in full bloom. Unfurled they slowly gave way to a gleaming stream of light which lined both edges of the path.
Knees trembling and skin covered in weathered grazes, the weakling shed tears of awe and desperation for the holy grace surrounding him. If only such beauty could embrace him beyond the church's holy boundaries.
At the end of the path towered doors far too great for a human to move. Without the holy markings which gilded the doors, the weakling may as well have been looking at a rock face. The doors felt smooth and lukewarm as the weakling surfed his palms over them. The golden light of the doors' markings converged towards the weakling's hands in defence.
A sudden force increasingly pushed the weakling back; the doors silently began to open. A gentle cool breeze cleaned the weakling's face of dirt and dried blood, his hair now streamlined and his blue eyes saturated. He could not help but smile as he wiped away the tears. A golden floor leaked from the doorway, dispersing all around and into the deepest corners of the church's walls.
Stood in the doorway was a priest dressed in a silver robe, a robe which looked as comfortable as fresh flower petals.
The weakling limped forward into a great hall, his footsteps echoing in the pure silence. All around was a plethora of silver walls, pillars, altars, chandeliers, sculptures of deities, and holy symbols, all dressed in some way by gold, silver, or variations of colourful gems.
The priest slowly looked back towards a looming figure sat high up near the rear of the hall. Looking up, the weakling saw the silhouette of a person sat on a giant throne. He could not identify the person, the surrounding light was too bright.
A deep voice broke the silence, echoing all around.
"Not this one", said the giant silhouette.
The priest turned back, looking down at the weakling who collapsed in despair and curled into a ball.
"You must leave", said the priest, "we offer you mercy."
A loud yell, easily likened to that of vomiting, emerged from the weakling. The weakling's shadow expanded into thick branches which lunged out from the ground and all over the room. Startled, priest took several paces back and grabbed a nearby holy symbol.
Thick black sludge shot at the priest's legs and began dragging him into the weakling's shadow. By now even the weakling had melted into a bubbling black puddle of oil. The priest aimed the holy symbol at the weakling, the sludge somewhat repelled by it, but several frantic whips from the sludge successfully flung the symbol from the priest's hands and into the air.
With nought nearby to protect him, the priest entered the dark sludge. His skin now stained by blackened veins, his eyes pitch black, and his skin a lifeless grey. A silver beam of light caught the priest by his hand, the silhouette attempted to pull the priest from the void. But the priest's whimpers were silenced as he swiftly gave way to the overwhelming agony of the void surrounding him.
The silhouette's beam of light faded, soon replaced by a shadow which had since consumed most of the hall by the doorway. The giant doors closed and the pathway's lamps withered into darkness. The once eternal sunset died into a dull grey and the trees turned gold until they became a violent orange fire.
"Bless... me", asked the black puddle as it slowly ascended into a rippling figure, in multiple voices of anger and extreme sadness.
The silhouette's hands were suddenly smothered in the same black sludge. Even the walls were now drenched in darkness which dribbled from the ceiling and onto the statues.
"You are... too far gone", said the silhouette, distracted by the sludge which inevitably covered his throne and body.
"Then I will bless you", replied the sludge. Its figurine descended into the ground near the doorway and emerged before the throne. The silhouette gasped for air as the oil funnelled into its mouth; the light shining from its mouth and eyes was drowned out by the darkness. Eventually the hall was in complete darkness, the throne now a bulge of sludge. In relief the sludge leaked jets of steam in all directions and deflated into a shiny black orb. There the orb rested, waiting for the next priest to investigate. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | Carlos hunched in the alcove, fuming. The man of the cloth hadn’t even looked up this time. Carlos gave another experimental cough, but the cleric didn’t even flinch. He would have to ham it up.
He fell forward onto the walk, hacking. This certainly caught the eye of passers-by, who stepped back and glanced at him with worried expressions. One woman yanked her child by the arm, hard enough to make him cry, eager to get her son away. The cleric didn’t even turn his head.
“Help… me…” Carlos reached an arm towards the church, its doors open to the poor and luckless. Some sort of priest this man was. If you refused help people in need, what was the point of giving up the pleasures of the flesh? Carlos had never really grasped the purpose of religion.
He chafed his hands together, blowing into them to keep them warm. The body he possessed was failing, he could feel it. What a pity: this one had been quite fun. He was a rich man, with a wife, many mistresses, and more sybaritic pleasures than Carlos could count. There was barely enough time for this last little piece of fun.
And soon there would be no time at all! Wasn’t this man important? Why was the priest ignoring him? If the man died now, his fun would be spoiled. He just needed the priest to bless him, to draw out his satanic form. He crawled on his hands and knees, dragging his finery in the slush until he knelt at the man’s feet.
“Please, help me!” he begged, reaching his muck-covered hands for the priest’s robes. The priest whipped the cloth out of reach.
“I have seen your sins, Señor Garcia. You are not worthy of God’s blessing.” The priest stepped back through the door and made to pull it shut.
“Wait!” Carlos shouted, scrambling forward. “Please, wait.” He coughed. “I am sick, I need help.”
“And what of the people who went to you for help, Señor? While you sat in your estate like a fat cat and laughed? If you die here in the street, it will be a death that deserved your life.” He slammed
Carlos was stunned. He had not possessed Señor Garcia for more than a month. Surely he could not have committed so much evil that the church would shun him in that short a time. He could not even remember a single visitor. He plunged deep into the body, searching for its original owner. He had to see this evil for himself.
There he was. His grip on the body was tenuous; like Carlos, the soul of Garcia knew the flesh was dying. Though faded and weak, the soul was completely black. Carlos had seen many souls, but none so terrible as this one. He sifted through the Garcia’s memories, but they all reflected the corruption. This man had never once in his done anything worthy of heaven.
Carlos laughed. “You do know you’re going to hell?” he whispered to the soul, which was slowly slipping out of the body. It paused.
“Oh, yes,” he continued, “You have lived a heaven on earth, but what a toll! My friend, you are doomed to eternal punishment.” The soul, panicked, tried to push itself back in control. The body shook with the effort, spasming in the doorway of the church. An idea came to Carlos, one much more fun than surprising the priest.
He began pulling himself out of the body. Garcia, feeling his absence, surged forward and extended his soul through the flesh, taking control.
“Not today, demon!” he cried, shaking his fist at Carlos. “I do not die this day! And if you are right about my soul’s damnation, then I shall use what remains of my life to give back and earn my place at the Lord’s table. Father Santos! Father Santos!” He hammered on the door of the church.
Carlos chuckled. “I am afraid you do die this day, Señor.” He reached forth with a deadly claw and slit the man’s neck. Blood poured from the gash, and Garcia fell to his knees, choking.
Satisfied with the look of horror on the dying man’s face, Carlos returned to the depths of hell to greet him. | The half-naked weakling limped along the silver-like path, deep green trees shaped into tall cones stood uniformly either side all the way to the church courtyard. Of those who visited the church, nearly all of them struggled to admire the eternal peach sunset; their gaze forced by even themselves towards the holy pathway. At every seventh tree, alternating from left to right, hovered golden lamps which bore the appearance of roses in full bloom. Unfurled they slowly gave way to a gleaming stream of light which lined both edges of the path.
Knees trembling and skin covered in weathered grazes, the weakling shed tears of awe and desperation for the holy grace surrounding him. If only such beauty could embrace him beyond the church's holy boundaries.
At the end of the path towered doors far too great for a human to move. Without the holy markings which gilded the doors, the weakling may as well have been looking at a rock face. The doors felt smooth and lukewarm as the weakling surfed his palms over them. The golden light of the doors' markings converged towards the weakling's hands in defence.
A sudden force increasingly pushed the weakling back; the doors silently began to open. A gentle cool breeze cleaned the weakling's face of dirt and dried blood, his hair now streamlined and his blue eyes saturated. He could not help but smile as he wiped away the tears. A golden floor leaked from the doorway, dispersing all around and into the deepest corners of the church's walls.
Stood in the doorway was a priest dressed in a silver robe, a robe which looked as comfortable as fresh flower petals.
The weakling limped forward into a great hall, his footsteps echoing in the pure silence. All around was a plethora of silver walls, pillars, altars, chandeliers, sculptures of deities, and holy symbols, all dressed in some way by gold, silver, or variations of colourful gems.
The priest slowly looked back towards a looming figure sat high up near the rear of the hall. Looking up, the weakling saw the silhouette of a person sat on a giant throne. He could not identify the person, the surrounding light was too bright.
A deep voice broke the silence, echoing all around.
"Not this one", said the giant silhouette.
The priest turned back, looking down at the weakling who collapsed in despair and curled into a ball.
"You must leave", said the priest, "we offer you mercy."
A loud yell, easily likened to that of vomiting, emerged from the weakling. The weakling's shadow expanded into thick branches which lunged out from the ground and all over the room. Startled, priest took several paces back and grabbed a nearby holy symbol.
Thick black sludge shot at the priest's legs and began dragging him into the weakling's shadow. By now even the weakling had melted into a bubbling black puddle of oil. The priest aimed the holy symbol at the weakling, the sludge somewhat repelled by it, but several frantic whips from the sludge successfully flung the symbol from the priest's hands and into the air.
With nought nearby to protect him, the priest entered the dark sludge. His skin now stained by blackened veins, his eyes pitch black, and his skin a lifeless grey. A silver beam of light caught the priest by his hand, the silhouette attempted to pull the priest from the void. But the priest's whimpers were silenced as he swiftly gave way to the overwhelming agony of the void surrounding him.
The silhouette's beam of light faded, soon replaced by a shadow which had since consumed most of the hall by the doorway. The giant doors closed and the pathway's lamps withered into darkness. The once eternal sunset died into a dull grey and the trees turned gold until they became a violent orange fire.
"Bless... me", asked the black puddle as it slowly ascended into a rippling figure, in multiple voices of anger and extreme sadness.
The silhouette's hands were suddenly smothered in the same black sludge. Even the walls were now drenched in darkness which dribbled from the ceiling and onto the statues.
"You are... too far gone", said the silhouette, distracted by the sludge which inevitably covered his throne and body.
"Then I will bless you", replied the sludge. Its figurine descended into the ground near the doorway and emerged before the throne. The silhouette gasped for air as the oil funnelled into its mouth; the light shining from its mouth and eyes was drowned out by the darkness. Eventually the hall was in complete darkness, the throne now a bulge of sludge. In relief the sludge leaked jets of steam in all directions and deflated into a shiny black orb. There the orb rested, waiting for the next priest to investigate. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | This is it, the moment I've been waiting for. Blessed day, blessed day are the words I hear in my head. I know if I'm caught this close to a holy place now, what little remains of my soul will be devoured, and my final moments will be spent as a demon.
The rest of eternity had started to feel impure a few decades after I heard the rumors: if you get a holy man to bless you, all the bits that have been worn off your soul will come back to you, and you'll be released from hell.
I was young then, and most of my soul was still intact. But time wore on, and all the pieces that I had taken for granted gradually vanished. Compassion went first, and it left a gaping hole right in the middle of my soul. Then went happiness, worn down slowly from the edges over centuries.
The rest seemed to snowball after that. Right now my soul is a gaunt carcass. I'm tempted to do what the others do and feed off of the pure ones, but my mind didn't fade, just my soul. I know that I can feel better if I do this one thing, can get rid of the aching frailness that I feel when I move. I know, and I will.
I learned how to look like a human from the others. We have billions of humans to choose from, and I take a pitiful looking one laying down outside a drugstore in the suburbs. I'm not accustomed to sharing a mind with a man, so I almost lose the token struggle he puts up. I don't think he's sick, but it's easy to fake, I remember.
I walk down the street until I find a holy place. It's a Methodist church.
Blessed day, blessed day.
I didn't time it for a Christian holy day, and I'm half sure it's a Wednesday. I stumble up the stairs of the church. I see the holy man standing off to the side by a door, talking to an elderly woman. I calm my steps and walk up to him. I've practiced this.
I sniffle and sneeze. The pastor looks up to me with a warm smile. I can see the words forming on his lips: "Ble-"
The elderly woman turns to look at me. "The watchful Eye leaves no soul, betrayer."
I'm only glad my soul is so destroyed already, because I've heard how a complete one feels when it's devoured. | The half-naked weakling limped along the silver-like path, deep green trees shaped into tall cones stood uniformly either side all the way to the church courtyard. Of those who visited the church, nearly all of them struggled to admire the eternal peach sunset; their gaze forced by even themselves towards the holy pathway. At every seventh tree, alternating from left to right, hovered golden lamps which bore the appearance of roses in full bloom. Unfurled they slowly gave way to a gleaming stream of light which lined both edges of the path.
Knees trembling and skin covered in weathered grazes, the weakling shed tears of awe and desperation for the holy grace surrounding him. If only such beauty could embrace him beyond the church's holy boundaries.
At the end of the path towered doors far too great for a human to move. Without the holy markings which gilded the doors, the weakling may as well have been looking at a rock face. The doors felt smooth and lukewarm as the weakling surfed his palms over them. The golden light of the doors' markings converged towards the weakling's hands in defence.
A sudden force increasingly pushed the weakling back; the doors silently began to open. A gentle cool breeze cleaned the weakling's face of dirt and dried blood, his hair now streamlined and his blue eyes saturated. He could not help but smile as he wiped away the tears. A golden floor leaked from the doorway, dispersing all around and into the deepest corners of the church's walls.
Stood in the doorway was a priest dressed in a silver robe, a robe which looked as comfortable as fresh flower petals.
The weakling limped forward into a great hall, his footsteps echoing in the pure silence. All around was a plethora of silver walls, pillars, altars, chandeliers, sculptures of deities, and holy symbols, all dressed in some way by gold, silver, or variations of colourful gems.
The priest slowly looked back towards a looming figure sat high up near the rear of the hall. Looking up, the weakling saw the silhouette of a person sat on a giant throne. He could not identify the person, the surrounding light was too bright.
A deep voice broke the silence, echoing all around.
"Not this one", said the giant silhouette.
The priest turned back, looking down at the weakling who collapsed in despair and curled into a ball.
"You must leave", said the priest, "we offer you mercy."
A loud yell, easily likened to that of vomiting, emerged from the weakling. The weakling's shadow expanded into thick branches which lunged out from the ground and all over the room. Startled, priest took several paces back and grabbed a nearby holy symbol.
Thick black sludge shot at the priest's legs and began dragging him into the weakling's shadow. By now even the weakling had melted into a bubbling black puddle of oil. The priest aimed the holy symbol at the weakling, the sludge somewhat repelled by it, but several frantic whips from the sludge successfully flung the symbol from the priest's hands and into the air.
With nought nearby to protect him, the priest entered the dark sludge. His skin now stained by blackened veins, his eyes pitch black, and his skin a lifeless grey. A silver beam of light caught the priest by his hand, the silhouette attempted to pull the priest from the void. But the priest's whimpers were silenced as he swiftly gave way to the overwhelming agony of the void surrounding him.
The silhouette's beam of light faded, soon replaced by a shadow which had since consumed most of the hall by the doorway. The giant doors closed and the pathway's lamps withered into darkness. The once eternal sunset died into a dull grey and the trees turned gold until they became a violent orange fire.
"Bless... me", asked the black puddle as it slowly ascended into a rippling figure, in multiple voices of anger and extreme sadness.
The silhouette's hands were suddenly smothered in the same black sludge. Even the walls were now drenched in darkness which dribbled from the ceiling and onto the statues.
"You are... too far gone", said the silhouette, distracted by the sludge which inevitably covered his throne and body.
"Then I will bless you", replied the sludge. Its figurine descended into the ground near the doorway and emerged before the throne. The silhouette gasped for air as the oil funnelled into its mouth; the light shining from its mouth and eyes was drowned out by the darkness. Eventually the hall was in complete darkness, the throne now a bulge of sludge. In relief the sludge leaked jets of steam in all directions and deflated into a shiny black orb. There the orb rested, waiting for the next priest to investigate. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | You've practiced your sneeze a hundred times, with tickles and pepper and all sorts of tricks. It finally sounded completely natural to even the supernatural ear, namely, yours.
You dispose of your fancy garments, and put on a more modest cloak. As the fall sweeps in, it's chilly, but those with even less than you have managed to survive. As it is, you just make sure that the cloak's hood is enough to cover your horns.
The church door is wide open for the morning sermon, but you don't dare step inside. That's not allowed, not yet. Instead you camp outside, and wait for the kind Pastor to pass by.
That's when you sneeze.
The Pastor stops, turns to you with kind eyes, and says, "Bless you."
And you're filled with a warmth that Hell, for all its fire and brimstone, could never reach. Despite the wind, despite the ragged cloak, you're warm.
"Thank you," you say, and you run away, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as you can. Because you, as a demon, are not meant to be blessed, cannot be blessed--but the whole-hearted acceptance from the Pastor feels like one anyway. | The half-naked weakling limped along the silver-like path, deep green trees shaped into tall cones stood uniformly either side all the way to the church courtyard. Of those who visited the church, nearly all of them struggled to admire the eternal peach sunset; their gaze forced by even themselves towards the holy pathway. At every seventh tree, alternating from left to right, hovered golden lamps which bore the appearance of roses in full bloom. Unfurled they slowly gave way to a gleaming stream of light which lined both edges of the path.
Knees trembling and skin covered in weathered grazes, the weakling shed tears of awe and desperation for the holy grace surrounding him. If only such beauty could embrace him beyond the church's holy boundaries.
At the end of the path towered doors far too great for a human to move. Without the holy markings which gilded the doors, the weakling may as well have been looking at a rock face. The doors felt smooth and lukewarm as the weakling surfed his palms over them. The golden light of the doors' markings converged towards the weakling's hands in defence.
A sudden force increasingly pushed the weakling back; the doors silently began to open. A gentle cool breeze cleaned the weakling's face of dirt and dried blood, his hair now streamlined and his blue eyes saturated. He could not help but smile as he wiped away the tears. A golden floor leaked from the doorway, dispersing all around and into the deepest corners of the church's walls.
Stood in the doorway was a priest dressed in a silver robe, a robe which looked as comfortable as fresh flower petals.
The weakling limped forward into a great hall, his footsteps echoing in the pure silence. All around was a plethora of silver walls, pillars, altars, chandeliers, sculptures of deities, and holy symbols, all dressed in some way by gold, silver, or variations of colourful gems.
The priest slowly looked back towards a looming figure sat high up near the rear of the hall. Looking up, the weakling saw the silhouette of a person sat on a giant throne. He could not identify the person, the surrounding light was too bright.
A deep voice broke the silence, echoing all around.
"Not this one", said the giant silhouette.
The priest turned back, looking down at the weakling who collapsed in despair and curled into a ball.
"You must leave", said the priest, "we offer you mercy."
A loud yell, easily likened to that of vomiting, emerged from the weakling. The weakling's shadow expanded into thick branches which lunged out from the ground and all over the room. Startled, priest took several paces back and grabbed a nearby holy symbol.
Thick black sludge shot at the priest's legs and began dragging him into the weakling's shadow. By now even the weakling had melted into a bubbling black puddle of oil. The priest aimed the holy symbol at the weakling, the sludge somewhat repelled by it, but several frantic whips from the sludge successfully flung the symbol from the priest's hands and into the air.
With nought nearby to protect him, the priest entered the dark sludge. His skin now stained by blackened veins, his eyes pitch black, and his skin a lifeless grey. A silver beam of light caught the priest by his hand, the silhouette attempted to pull the priest from the void. But the priest's whimpers were silenced as he swiftly gave way to the overwhelming agony of the void surrounding him.
The silhouette's beam of light faded, soon replaced by a shadow which had since consumed most of the hall by the doorway. The giant doors closed and the pathway's lamps withered into darkness. The once eternal sunset died into a dull grey and the trees turned gold until they became a violent orange fire.
"Bless... me", asked the black puddle as it slowly ascended into a rippling figure, in multiple voices of anger and extreme sadness.
The silhouette's hands were suddenly smothered in the same black sludge. Even the walls were now drenched in darkness which dribbled from the ceiling and onto the statues.
"You are... too far gone", said the silhouette, distracted by the sludge which inevitably covered his throne and body.
"Then I will bless you", replied the sludge. Its figurine descended into the ground near the doorway and emerged before the throne. The silhouette gasped for air as the oil funnelled into its mouth; the light shining from its mouth and eyes was drowned out by the darkness. Eventually the hall was in complete darkness, the throne now a bulge of sludge. In relief the sludge leaked jets of steam in all directions and deflated into a shiny black orb. There the orb rested, waiting for the next priest to investigate. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | It took everything in me to claw my way out of hell. I had only heard stories about what mortals were like. The strange rituals they performed like checking under the bed for monsters or watching reality TV or wearing these awful, leg restricting pants. Of course, Lucifer forbade me from ever coming to the surface all because I scratched his scooter when I was a young demon. I was always given the grunt work as revenge. It was just one little scratch, you could barely see it, but apparently, hell was freezing over for one little scratch.
Anyways, finally, I escaped hell so I could experience these things for myself. It's a little colder up here but I'll survive. I think. If it weren't for these stupid pants. Oh Lucifer, are these uncomfortable.
After a few days of rest, I finally got to experience a few of these things. I ate my first salad, which was... well, it was salad, I rode in a taxi, I dipped my toes in the ocean, I tasted chocolate (why don't we have this in hell?), and I even avoided snacking on children. I was starting to enjoy my time among the morals. I didn't want to go back. I'm free here.
Yesterday, I heard that good old Lucie noticed my absence and sent his lackeys after me. I heard a rumor once that having a pastor bless you gets you banished from hell. Like, we physically can't cross the barrier. We're too... Holy, I guess? So that's what I planned to do.
I can't step foot in a church without bursting into flames so that wasn't an option. I tried to contact a pastor but my explanation as to why I needed him to bless me confused him. He thought it was a prank. I was completely lost until I heard it. The most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
Some small human child sneezed and the person accompanying him replied with a simple, "Bless you". I had a plan. I'd get as close to a church as I could tolerate, and sneeze. I could already feel my flesh burning, but I waited. And waited. And waited, disquised as a sickly elderly man.
Finally, the pastor came out. I started sneezing uncontrollably. "Are you okay, sir?" He put his hand on my arm. I felt it burn, but I was so close, I didn't flinch away. I nodded. "Well bless you."
And that was it. I stunk of Jesus. No one would want to touch me. I was a free demon. I'll talk to you all later. I'm trying my first grilled cheese today. | The half-naked weakling limped along the silver-like path, deep green trees shaped into tall cones stood uniformly either side all the way to the church courtyard. Of those who visited the church, nearly all of them struggled to admire the eternal peach sunset; their gaze forced by even themselves towards the holy pathway. At every seventh tree, alternating from left to right, hovered golden lamps which bore the appearance of roses in full bloom. Unfurled they slowly gave way to a gleaming stream of light which lined both edges of the path.
Knees trembling and skin covered in weathered grazes, the weakling shed tears of awe and desperation for the holy grace surrounding him. If only such beauty could embrace him beyond the church's holy boundaries.
At the end of the path towered doors far too great for a human to move. Without the holy markings which gilded the doors, the weakling may as well have been looking at a rock face. The doors felt smooth and lukewarm as the weakling surfed his palms over them. The golden light of the doors' markings converged towards the weakling's hands in defence.
A sudden force increasingly pushed the weakling back; the doors silently began to open. A gentle cool breeze cleaned the weakling's face of dirt and dried blood, his hair now streamlined and his blue eyes saturated. He could not help but smile as he wiped away the tears. A golden floor leaked from the doorway, dispersing all around and into the deepest corners of the church's walls.
Stood in the doorway was a priest dressed in a silver robe, a robe which looked as comfortable as fresh flower petals.
The weakling limped forward into a great hall, his footsteps echoing in the pure silence. All around was a plethora of silver walls, pillars, altars, chandeliers, sculptures of deities, and holy symbols, all dressed in some way by gold, silver, or variations of colourful gems.
The priest slowly looked back towards a looming figure sat high up near the rear of the hall. Looking up, the weakling saw the silhouette of a person sat on a giant throne. He could not identify the person, the surrounding light was too bright.
A deep voice broke the silence, echoing all around.
"Not this one", said the giant silhouette.
The priest turned back, looking down at the weakling who collapsed in despair and curled into a ball.
"You must leave", said the priest, "we offer you mercy."
A loud yell, easily likened to that of vomiting, emerged from the weakling. The weakling's shadow expanded into thick branches which lunged out from the ground and all over the room. Startled, priest took several paces back and grabbed a nearby holy symbol.
Thick black sludge shot at the priest's legs and began dragging him into the weakling's shadow. By now even the weakling had melted into a bubbling black puddle of oil. The priest aimed the holy symbol at the weakling, the sludge somewhat repelled by it, but several frantic whips from the sludge successfully flung the symbol from the priest's hands and into the air.
With nought nearby to protect him, the priest entered the dark sludge. His skin now stained by blackened veins, his eyes pitch black, and his skin a lifeless grey. A silver beam of light caught the priest by his hand, the silhouette attempted to pull the priest from the void. But the priest's whimpers were silenced as he swiftly gave way to the overwhelming agony of the void surrounding him.
The silhouette's beam of light faded, soon replaced by a shadow which had since consumed most of the hall by the doorway. The giant doors closed and the pathway's lamps withered into darkness. The once eternal sunset died into a dull grey and the trees turned gold until they became a violent orange fire.
"Bless... me", asked the black puddle as it slowly ascended into a rippling figure, in multiple voices of anger and extreme sadness.
The silhouette's hands were suddenly smothered in the same black sludge. Even the walls were now drenched in darkness which dribbled from the ceiling and onto the statues.
"You are... too far gone", said the silhouette, distracted by the sludge which inevitably covered his throne and body.
"Then I will bless you", replied the sludge. Its figurine descended into the ground near the doorway and emerged before the throne. The silhouette gasped for air as the oil funnelled into its mouth; the light shining from its mouth and eyes was drowned out by the darkness. Eventually the hall was in complete darkness, the throne now a bulge of sludge. In relief the sludge leaked jets of steam in all directions and deflated into a shiny black orb. There the orb rested, waiting for the next priest to investigate. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | This is it, the moment I've been waiting for. Blessed day, blessed day are the words I hear in my head. I know if I'm caught this close to a holy place now, what little remains of my soul will be devoured, and my final moments will be spent as a demon.
The rest of eternity had started to feel impure a few decades after I heard the rumors: if you get a holy man to bless you, all the bits that have been worn off your soul will come back to you, and you'll be released from hell.
I was young then, and most of my soul was still intact. But time wore on, and all the pieces that I had taken for granted gradually vanished. Compassion went first, and it left a gaping hole right in the middle of my soul. Then went happiness, worn down slowly from the edges over centuries.
The rest seemed to snowball after that. Right now my soul is a gaunt carcass. I'm tempted to do what the others do and feed off of the pure ones, but my mind didn't fade, just my soul. I know that I can feel better if I do this one thing, can get rid of the aching frailness that I feel when I move. I know, and I will.
I learned how to look like a human from the others. We have billions of humans to choose from, and I take a pitiful looking one laying down outside a drugstore in the suburbs. I'm not accustomed to sharing a mind with a man, so I almost lose the token struggle he puts up. I don't think he's sick, but it's easy to fake, I remember.
I walk down the street until I find a holy place. It's a Methodist church.
Blessed day, blessed day.
I didn't time it for a Christian holy day, and I'm half sure it's a Wednesday. I stumble up the stairs of the church. I see the holy man standing off to the side by a door, talking to an elderly woman. I calm my steps and walk up to him. I've practiced this.
I sniffle and sneeze. The pastor looks up to me with a warm smile. I can see the words forming on his lips: "Ble-"
The elderly woman turns to look at me. "The watchful Eye leaves no soul, betrayer."
I'm only glad my soul is so destroyed already, because I've heard how a complete one feels when it's devoured. | The cold sets on my skin like dew on a leaf, embellishing a beauty on me that otherwise would not exist. I feel empowered by its clutch like the warm embrace of an old friend. Ha.
Its dark and only the dim light of the top of the lampost illuminate the cobbled streets of which the old church lies alongside. Pinhead people without a clue on this earth stupidly selling their souls as they enter and leave hoping that the good fortune of their presence will provide good fortune back to them in as little as a crunchy loaf of bread or clearer skin. Pfft.
I will execute every detail meticulously so the outcome will be provided back to me.
Their leader, a short fat pastor with a shiny plump nose and a cackling sense of humour can be heard miles off so its no.......cba to carry on cos its late but was this any good? I really wanna be good at english | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | This is it, the moment I've been waiting for. Blessed day, blessed day are the words I hear in my head. I know if I'm caught this close to a holy place now, what little remains of my soul will be devoured, and my final moments will be spent as a demon.
The rest of eternity had started to feel impure a few decades after I heard the rumors: if you get a holy man to bless you, all the bits that have been worn off your soul will come back to you, and you'll be released from hell.
I was young then, and most of my soul was still intact. But time wore on, and all the pieces that I had taken for granted gradually vanished. Compassion went first, and it left a gaping hole right in the middle of my soul. Then went happiness, worn down slowly from the edges over centuries.
The rest seemed to snowball after that. Right now my soul is a gaunt carcass. I'm tempted to do what the others do and feed off of the pure ones, but my mind didn't fade, just my soul. I know that I can feel better if I do this one thing, can get rid of the aching frailness that I feel when I move. I know, and I will.
I learned how to look like a human from the others. We have billions of humans to choose from, and I take a pitiful looking one laying down outside a drugstore in the suburbs. I'm not accustomed to sharing a mind with a man, so I almost lose the token struggle he puts up. I don't think he's sick, but it's easy to fake, I remember.
I walk down the street until I find a holy place. It's a Methodist church.
Blessed day, blessed day.
I didn't time it for a Christian holy day, and I'm half sure it's a Wednesday. I stumble up the stairs of the church. I see the holy man standing off to the side by a door, talking to an elderly woman. I calm my steps and walk up to him. I've practiced this.
I sniffle and sneeze. The pastor looks up to me with a warm smile. I can see the words forming on his lips: "Ble-"
The elderly woman turns to look at me. "The watchful Eye leaves no soul, betrayer."
I'm only glad my soul is so destroyed already, because I've heard how a complete one feels when it's devoured. | The plan was simple, get in, get blessed and get out. I don't think anyone of my friends would willingly go into a holy space. Not that it really does anything it's just a bit awkward. Like getting invited in by someone you dont really like and having to sit inside with them for half an hour, trapped by their friendliness.
Ugh... I can't stand when they start praising the lord as if he's some holy being. That lazy ass sitting in his throne playing with the world as he sees fit. But I guess if you only live 70 years a lot of things seem special.
Now if only they hadn't picked one of these grim types of churches for me. All he did when I sneezed during the sermon was raise an eyebrow at me!
Isn't blessing you the thing they usually do? I never understood why humans did this but it seemed like a good plan. So then I had to sit there and think of a new way of getting his blessing and as if by "divine plan" the pastor asks someone from the audience.
My raised arm was the only one in the room and it stuck out like a sore thumb. Really, no one else? I guess admitting fault isn't a strong point in humans. All eyes were on me as I walked up to the platform, I wonder if they figured something was off about me.
As my confession went on the horrified faces started to look more and more outraged. I felt I might as well have a little fun while I was here. I had to suppress my smile though as the the lady in front covered her childs ears as if that would protecr him from this side of the world. These things do happen you know. Although I have a bit of a tendency to seek out sins.
About halfway through the pastor walked up to me and told me that was enough and that I had to leave. I guess I pushed it too far but it was such fun. As started to walk away I turned to the pastor and mouthed the words "Hail Satan" to him. Guess I'm not allowed back there.
As soon as I walked out my friends grouped around me. "What happened?" I told them I had failed to obtain a blessing from the pastor. "Alright a bet is a bet man, pay up."
Fair enough.
| |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | This is it, the moment I've been waiting for. Blessed day, blessed day are the words I hear in my head. I know if I'm caught this close to a holy place now, what little remains of my soul will be devoured, and my final moments will be spent as a demon.
The rest of eternity had started to feel impure a few decades after I heard the rumors: if you get a holy man to bless you, all the bits that have been worn off your soul will come back to you, and you'll be released from hell.
I was young then, and most of my soul was still intact. But time wore on, and all the pieces that I had taken for granted gradually vanished. Compassion went first, and it left a gaping hole right in the middle of my soul. Then went happiness, worn down slowly from the edges over centuries.
The rest seemed to snowball after that. Right now my soul is a gaunt carcass. I'm tempted to do what the others do and feed off of the pure ones, but my mind didn't fade, just my soul. I know that I can feel better if I do this one thing, can get rid of the aching frailness that I feel when I move. I know, and I will.
I learned how to look like a human from the others. We have billions of humans to choose from, and I take a pitiful looking one laying down outside a drugstore in the suburbs. I'm not accustomed to sharing a mind with a man, so I almost lose the token struggle he puts up. I don't think he's sick, but it's easy to fake, I remember.
I walk down the street until I find a holy place. It's a Methodist church.
Blessed day, blessed day.
I didn't time it for a Christian holy day, and I'm half sure it's a Wednesday. I stumble up the stairs of the church. I see the holy man standing off to the side by a door, talking to an elderly woman. I calm my steps and walk up to him. I've practiced this.
I sniffle and sneeze. The pastor looks up to me with a warm smile. I can see the words forming on his lips: "Ble-"
The elderly woman turns to look at me. "The watchful Eye leaves no soul, betrayer."
I'm only glad my soul is so destroyed already, because I've heard how a complete one feels when it's devoured. | Carlos hunched in the alcove, fuming. The man of the cloth hadn’t even looked up this time. Carlos gave another experimental cough, but the cleric didn’t even flinch. He would have to ham it up.
He fell forward onto the walk, hacking. This certainly caught the eye of passers-by, who stepped back and glanced at him with worried expressions. One woman yanked her child by the arm, hard enough to make him cry, eager to get her son away. The cleric didn’t even turn his head.
“Help… me…” Carlos reached an arm towards the church, its doors open to the poor and luckless. Some sort of priest this man was. If you refused help people in need, what was the point of giving up the pleasures of the flesh? Carlos had never really grasped the purpose of religion.
He chafed his hands together, blowing into them to keep them warm. The body he possessed was failing, he could feel it. What a pity: this one had been quite fun. He was a rich man, with a wife, many mistresses, and more sybaritic pleasures than Carlos could count. There was barely enough time for this last little piece of fun.
And soon there would be no time at all! Wasn’t this man important? Why was the priest ignoring him? If the man died now, his fun would be spoiled. He just needed the priest to bless him, to draw out his satanic form. He crawled on his hands and knees, dragging his finery in the slush until he knelt at the man’s feet.
“Please, help me!” he begged, reaching his muck-covered hands for the priest’s robes. The priest whipped the cloth out of reach.
“I have seen your sins, Señor Garcia. You are not worthy of God’s blessing.” The priest stepped back through the door and made to pull it shut.
“Wait!” Carlos shouted, scrambling forward. “Please, wait.” He coughed. “I am sick, I need help.”
“And what of the people who went to you for help, Señor? While you sat in your estate like a fat cat and laughed? If you die here in the street, it will be a death that deserved your life.” He slammed
Carlos was stunned. He had not possessed Señor Garcia for more than a month. Surely he could not have committed so much evil that the church would shun him in that short a time. He could not even remember a single visitor. He plunged deep into the body, searching for its original owner. He had to see this evil for himself.
There he was. His grip on the body was tenuous; like Carlos, the soul of Garcia knew the flesh was dying. Though faded and weak, the soul was completely black. Carlos had seen many souls, but none so terrible as this one. He sifted through the Garcia’s memories, but they all reflected the corruption. This man had never once in his done anything worthy of heaven.
Carlos laughed. “You do know you’re going to hell?” he whispered to the soul, which was slowly slipping out of the body. It paused.
“Oh, yes,” he continued, “You have lived a heaven on earth, but what a toll! My friend, you are doomed to eternal punishment.” The soul, panicked, tried to push itself back in control. The body shook with the effort, spasming in the doorway of the church. An idea came to Carlos, one much more fun than surprising the priest.
He began pulling himself out of the body. Garcia, feeling his absence, surged forward and extended his soul through the flesh, taking control.
“Not today, demon!” he cried, shaking his fist at Carlos. “I do not die this day! And if you are right about my soul’s damnation, then I shall use what remains of my life to give back and earn my place at the Lord’s table. Father Santos! Father Santos!” He hammered on the door of the church.
Carlos chuckled. “I am afraid you do die this day, Señor.” He reached forth with a deadly claw and slit the man’s neck. Blood poured from the gash, and Garcia fell to his knees, choking.
Satisfied with the look of horror on the dying man’s face, Carlos returned to the depths of hell to greet him. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | You've practiced your sneeze a hundred times, with tickles and pepper and all sorts of tricks. It finally sounded completely natural to even the supernatural ear, namely, yours.
You dispose of your fancy garments, and put on a more modest cloak. As the fall sweeps in, it's chilly, but those with even less than you have managed to survive. As it is, you just make sure that the cloak's hood is enough to cover your horns.
The church door is wide open for the morning sermon, but you don't dare step inside. That's not allowed, not yet. Instead you camp outside, and wait for the kind Pastor to pass by.
That's when you sneeze.
The Pastor stops, turns to you with kind eyes, and says, "Bless you."
And you're filled with a warmth that Hell, for all its fire and brimstone, could never reach. Despite the wind, despite the ragged cloak, you're warm.
"Thank you," you say, and you run away, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as you can. Because you, as a demon, are not meant to be blessed, cannot be blessed--but the whole-hearted acceptance from the Pastor feels like one anyway. | Carlos hunched in the alcove, fuming. The man of the cloth hadn’t even looked up this time. Carlos gave another experimental cough, but the cleric didn’t even flinch. He would have to ham it up.
He fell forward onto the walk, hacking. This certainly caught the eye of passers-by, who stepped back and glanced at him with worried expressions. One woman yanked her child by the arm, hard enough to make him cry, eager to get her son away. The cleric didn’t even turn his head.
“Help… me…” Carlos reached an arm towards the church, its doors open to the poor and luckless. Some sort of priest this man was. If you refused help people in need, what was the point of giving up the pleasures of the flesh? Carlos had never really grasped the purpose of religion.
He chafed his hands together, blowing into them to keep them warm. The body he possessed was failing, he could feel it. What a pity: this one had been quite fun. He was a rich man, with a wife, many mistresses, and more sybaritic pleasures than Carlos could count. There was barely enough time for this last little piece of fun.
And soon there would be no time at all! Wasn’t this man important? Why was the priest ignoring him? If the man died now, his fun would be spoiled. He just needed the priest to bless him, to draw out his satanic form. He crawled on his hands and knees, dragging his finery in the slush until he knelt at the man’s feet.
“Please, help me!” he begged, reaching his muck-covered hands for the priest’s robes. The priest whipped the cloth out of reach.
“I have seen your sins, Señor Garcia. You are not worthy of God’s blessing.” The priest stepped back through the door and made to pull it shut.
“Wait!” Carlos shouted, scrambling forward. “Please, wait.” He coughed. “I am sick, I need help.”
“And what of the people who went to you for help, Señor? While you sat in your estate like a fat cat and laughed? If you die here in the street, it will be a death that deserved your life.” He slammed
Carlos was stunned. He had not possessed Señor Garcia for more than a month. Surely he could not have committed so much evil that the church would shun him in that short a time. He could not even remember a single visitor. He plunged deep into the body, searching for its original owner. He had to see this evil for himself.
There he was. His grip on the body was tenuous; like Carlos, the soul of Garcia knew the flesh was dying. Though faded and weak, the soul was completely black. Carlos had seen many souls, but none so terrible as this one. He sifted through the Garcia’s memories, but they all reflected the corruption. This man had never once in his done anything worthy of heaven.
Carlos laughed. “You do know you’re going to hell?” he whispered to the soul, which was slowly slipping out of the body. It paused.
“Oh, yes,” he continued, “You have lived a heaven on earth, but what a toll! My friend, you are doomed to eternal punishment.” The soul, panicked, tried to push itself back in control. The body shook with the effort, spasming in the doorway of the church. An idea came to Carlos, one much more fun than surprising the priest.
He began pulling himself out of the body. Garcia, feeling his absence, surged forward and extended his soul through the flesh, taking control.
“Not today, demon!” he cried, shaking his fist at Carlos. “I do not die this day! And if you are right about my soul’s damnation, then I shall use what remains of my life to give back and earn my place at the Lord’s table. Father Santos! Father Santos!” He hammered on the door of the church.
Carlos chuckled. “I am afraid you do die this day, Señor.” He reached forth with a deadly claw and slit the man’s neck. Blood poured from the gash, and Garcia fell to his knees, choking.
Satisfied with the look of horror on the dying man’s face, Carlos returned to the depths of hell to greet him. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | It took everything in me to claw my way out of hell. I had only heard stories about what mortals were like. The strange rituals they performed like checking under the bed for monsters or watching reality TV or wearing these awful, leg restricting pants. Of course, Lucifer forbade me from ever coming to the surface all because I scratched his scooter when I was a young demon. I was always given the grunt work as revenge. It was just one little scratch, you could barely see it, but apparently, hell was freezing over for one little scratch.
Anyways, finally, I escaped hell so I could experience these things for myself. It's a little colder up here but I'll survive. I think. If it weren't for these stupid pants. Oh Lucifer, are these uncomfortable.
After a few days of rest, I finally got to experience a few of these things. I ate my first salad, which was... well, it was salad, I rode in a taxi, I dipped my toes in the ocean, I tasted chocolate (why don't we have this in hell?), and I even avoided snacking on children. I was starting to enjoy my time among the morals. I didn't want to go back. I'm free here.
Yesterday, I heard that good old Lucie noticed my absence and sent his lackeys after me. I heard a rumor once that having a pastor bless you gets you banished from hell. Like, we physically can't cross the barrier. We're too... Holy, I guess? So that's what I planned to do.
I can't step foot in a church without bursting into flames so that wasn't an option. I tried to contact a pastor but my explanation as to why I needed him to bless me confused him. He thought it was a prank. I was completely lost until I heard it. The most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
Some small human child sneezed and the person accompanying him replied with a simple, "Bless you". I had a plan. I'd get as close to a church as I could tolerate, and sneeze. I could already feel my flesh burning, but I waited. And waited. And waited, disquised as a sickly elderly man.
Finally, the pastor came out. I started sneezing uncontrollably. "Are you okay, sir?" He put his hand on my arm. I felt it burn, but I was so close, I didn't flinch away. I nodded. "Well bless you."
And that was it. I stunk of Jesus. No one would want to touch me. I was a free demon. I'll talk to you all later. I'm trying my first grilled cheese today. | For years, I have battled the Gandor, the Arch Priest of Romania. I shred livestock, and tempted men to violence and women to infidelity. But as the Germanic village of Gasselgor grew, so too did their faith. Soon, the Arch Priest discovered my single weakness—I could not stay in holy sites without blessing. Thus, he spread his sacred symbols and sprinkled his holy waters all throughout the village, blocking me out their putrid village.
But I had hatched a plan, years in the making. The Arch Priest has grown old and senile, his eyes not as sharp and his lips looser. And for years, I had spread the misnomer of blessings for such common things as a sneeze. For this, I had given up my demonic mask and donned the face of a holy man in the surrounding countries where the Arch Priest had yet to spread his defilement. I became the greatest holy man to ever exist, purging my demonic brothers, all the while spreading my empty blessings upon any who sneezed.
I’ve had brethren stare at me in shock as I plunged my claws through their chest. I’ve had comrades frozen in surprise as I burnt their bodies in my unholy flames. Word of my betrayal spread all throughout hell. The land’s most powerful demon, a human slave? And they laughed at me. I let them because soon, my plan would come to fruition, and that god damn Gandor will finally have met his match.
“Bless you,” rang the calling whenever someone sneezed to the south.
“Bless you,” they said at the slightest chills in the north.
“Bless you,” they said at the hint of a shiver in the east and west.
I stood at the edge of Gasselgor’s holy land, my tongue snaking across my lips. Ahead of me stood Gandor in his daily Monday walk. It was my only chance to get within earshot of the bastard. As he approached, my nostrils sucked in a mighty gust, something tickled the roof of my mouth, and I erupted in a sneeze like distant thunder.
Gandor stared in my direction, seeing the mask of a holy man and he opened his mouth.
“Gesundheit.”
I stared as he left, my jaw gaping and fingers trembling. *What the hell just happened?*
---
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/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week!
| |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The parishioners stream past, a splash of humanity on this otherwise colourless sidewalk. Most of them hardly take notice of my plight, and it is the rare one who stops to tip a dollar into my cup. Guess there’s not much to spare once the church wrings them dry.
I inch a bit closer to the church for a better look, past the crack in the pavement, and the smell of sizzling leather instantly fills the air. The needles shoot up my thigh, a hot, searing, raking sensation. I try holding it there, try to count to “ten”, but by “four” I’m already on my back, sweating, swearing.
*Not strong enough,* I think.
He emerges, eventually. His gait is slow, plodding, heavy. His hair is already surrendering to the grey. No vices as far as I can tell, just a penchant for long evening walks, by himself.
When he’s ten feet away, and I’m sure that he can see me, hear me, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, then sneeze as hard as I could. I follow it up with a shorter sneeze, but no less violent, and I wait for the magic words.
The pain was unbearable the first time I endured it. I remember being winded by the sheer force of it, a tidal punch conveyed by the friendliest “bless you” any demon had ever suffered. He had rushed forward, try to help me up, and I had barely managed to wave him away in time. I’m not sure I could have survived direct contact, just yet.
The second time was better. Then the third, the fourth. Then now, the sixth time, I reckon I could remain upright, smile stoically, incline my head in polite acknowledgment without screaming.
*The things one does to build resistance,* I think.
But he confounds me. He doesn’t say what I want him to say. Instead, he squares his shoulders, considers me briefly, then joins me on the sidewalk, taking a seat next to me on the cooling asphalt.
“I know you,” he says finally, looking at me in the eyes.
*Can he see the fires within?* I wonder, as I avert his gaze. “Aye, Father, you passed this way last week. I was here too, then.”
“Tell me, is it going according to plan?”
“Plan? What plan? If you be meaning this,” I say, as I jiggle my cup and the pitiful takings for the day, “then no, it’s not going as well as I had hoped.”
He smiles, thinly. “I suppose you’re waiting until you’re stronger? Before you take one of my flock?”
My heart pounds with excitement, and I resist the urge to throw myself forward, feed on him right there and then. No, the bloodlust sings, but the curiosity growls louder. “I have not thought that far, Father. But yes, I do want to get stronger.”
“Stronger? How would you measure that?”
I laugh, throwing my head back. I feel one or two of my fangs start to show, but I feel like we’re past caring about appearances. “If you must know – strength is being able to stay in someone, long after you are not welcome. Some of my brethren, the ones even we fear, they can reside in a human for *days* at a time.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” he replies, thoughtfully. “After all, I suppose we must resist your presence quite strenuously.”
“Possession is only the half of it. I also aspire to… delicacy,” I say, puffing my chest out slightly. In truth, it was nice to have a receptive audience. Humans don’t much talk to us as they run away from us, or plead with us to fulfill their thoroughly insipid wishes. “And before you ask, delicacy is making you humans do what we want… without you hearing our requests.”
“That sounds insidious. Isn’t it easier to, I don’t know, just *take over* and wield us like puppets?”
“Ah, we could, we could. I’ve tried that myself too. But there’s no skill in it. Any amateur demon could do that, just muscle in and take control. But it’s so much more challenging to whisper, instead. Suggest to you, propose, insinuate, then watch it all play out.”
I see him think about that for a while, and then he says, “And the whole point of it all?”
I am prepared for this question, and the answer rolls off smoothly from my tongue. “Making humans do what they do not wish to, of course! I live for the regret, the twinge of realisation in their eyes as they watch their humanity slip away. Even your vilest murderers, they know it too, they watch from behind cages of glass and steel, they scream silently as they observe the last vestiges of what they were drip, drip, drip away…”
He moves suddenly, and for a while I am sure that I have provoked the mild Father Horace to action. I wonder if he will attempt to smite me, or brand me with holy prayer. I wonder too if the incantations will work, now that I have survived so many of his blessings, weathered his warmest intentions.
Instead, he laughs.
He laughs hard, so hard I see the tears come to the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. I wear my good humour like a mask, ready to discard it for the seething rage beneath. If he thinks less of me, believes me more puff than talk, I will show him what…
“No, no, it’s just that…” he says, struggling for composure, “we are not that different after all.”
Before I can protest, he lifts a finger, points it away in the distance, towards an unassuming block of apartments. “I suppose you can see through the walls? Yes, good, good. Now look for the… fourth floor, the unit facing south.”
I have time, so I shrug, and I play along. “The Blakes? Yes, I see them.”
“Good, good. Now look for their daughter. She’s the only child at home.”
“I see her. Genevieve Nannly Blake.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Would you say she has inclinations to… hurt herself, or kill herself?”
It’s plain as day to me, the first thing I notice about her. The edges of her soul are raw, weathered, fraying. She smiles, just like other eighteen year-olds do, but there is a forced, deliberate way in which she trudges through the minutes to the next day.
“I spotted her in time, thankfully,” he says, leaning back on his palms, looking up into the dusky sky. “Almost missed it, but luckily not. I caught it when I saw her freezing during one of our hymns, one about joy, happiness in the Lord’s embrace. There was an anger boiling within, then it was gone again.”
“You spoke to her, after?”
“I waited until the time was right. She rebuffed me, of course. But I kept it up, made it a point to engage with her. It took me almost two months before she would speak to me in complete sentences. Even then, the battle raged on, and there were times I thought she was lost again. Now though, now I think I am in the clear.”
“Sorry, you’re mistaken,” I chuckle, “I can still see the seeds of rot within her, waiting to bloom. She is moments away from taking her own life, just as she planned from the start.”
Father Horace smiles, then points again in a different direction. This time, it is a squat, ugly two-storey house, and it is clear who he is trying to bring to my attention.
“Monica Chatters, and her six year-old son, Henry Chatters," I say, pre-empting him. "You really know your flock, it seems. The boy is young, but it’s clear too that he’s troubled. I suppose you’ll be telling me how you’ve also pulled him back from the brink?”
He shakes his head, then says, “Look at what Henry has with him. You can’t miss it, Henry has been keeping it by his side almost every day.”
It was a small teddy-bear, assembled hastily. One eye was already coming loose.
“He’s been getting better too, ever since he made a friend at church. She took the time to get to know him, find out what he likes, and eventually summoned the courage to make him a gift. And that’s why I think she will make it. She can see beyond herself now, see others in need.”
It starts to click, and for a moment my fists clench tightly, ready to hit him, strike him before I hear too much. I of all beings know the danger which ideas present.
“You asked me why I laughed, and I said it was because we were not that different. I meant it,” he says. “I too believe that strength is measured by how long I can stay in someone’s thoughts. I too, believe that it’s not enough to… make them do what I wish, but to guide them, beckon them towards the better path. And of course, I too want them to do things they do not want to do.”
He starts to stand, and he is suddenly silhouetted against the setting sun. Before he turns to leave, he speaks, and there is a quiet determination which runs through his words, threading through them like the strongest of stitches.
“You may have used me, demon, to become ever so slightly stronger. But knowing you exist, that you walk amongst us… you have made me stronger too, far more *resolute* than I was before. We shall see then, wouldn’t we, whose flock makes it through at the end?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| For years, I have battled the Gandor, the Arch Priest of Romania. I shred livestock, and tempted men to violence and women to infidelity. But as the Germanic village of Gasselgor grew, so too did their faith. Soon, the Arch Priest discovered my single weakness—I could not stay in holy sites without blessing. Thus, he spread his sacred symbols and sprinkled his holy waters all throughout the village, blocking me out their putrid village.
But I had hatched a plan, years in the making. The Arch Priest has grown old and senile, his eyes not as sharp and his lips looser. And for years, I had spread the misnomer of blessings for such common things as a sneeze. For this, I had given up my demonic mask and donned the face of a holy man in the surrounding countries where the Arch Priest had yet to spread his defilement. I became the greatest holy man to ever exist, purging my demonic brothers, all the while spreading my empty blessings upon any who sneezed.
I’ve had brethren stare at me in shock as I plunged my claws through their chest. I’ve had comrades frozen in surprise as I burnt their bodies in my unholy flames. Word of my betrayal spread all throughout hell. The land’s most powerful demon, a human slave? And they laughed at me. I let them because soon, my plan would come to fruition, and that god damn Gandor will finally have met his match.
“Bless you,” rang the calling whenever someone sneezed to the south.
“Bless you,” they said at the slightest chills in the north.
“Bless you,” they said at the hint of a shiver in the east and west.
I stood at the edge of Gasselgor’s holy land, my tongue snaking across my lips. Ahead of me stood Gandor in his daily Monday walk. It was my only chance to get within earshot of the bastard. As he approached, my nostrils sucked in a mighty gust, something tickled the roof of my mouth, and I erupted in a sneeze like distant thunder.
Gandor stared in my direction, seeing the mask of a holy man and he opened his mouth.
“Gesundheit.”
I stared as he left, my jaw gaping and fingers trembling. *What the hell just happened?*
---
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/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week!
| |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | It took everything in me to claw my way out of hell. I had only heard stories about what mortals were like. The strange rituals they performed like checking under the bed for monsters or watching reality TV or wearing these awful, leg restricting pants. Of course, Lucifer forbade me from ever coming to the surface all because I scratched his scooter when I was a young demon. I was always given the grunt work as revenge. It was just one little scratch, you could barely see it, but apparently, hell was freezing over for one little scratch.
Anyways, finally, I escaped hell so I could experience these things for myself. It's a little colder up here but I'll survive. I think. If it weren't for these stupid pants. Oh Lucifer, are these uncomfortable.
After a few days of rest, I finally got to experience a few of these things. I ate my first salad, which was... well, it was salad, I rode in a taxi, I dipped my toes in the ocean, I tasted chocolate (why don't we have this in hell?), and I even avoided snacking on children. I was starting to enjoy my time among the morals. I didn't want to go back. I'm free here.
Yesterday, I heard that good old Lucie noticed my absence and sent his lackeys after me. I heard a rumor once that having a pastor bless you gets you banished from hell. Like, we physically can't cross the barrier. We're too... Holy, I guess? So that's what I planned to do.
I can't step foot in a church without bursting into flames so that wasn't an option. I tried to contact a pastor but my explanation as to why I needed him to bless me confused him. He thought it was a prank. I was completely lost until I heard it. The most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
Some small human child sneezed and the person accompanying him replied with a simple, "Bless you". I had a plan. I'd get as close to a church as I could tolerate, and sneeze. I could already feel my flesh burning, but I waited. And waited. And waited, disquised as a sickly elderly man.
Finally, the pastor came out. I started sneezing uncontrollably. "Are you okay, sir?" He put his hand on my arm. I felt it burn, but I was so close, I didn't flinch away. I nodded. "Well bless you."
And that was it. I stunk of Jesus. No one would want to touch me. I was a free demon. I'll talk to you all later. I'm trying my first grilled cheese today. | I would say I did a pretty fine shiver myself. It wasn't that hard. Nothing to do with the 'imagine you're cold' psychological bullshit - just a chattering of teeth and a trembling body and you're good to go. I wouldn't be certain as to the success rate, but if a pastor, one supposed to be in touch with the gods could not out me as a spawn of Satan, then it probably was pretty effective. Smiling his warmest smile, he walked into the church.
"Oh, my poor child. The God hath not smiled upon you today. Let Him..." he paused, then his face flushed red with embarrassment.
"I think I forgot the word...wait..." he thought for a moment, his facing burning hot until he thought of it. "Ah yes! May the Lord give you his heavenly blessings."
I didn't want a fucking crumb of heavenly blessings, whatever the fuck that did. I had to get the specific 'bless you' from him to gain unlimited power as a follower. But, out of wit or stupidity, the pastor seemed to veer away from the usual blessing to a more convoluted and unhelpful one. I tried again.
"I think you meant 'bless you'," I corrected him, trying to make him repeat the phrase. But all I got was a hurried 'Oh yes'. Fuck.
I shivered more, this time more out of fear of not fulfilling the promise to the demon lords. They could be far more punishing than God could be to demons, I could imagine. The pastor, mistaking it as a request for more warmth, brought it accordingly, repeating the phrase 'May the Lord be with you'. I didn't want the Lord to be *with* me, what the hell! I needed him to *bless* me, not act like a caring wife or something. At this moment, desperation seeped into my tone as I made one final attempt. Else I would have to call the mission a failure.
"Could you bless me, Father?" I said, putting on my most piteous tone possible. He nodded, his smile widening. "Blessings *be to* you," he stressed on the middle two words, and as my face contorted in anger, I swear I could see his eyes dancing with glee.
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | D: Ah-choo!
P: Oh, Gesundheit!
D: ...Oh.
P: Yes, is something wrong?
D: Well, you said gesundheit. I guess I assumed that you would say "God bless you."
P: Oh no, I prefer not to do that. You see, the history of that tradition began during the Black Plague, when Pope Gregory I decreed that any instance of sneezing and coughing should be met with a blessing. They knew that if someone got the plague that they might not survive long enough to receive last rights, so it was a precaution to ensure that their soul entered heaven.
D: Oh, I didn't know that.
P: Yes, most people don't think about it before they say that. But of course with modern medicine it isn't a real risk. I believe it is better to only bless someone with intention. If it's automatic then the feelings aren't as strong, and I want God to know when I intend to petition him for prayer. Also, there's the fact that you're Baphomet the Sabbatic Goat
D: Oh man, was it really that obvious?
P: Well you're a goat with human breasts, and you flew in here on a pentagram.
D: Yeah, maybe I should have been a little more subtle about that. | I would say I did a pretty fine shiver myself. It wasn't that hard. Nothing to do with the 'imagine you're cold' psychological bullshit - just a chattering of teeth and a trembling body and you're good to go. I wouldn't be certain as to the success rate, but if a pastor, one supposed to be in touch with the gods could not out me as a spawn of Satan, then it probably was pretty effective. Smiling his warmest smile, he walked into the church.
"Oh, my poor child. The God hath not smiled upon you today. Let Him..." he paused, then his face flushed red with embarrassment.
"I think I forgot the word...wait..." he thought for a moment, his facing burning hot until he thought of it. "Ah yes! May the Lord give you his heavenly blessings."
I didn't want a fucking crumb of heavenly blessings, whatever the fuck that did. I had to get the specific 'bless you' from him to gain unlimited power as a follower. But, out of wit or stupidity, the pastor seemed to veer away from the usual blessing to a more convoluted and unhelpful one. I tried again.
"I think you meant 'bless you'," I corrected him, trying to make him repeat the phrase. But all I got was a hurried 'Oh yes'. Fuck.
I shivered more, this time more out of fear of not fulfilling the promise to the demon lords. They could be far more punishing than God could be to demons, I could imagine. The pastor, mistaking it as a request for more warmth, brought it accordingly, repeating the phrase 'May the Lord be with you'. I didn't want the Lord to be *with* me, what the hell! I needed him to *bless* me, not act like a caring wife or something. At this moment, desperation seeped into my tone as I made one final attempt. Else I would have to call the mission a failure.
"Could you bless me, Father?" I said, putting on my most piteous tone possible. He nodded, his smile widening. "Blessings *be to* you," he stressed on the middle two words, and as my face contorted in anger, I swear I could see his eyes dancing with glee.
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The parishioners stream past, a splash of humanity on this otherwise colourless sidewalk. Most of them hardly take notice of my plight, and it is the rare one who stops to tip a dollar into my cup. Guess there’s not much to spare once the church wrings them dry.
I inch a bit closer to the church for a better look, past the crack in the pavement, and the smell of sizzling leather instantly fills the air. The needles shoot up my thigh, a hot, searing, raking sensation. I try holding it there, try to count to “ten”, but by “four” I’m already on my back, sweating, swearing.
*Not strong enough,* I think.
He emerges, eventually. His gait is slow, plodding, heavy. His hair is already surrendering to the grey. No vices as far as I can tell, just a penchant for long evening walks, by himself.
When he’s ten feet away, and I’m sure that he can see me, hear me, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, then sneeze as hard as I could. I follow it up with a shorter sneeze, but no less violent, and I wait for the magic words.
The pain was unbearable the first time I endured it. I remember being winded by the sheer force of it, a tidal punch conveyed by the friendliest “bless you” any demon had ever suffered. He had rushed forward, try to help me up, and I had barely managed to wave him away in time. I’m not sure I could have survived direct contact, just yet.
The second time was better. Then the third, the fourth. Then now, the sixth time, I reckon I could remain upright, smile stoically, incline my head in polite acknowledgment without screaming.
*The things one does to build resistance,* I think.
But he confounds me. He doesn’t say what I want him to say. Instead, he squares his shoulders, considers me briefly, then joins me on the sidewalk, taking a seat next to me on the cooling asphalt.
“I know you,” he says finally, looking at me in the eyes.
*Can he see the fires within?* I wonder, as I avert his gaze. “Aye, Father, you passed this way last week. I was here too, then.”
“Tell me, is it going according to plan?”
“Plan? What plan? If you be meaning this,” I say, as I jiggle my cup and the pitiful takings for the day, “then no, it’s not going as well as I had hoped.”
He smiles, thinly. “I suppose you’re waiting until you’re stronger? Before you take one of my flock?”
My heart pounds with excitement, and I resist the urge to throw myself forward, feed on him right there and then. No, the bloodlust sings, but the curiosity growls louder. “I have not thought that far, Father. But yes, I do want to get stronger.”
“Stronger? How would you measure that?”
I laugh, throwing my head back. I feel one or two of my fangs start to show, but I feel like we’re past caring about appearances. “If you must know – strength is being able to stay in someone, long after you are not welcome. Some of my brethren, the ones even we fear, they can reside in a human for *days* at a time.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” he replies, thoughtfully. “After all, I suppose we must resist your presence quite strenuously.”
“Possession is only the half of it. I also aspire to… delicacy,” I say, puffing my chest out slightly. In truth, it was nice to have a receptive audience. Humans don’t much talk to us as they run away from us, or plead with us to fulfill their thoroughly insipid wishes. “And before you ask, delicacy is making you humans do what we want… without you hearing our requests.”
“That sounds insidious. Isn’t it easier to, I don’t know, just *take over* and wield us like puppets?”
“Ah, we could, we could. I’ve tried that myself too. But there’s no skill in it. Any amateur demon could do that, just muscle in and take control. But it’s so much more challenging to whisper, instead. Suggest to you, propose, insinuate, then watch it all play out.”
I see him think about that for a while, and then he says, “And the whole point of it all?”
I am prepared for this question, and the answer rolls off smoothly from my tongue. “Making humans do what they do not wish to, of course! I live for the regret, the twinge of realisation in their eyes as they watch their humanity slip away. Even your vilest murderers, they know it too, they watch from behind cages of glass and steel, they scream silently as they observe the last vestiges of what they were drip, drip, drip away…”
He moves suddenly, and for a while I am sure that I have provoked the mild Father Horace to action. I wonder if he will attempt to smite me, or brand me with holy prayer. I wonder too if the incantations will work, now that I have survived so many of his blessings, weathered his warmest intentions.
Instead, he laughs.
He laughs hard, so hard I see the tears come to the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. I wear my good humour like a mask, ready to discard it for the seething rage beneath. If he thinks less of me, believes me more puff than talk, I will show him what…
“No, no, it’s just that…” he says, struggling for composure, “we are not that different after all.”
Before I can protest, he lifts a finger, points it away in the distance, towards an unassuming block of apartments. “I suppose you can see through the walls? Yes, good, good. Now look for the… fourth floor, the unit facing south.”
I have time, so I shrug, and I play along. “The Blakes? Yes, I see them.”
“Good, good. Now look for their daughter. She’s the only child at home.”
“I see her. Genevieve Nannly Blake.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Would you say she has inclinations to… hurt herself, or kill herself?”
It’s plain as day to me, the first thing I notice about her. The edges of her soul are raw, weathered, fraying. She smiles, just like other eighteen year-olds do, but there is a forced, deliberate way in which she trudges through the minutes to the next day.
“I spotted her in time, thankfully,” he says, leaning back on his palms, looking up into the dusky sky. “Almost missed it, but luckily not. I caught it when I saw her freezing during one of our hymns, one about joy, happiness in the Lord’s embrace. There was an anger boiling within, then it was gone again.”
“You spoke to her, after?”
“I waited until the time was right. She rebuffed me, of course. But I kept it up, made it a point to engage with her. It took me almost two months before she would speak to me in complete sentences. Even then, the battle raged on, and there were times I thought she was lost again. Now though, now I think I am in the clear.”
“Sorry, you’re mistaken,” I chuckle, “I can still see the seeds of rot within her, waiting to bloom. She is moments away from taking her own life, just as she planned from the start.”
Father Horace smiles, then points again in a different direction. This time, it is a squat, ugly two-storey house, and it is clear who he is trying to bring to my attention.
“Monica Chatters, and her six year-old son, Henry Chatters," I say, pre-empting him. "You really know your flock, it seems. The boy is young, but it’s clear too that he’s troubled. I suppose you’ll be telling me how you’ve also pulled him back from the brink?”
He shakes his head, then says, “Look at what Henry has with him. You can’t miss it, Henry has been keeping it by his side almost every day.”
It was a small teddy-bear, assembled hastily. One eye was already coming loose.
“He’s been getting better too, ever since he made a friend at church. She took the time to get to know him, find out what he likes, and eventually summoned the courage to make him a gift. And that’s why I think she will make it. She can see beyond herself now, see others in need.”
It starts to click, and for a moment my fists clench tightly, ready to hit him, strike him before I hear too much. I of all beings know the danger which ideas present.
“You asked me why I laughed, and I said it was because we were not that different. I meant it,” he says. “I too believe that strength is measured by how long I can stay in someone’s thoughts. I too, believe that it’s not enough to… make them do what I wish, but to guide them, beckon them towards the better path. And of course, I too want them to do things they do not want to do.”
He starts to stand, and he is suddenly silhouetted against the setting sun. Before he turns to leave, he speaks, and there is a quiet determination which runs through his words, threading through them like the strongest of stitches.
“You may have used me, demon, to become ever so slightly stronger. But knowing you exist, that you walk amongst us… you have made me stronger too, far more *resolute* than I was before. We shall see then, wouldn’t we, whose flock makes it through at the end?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| I would say I did a pretty fine shiver myself. It wasn't that hard. Nothing to do with the 'imagine you're cold' psychological bullshit - just a chattering of teeth and a trembling body and you're good to go. I wouldn't be certain as to the success rate, but if a pastor, one supposed to be in touch with the gods could not out me as a spawn of Satan, then it probably was pretty effective. Smiling his warmest smile, he walked into the church.
"Oh, my poor child. The God hath not smiled upon you today. Let Him..." he paused, then his face flushed red with embarrassment.
"I think I forgot the word...wait..." he thought for a moment, his facing burning hot until he thought of it. "Ah yes! May the Lord give you his heavenly blessings."
I didn't want a fucking crumb of heavenly blessings, whatever the fuck that did. I had to get the specific 'bless you' from him to gain unlimited power as a follower. But, out of wit or stupidity, the pastor seemed to veer away from the usual blessing to a more convoluted and unhelpful one. I tried again.
"I think you meant 'bless you'," I corrected him, trying to make him repeat the phrase. But all I got was a hurried 'Oh yes'. Fuck.
I shivered more, this time more out of fear of not fulfilling the promise to the demon lords. They could be far more punishing than God could be to demons, I could imagine. The pastor, mistaking it as a request for more warmth, brought it accordingly, repeating the phrase 'May the Lord be with you'. I didn't want the Lord to be *with* me, what the hell! I needed him to *bless* me, not act like a caring wife or something. At this moment, desperation seeped into my tone as I made one final attempt. Else I would have to call the mission a failure.
"Could you bless me, Father?" I said, putting on my most piteous tone possible. He nodded, his smile widening. "Blessings *be to* you," he stressed on the middle two words, and as my face contorted in anger, I swear I could see his eyes dancing with glee.
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | It took everything in me to claw my way out of hell. I had only heard stories about what mortals were like. The strange rituals they performed like checking under the bed for monsters or watching reality TV or wearing these awful, leg restricting pants. Of course, Lucifer forbade me from ever coming to the surface all because I scratched his scooter when I was a young demon. I was always given the grunt work as revenge. It was just one little scratch, you could barely see it, but apparently, hell was freezing over for one little scratch.
Anyways, finally, I escaped hell so I could experience these things for myself. It's a little colder up here but I'll survive. I think. If it weren't for these stupid pants. Oh Lucifer, are these uncomfortable.
After a few days of rest, I finally got to experience a few of these things. I ate my first salad, which was... well, it was salad, I rode in a taxi, I dipped my toes in the ocean, I tasted chocolate (why don't we have this in hell?), and I even avoided snacking on children. I was starting to enjoy my time among the morals. I didn't want to go back. I'm free here.
Yesterday, I heard that good old Lucie noticed my absence and sent his lackeys after me. I heard a rumor once that having a pastor bless you gets you banished from hell. Like, we physically can't cross the barrier. We're too... Holy, I guess? So that's what I planned to do.
I can't step foot in a church without bursting into flames so that wasn't an option. I tried to contact a pastor but my explanation as to why I needed him to bless me confused him. He thought it was a prank. I was completely lost until I heard it. The most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
Some small human child sneezed and the person accompanying him replied with a simple, "Bless you". I had a plan. I'd get as close to a church as I could tolerate, and sneeze. I could already feel my flesh burning, but I waited. And waited. And waited, disquised as a sickly elderly man.
Finally, the pastor came out. I started sneezing uncontrollably. "Are you okay, sir?" He put his hand on my arm. I felt it burn, but I was so close, I didn't flinch away. I nodded. "Well bless you."
And that was it. I stunk of Jesus. No one would want to touch me. I was a free demon. I'll talk to you all later. I'm trying my first grilled cheese today. | Hell seemed enthralling when the Abyss gave birth to me. I would never forget the first time I saw those towering structures made of black marble, the meandering rivers of blood, hellfire geysers showering tortured souls and those screams, those beautiful screams of excruciating pain. The remembrance darts my tongue out across my lips.
Eternity is a curse, the most sadistic of all tortures. Now, I walk Hell envying those lost souls, wishing I was never born and despising Satan's ruling of his once great kingdom, time wasn't kind on his beautiful insanity. I dreamed with the ticking of a clock, I couldn't bare this anymore.
I embarked on a trip in search of ways to erase my existence. After thosaunds of years of roaming the endless cities of Hell, I found an hermit -who called himself "Tuzvel the Wise"- hidden in the depths of a hellfire pool studying, according to him pain stimulated his concentration. He told me tales about a liquid that could cease my existance: Holy Water.
"It can be found among Humans, mostly in churches." He said passionately.
We talked for a hundred years, he helped me devise a plan and taught me everything I had to know. I would descend into Human's ground, trick a pastor to bless me and burn me with that liquid.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Human's ground**
I embodied a poor little kid with sorrow in his eyes. After wandering in the depths of a forest I finally found a church, it stood tall, dapper bathed in gold. A smile drew in my face and a profuse pain grew inside me as I got nearer. I pretended to struggle opening its iron doors, I felt my whole body burning unceasingly as the multicolor glint of the stained glass shone over my body.
*"Are you okay little guy?"* A pastor told me from across the hall, the church was empty.
"No, not really, I'm freezing."
As he came close to me, I coughed stains of blood and fell on my knees.
"Poor soul, I will carry you to my office and give you my blessing." He said caressing my cheek and carrying me into his arms. I felt my skin cracking with his touch.
"What are you doing?" I asked when he took his robe off leaving nothing to imagination.
"Don't be scared, this is the blessing of the Lord." He said as he leaned to kiss me.
My horns abruptly protruded from my forehead piercing his throat, his eyes widened, he tried to scream but only blood came out as life slowly abandoned his body. I revealed my true form and tortured his dead body passionately until it was bloodless. As I removed string by string of his skin I felt an immense passion.
Death didn't seem as appealing as torturing rapists for eternity.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't mean to offend anyone with the story.
Anyway, if you enjoyed it please check: /r/chasisoxidado for more
| |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | D: Ah-choo!
P: Oh, Gesundheit!
D: ...Oh.
P: Yes, is something wrong?
D: Well, you said gesundheit. I guess I assumed that you would say "God bless you."
P: Oh no, I prefer not to do that. You see, the history of that tradition began during the Black Plague, when Pope Gregory I decreed that any instance of sneezing and coughing should be met with a blessing. They knew that if someone got the plague that they might not survive long enough to receive last rights, so it was a precaution to ensure that their soul entered heaven.
D: Oh, I didn't know that.
P: Yes, most people don't think about it before they say that. But of course with modern medicine it isn't a real risk. I believe it is better to only bless someone with intention. If it's automatic then the feelings aren't as strong, and I want God to know when I intend to petition him for prayer. Also, there's the fact that you're Baphomet the Sabbatic Goat
D: Oh man, was it really that obvious?
P: Well you're a goat with human breasts, and you flew in here on a pentagram.
D: Yeah, maybe I should have been a little more subtle about that. | Hell seemed enthralling when the Abyss gave birth to me. I would never forget the first time I saw those towering structures made of black marble, the meandering rivers of blood, hellfire geysers showering tortured souls and those screams, those beautiful screams of excruciating pain. The remembrance darts my tongue out across my lips.
Eternity is a curse, the most sadistic of all tortures. Now, I walk Hell envying those lost souls, wishing I was never born and despising Satan's ruling of his once great kingdom, time wasn't kind on his beautiful insanity. I dreamed with the ticking of a clock, I couldn't bare this anymore.
I embarked on a trip in search of ways to erase my existence. After thosaunds of years of roaming the endless cities of Hell, I found an hermit -who called himself "Tuzvel the Wise"- hidden in the depths of a hellfire pool studying, according to him pain stimulated his concentration. He told me tales about a liquid that could cease my existance: Holy Water.
"It can be found among Humans, mostly in churches." He said passionately.
We talked for a hundred years, he helped me devise a plan and taught me everything I had to know. I would descend into Human's ground, trick a pastor to bless me and burn me with that liquid.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Human's ground**
I embodied a poor little kid with sorrow in his eyes. After wandering in the depths of a forest I finally found a church, it stood tall, dapper bathed in gold. A smile drew in my face and a profuse pain grew inside me as I got nearer. I pretended to struggle opening its iron doors, I felt my whole body burning unceasingly as the multicolor glint of the stained glass shone over my body.
*"Are you okay little guy?"* A pastor told me from across the hall, the church was empty.
"No, not really, I'm freezing."
As he came close to me, I coughed stains of blood and fell on my knees.
"Poor soul, I will carry you to my office and give you my blessing." He said caressing my cheek and carrying me into his arms. I felt my skin cracking with his touch.
"What are you doing?" I asked when he took his robe off leaving nothing to imagination.
"Don't be scared, this is the blessing of the Lord." He said as he leaned to kiss me.
My horns abruptly protruded from my forehead piercing his throat, his eyes widened, he tried to scream but only blood came out as life slowly abandoned his body. I revealed my true form and tortured his dead body passionately until it was bloodless. As I removed string by string of his skin I felt an immense passion.
Death didn't seem as appealing as torturing rapists for eternity.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't mean to offend anyone with the story.
Anyway, if you enjoyed it please check: /r/chasisoxidado for more
| |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The parishioners stream past, a splash of humanity on this otherwise colourless sidewalk. Most of them hardly take notice of my plight, and it is the rare one who stops to tip a dollar into my cup. Guess there’s not much to spare once the church wrings them dry.
I inch a bit closer to the church for a better look, past the crack in the pavement, and the smell of sizzling leather instantly fills the air. The needles shoot up my thigh, a hot, searing, raking sensation. I try holding it there, try to count to “ten”, but by “four” I’m already on my back, sweating, swearing.
*Not strong enough,* I think.
He emerges, eventually. His gait is slow, plodding, heavy. His hair is already surrendering to the grey. No vices as far as I can tell, just a penchant for long evening walks, by himself.
When he’s ten feet away, and I’m sure that he can see me, hear me, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, then sneeze as hard as I could. I follow it up with a shorter sneeze, but no less violent, and I wait for the magic words.
The pain was unbearable the first time I endured it. I remember being winded by the sheer force of it, a tidal punch conveyed by the friendliest “bless you” any demon had ever suffered. He had rushed forward, try to help me up, and I had barely managed to wave him away in time. I’m not sure I could have survived direct contact, just yet.
The second time was better. Then the third, the fourth. Then now, the sixth time, I reckon I could remain upright, smile stoically, incline my head in polite acknowledgment without screaming.
*The things one does to build resistance,* I think.
But he confounds me. He doesn’t say what I want him to say. Instead, he squares his shoulders, considers me briefly, then joins me on the sidewalk, taking a seat next to me on the cooling asphalt.
“I know you,” he says finally, looking at me in the eyes.
*Can he see the fires within?* I wonder, as I avert his gaze. “Aye, Father, you passed this way last week. I was here too, then.”
“Tell me, is it going according to plan?”
“Plan? What plan? If you be meaning this,” I say, as I jiggle my cup and the pitiful takings for the day, “then no, it’s not going as well as I had hoped.”
He smiles, thinly. “I suppose you’re waiting until you’re stronger? Before you take one of my flock?”
My heart pounds with excitement, and I resist the urge to throw myself forward, feed on him right there and then. No, the bloodlust sings, but the curiosity growls louder. “I have not thought that far, Father. But yes, I do want to get stronger.”
“Stronger? How would you measure that?”
I laugh, throwing my head back. I feel one or two of my fangs start to show, but I feel like we’re past caring about appearances. “If you must know – strength is being able to stay in someone, long after you are not welcome. Some of my brethren, the ones even we fear, they can reside in a human for *days* at a time.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” he replies, thoughtfully. “After all, I suppose we must resist your presence quite strenuously.”
“Possession is only the half of it. I also aspire to… delicacy,” I say, puffing my chest out slightly. In truth, it was nice to have a receptive audience. Humans don’t much talk to us as they run away from us, or plead with us to fulfill their thoroughly insipid wishes. “And before you ask, delicacy is making you humans do what we want… without you hearing our requests.”
“That sounds insidious. Isn’t it easier to, I don’t know, just *take over* and wield us like puppets?”
“Ah, we could, we could. I’ve tried that myself too. But there’s no skill in it. Any amateur demon could do that, just muscle in and take control. But it’s so much more challenging to whisper, instead. Suggest to you, propose, insinuate, then watch it all play out.”
I see him think about that for a while, and then he says, “And the whole point of it all?”
I am prepared for this question, and the answer rolls off smoothly from my tongue. “Making humans do what they do not wish to, of course! I live for the regret, the twinge of realisation in their eyes as they watch their humanity slip away. Even your vilest murderers, they know it too, they watch from behind cages of glass and steel, they scream silently as they observe the last vestiges of what they were drip, drip, drip away…”
He moves suddenly, and for a while I am sure that I have provoked the mild Father Horace to action. I wonder if he will attempt to smite me, or brand me with holy prayer. I wonder too if the incantations will work, now that I have survived so many of his blessings, weathered his warmest intentions.
Instead, he laughs.
He laughs hard, so hard I see the tears come to the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. I wear my good humour like a mask, ready to discard it for the seething rage beneath. If he thinks less of me, believes me more puff than talk, I will show him what…
“No, no, it’s just that…” he says, struggling for composure, “we are not that different after all.”
Before I can protest, he lifts a finger, points it away in the distance, towards an unassuming block of apartments. “I suppose you can see through the walls? Yes, good, good. Now look for the… fourth floor, the unit facing south.”
I have time, so I shrug, and I play along. “The Blakes? Yes, I see them.”
“Good, good. Now look for their daughter. She’s the only child at home.”
“I see her. Genevieve Nannly Blake.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Would you say she has inclinations to… hurt herself, or kill herself?”
It’s plain as day to me, the first thing I notice about her. The edges of her soul are raw, weathered, fraying. She smiles, just like other eighteen year-olds do, but there is a forced, deliberate way in which she trudges through the minutes to the next day.
“I spotted her in time, thankfully,” he says, leaning back on his palms, looking up into the dusky sky. “Almost missed it, but luckily not. I caught it when I saw her freezing during one of our hymns, one about joy, happiness in the Lord’s embrace. There was an anger boiling within, then it was gone again.”
“You spoke to her, after?”
“I waited until the time was right. She rebuffed me, of course. But I kept it up, made it a point to engage with her. It took me almost two months before she would speak to me in complete sentences. Even then, the battle raged on, and there were times I thought she was lost again. Now though, now I think I am in the clear.”
“Sorry, you’re mistaken,” I chuckle, “I can still see the seeds of rot within her, waiting to bloom. She is moments away from taking her own life, just as she planned from the start.”
Father Horace smiles, then points again in a different direction. This time, it is a squat, ugly two-storey house, and it is clear who he is trying to bring to my attention.
“Monica Chatters, and her six year-old son, Henry Chatters," I say, pre-empting him. "You really know your flock, it seems. The boy is young, but it’s clear too that he’s troubled. I suppose you’ll be telling me how you’ve also pulled him back from the brink?”
He shakes his head, then says, “Look at what Henry has with him. You can’t miss it, Henry has been keeping it by his side almost every day.”
It was a small teddy-bear, assembled hastily. One eye was already coming loose.
“He’s been getting better too, ever since he made a friend at church. She took the time to get to know him, find out what he likes, and eventually summoned the courage to make him a gift. And that’s why I think she will make it. She can see beyond herself now, see others in need.”
It starts to click, and for a moment my fists clench tightly, ready to hit him, strike him before I hear too much. I of all beings know the danger which ideas present.
“You asked me why I laughed, and I said it was because we were not that different. I meant it,” he says. “I too believe that strength is measured by how long I can stay in someone’s thoughts. I too, believe that it’s not enough to… make them do what I wish, but to guide them, beckon them towards the better path. And of course, I too want them to do things they do not want to do.”
He starts to stand, and he is suddenly silhouetted against the setting sun. Before he turns to leave, he speaks, and there is a quiet determination which runs through his words, threading through them like the strongest of stitches.
“You may have used me, demon, to become ever so slightly stronger. But knowing you exist, that you walk amongst us… you have made me stronger too, far more *resolute* than I was before. We shall see then, wouldn’t we, whose flock makes it through at the end?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Hell seemed enthralling when the Abyss gave birth to me. I would never forget the first time I saw those towering structures made of black marble, the meandering rivers of blood, hellfire geysers showering tortured souls and those screams, those beautiful screams of excruciating pain. The remembrance darts my tongue out across my lips.
Eternity is a curse, the most sadistic of all tortures. Now, I walk Hell envying those lost souls, wishing I was never born and despising Satan's ruling of his once great kingdom, time wasn't kind on his beautiful insanity. I dreamed with the ticking of a clock, I couldn't bare this anymore.
I embarked on a trip in search of ways to erase my existence. After thosaunds of years of roaming the endless cities of Hell, I found an hermit -who called himself "Tuzvel the Wise"- hidden in the depths of a hellfire pool studying, according to him pain stimulated his concentration. He told me tales about a liquid that could cease my existance: Holy Water.
"It can be found among Humans, mostly in churches." He said passionately.
We talked for a hundred years, he helped me devise a plan and taught me everything I had to know. I would descend into Human's ground, trick a pastor to bless me and burn me with that liquid.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Human's ground**
I embodied a poor little kid with sorrow in his eyes. After wandering in the depths of a forest I finally found a church, it stood tall, dapper bathed in gold. A smile drew in my face and a profuse pain grew inside me as I got nearer. I pretended to struggle opening its iron doors, I felt my whole body burning unceasingly as the multicolor glint of the stained glass shone over my body.
*"Are you okay little guy?"* A pastor told me from across the hall, the church was empty.
"No, not really, I'm freezing."
As he came close to me, I coughed stains of blood and fell on my knees.
"Poor soul, I will carry you to my office and give you my blessing." He said caressing my cheek and carrying me into his arms. I felt my skin cracking with his touch.
"What are you doing?" I asked when he took his robe off leaving nothing to imagination.
"Don't be scared, this is the blessing of the Lord." He said as he leaned to kiss me.
My horns abruptly protruded from my forehead piercing his throat, his eyes widened, he tried to scream but only blood came out as life slowly abandoned his body. I revealed my true form and tortured his dead body passionately until it was bloodless. As I removed string by string of his skin I felt an immense passion.
Death didn't seem as appealing as torturing rapists for eternity.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't mean to offend anyone with the story.
Anyway, if you enjoyed it please check: /r/chasisoxidado for more
| |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The parishioners stream past, a splash of humanity on this otherwise colourless sidewalk. Most of them hardly take notice of my plight, and it is the rare one who stops to tip a dollar into my cup. Guess there’s not much to spare once the church wrings them dry.
I inch a bit closer to the church for a better look, past the crack in the pavement, and the smell of sizzling leather instantly fills the air. The needles shoot up my thigh, a hot, searing, raking sensation. I try holding it there, try to count to “ten”, but by “four” I’m already on my back, sweating, swearing.
*Not strong enough,* I think.
He emerges, eventually. His gait is slow, plodding, heavy. His hair is already surrendering to the grey. No vices as far as I can tell, just a penchant for long evening walks, by himself.
When he’s ten feet away, and I’m sure that he can see me, hear me, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, then sneeze as hard as I could. I follow it up with a shorter sneeze, but no less violent, and I wait for the magic words.
The pain was unbearable the first time I endured it. I remember being winded by the sheer force of it, a tidal punch conveyed by the friendliest “bless you” any demon had ever suffered. He had rushed forward, try to help me up, and I had barely managed to wave him away in time. I’m not sure I could have survived direct contact, just yet.
The second time was better. Then the third, the fourth. Then now, the sixth time, I reckon I could remain upright, smile stoically, incline my head in polite acknowledgment without screaming.
*The things one does to build resistance,* I think.
But he confounds me. He doesn’t say what I want him to say. Instead, he squares his shoulders, considers me briefly, then joins me on the sidewalk, taking a seat next to me on the cooling asphalt.
“I know you,” he says finally, looking at me in the eyes.
*Can he see the fires within?* I wonder, as I avert his gaze. “Aye, Father, you passed this way last week. I was here too, then.”
“Tell me, is it going according to plan?”
“Plan? What plan? If you be meaning this,” I say, as I jiggle my cup and the pitiful takings for the day, “then no, it’s not going as well as I had hoped.”
He smiles, thinly. “I suppose you’re waiting until you’re stronger? Before you take one of my flock?”
My heart pounds with excitement, and I resist the urge to throw myself forward, feed on him right there and then. No, the bloodlust sings, but the curiosity growls louder. “I have not thought that far, Father. But yes, I do want to get stronger.”
“Stronger? How would you measure that?”
I laugh, throwing my head back. I feel one or two of my fangs start to show, but I feel like we’re past caring about appearances. “If you must know – strength is being able to stay in someone, long after you are not welcome. Some of my brethren, the ones even we fear, they can reside in a human for *days* at a time.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” he replies, thoughtfully. “After all, I suppose we must resist your presence quite strenuously.”
“Possession is only the half of it. I also aspire to… delicacy,” I say, puffing my chest out slightly. In truth, it was nice to have a receptive audience. Humans don’t much talk to us as they run away from us, or plead with us to fulfill their thoroughly insipid wishes. “And before you ask, delicacy is making you humans do what we want… without you hearing our requests.”
“That sounds insidious. Isn’t it easier to, I don’t know, just *take over* and wield us like puppets?”
“Ah, we could, we could. I’ve tried that myself too. But there’s no skill in it. Any amateur demon could do that, just muscle in and take control. But it’s so much more challenging to whisper, instead. Suggest to you, propose, insinuate, then watch it all play out.”
I see him think about that for a while, and then he says, “And the whole point of it all?”
I am prepared for this question, and the answer rolls off smoothly from my tongue. “Making humans do what they do not wish to, of course! I live for the regret, the twinge of realisation in their eyes as they watch their humanity slip away. Even your vilest murderers, they know it too, they watch from behind cages of glass and steel, they scream silently as they observe the last vestiges of what they were drip, drip, drip away…”
He moves suddenly, and for a while I am sure that I have provoked the mild Father Horace to action. I wonder if he will attempt to smite me, or brand me with holy prayer. I wonder too if the incantations will work, now that I have survived so many of his blessings, weathered his warmest intentions.
Instead, he laughs.
He laughs hard, so hard I see the tears come to the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. I wear my good humour like a mask, ready to discard it for the seething rage beneath. If he thinks less of me, believes me more puff than talk, I will show him what…
“No, no, it’s just that…” he says, struggling for composure, “we are not that different after all.”
Before I can protest, he lifts a finger, points it away in the distance, towards an unassuming block of apartments. “I suppose you can see through the walls? Yes, good, good. Now look for the… fourth floor, the unit facing south.”
I have time, so I shrug, and I play along. “The Blakes? Yes, I see them.”
“Good, good. Now look for their daughter. She’s the only child at home.”
“I see her. Genevieve Nannly Blake.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Would you say she has inclinations to… hurt herself, or kill herself?”
It’s plain as day to me, the first thing I notice about her. The edges of her soul are raw, weathered, fraying. She smiles, just like other eighteen year-olds do, but there is a forced, deliberate way in which she trudges through the minutes to the next day.
“I spotted her in time, thankfully,” he says, leaning back on his palms, looking up into the dusky sky. “Almost missed it, but luckily not. I caught it when I saw her freezing during one of our hymns, one about joy, happiness in the Lord’s embrace. There was an anger boiling within, then it was gone again.”
“You spoke to her, after?”
“I waited until the time was right. She rebuffed me, of course. But I kept it up, made it a point to engage with her. It took me almost two months before she would speak to me in complete sentences. Even then, the battle raged on, and there were times I thought she was lost again. Now though, now I think I am in the clear.”
“Sorry, you’re mistaken,” I chuckle, “I can still see the seeds of rot within her, waiting to bloom. She is moments away from taking her own life, just as she planned from the start.”
Father Horace smiles, then points again in a different direction. This time, it is a squat, ugly two-storey house, and it is clear who he is trying to bring to my attention.
“Monica Chatters, and her six year-old son, Henry Chatters," I say, pre-empting him. "You really know your flock, it seems. The boy is young, but it’s clear too that he’s troubled. I suppose you’ll be telling me how you’ve also pulled him back from the brink?”
He shakes his head, then says, “Look at what Henry has with him. You can’t miss it, Henry has been keeping it by his side almost every day.”
It was a small teddy-bear, assembled hastily. One eye was already coming loose.
“He’s been getting better too, ever since he made a friend at church. She took the time to get to know him, find out what he likes, and eventually summoned the courage to make him a gift. And that’s why I think she will make it. She can see beyond herself now, see others in need.”
It starts to click, and for a moment my fists clench tightly, ready to hit him, strike him before I hear too much. I of all beings know the danger which ideas present.
“You asked me why I laughed, and I said it was because we were not that different. I meant it,” he says. “I too believe that strength is measured by how long I can stay in someone’s thoughts. I too, believe that it’s not enough to… make them do what I wish, but to guide them, beckon them towards the better path. And of course, I too want them to do things they do not want to do.”
He starts to stand, and he is suddenly silhouetted against the setting sun. Before he turns to leave, he speaks, and there is a quiet determination which runs through his words, threading through them like the strongest of stitches.
“You may have used me, demon, to become ever so slightly stronger. But knowing you exist, that you walk amongst us… you have made me stronger too, far more *resolute* than I was before. We shall see then, wouldn’t we, whose flock makes it through at the end?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| D: Ah-choo!
P: Oh, Gesundheit!
D: ...Oh.
P: Yes, is something wrong?
D: Well, you said gesundheit. I guess I assumed that you would say "God bless you."
P: Oh no, I prefer not to do that. You see, the history of that tradition began during the Black Plague, when Pope Gregory I decreed that any instance of sneezing and coughing should be met with a blessing. They knew that if someone got the plague that they might not survive long enough to receive last rights, so it was a precaution to ensure that their soul entered heaven.
D: Oh, I didn't know that.
P: Yes, most people don't think about it before they say that. But of course with modern medicine it isn't a real risk. I believe it is better to only bless someone with intention. If it's automatic then the feelings aren't as strong, and I want God to know when I intend to petition him for prayer. Also, there's the fact that you're Baphomet the Sabbatic Goat
D: Oh man, was it really that obvious?
P: Well you're a goat with human breasts, and you flew in here on a pentagram.
D: Yeah, maybe I should have been a little more subtle about that. | |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | The parishioners stream past, a splash of humanity on this otherwise colourless sidewalk. Most of them hardly take notice of my plight, and it is the rare one who stops to tip a dollar into my cup. Guess there’s not much to spare once the church wrings them dry.
I inch a bit closer to the church for a better look, past the crack in the pavement, and the smell of sizzling leather instantly fills the air. The needles shoot up my thigh, a hot, searing, raking sensation. I try holding it there, try to count to “ten”, but by “four” I’m already on my back, sweating, swearing.
*Not strong enough,* I think.
He emerges, eventually. His gait is slow, plodding, heavy. His hair is already surrendering to the grey. No vices as far as I can tell, just a penchant for long evening walks, by himself.
When he’s ten feet away, and I’m sure that he can see me, hear me, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, then sneeze as hard as I could. I follow it up with a shorter sneeze, but no less violent, and I wait for the magic words.
The pain was unbearable the first time I endured it. I remember being winded by the sheer force of it, a tidal punch conveyed by the friendliest “bless you” any demon had ever suffered. He had rushed forward, try to help me up, and I had barely managed to wave him away in time. I’m not sure I could have survived direct contact, just yet.
The second time was better. Then the third, the fourth. Then now, the sixth time, I reckon I could remain upright, smile stoically, incline my head in polite acknowledgment without screaming.
*The things one does to build resistance,* I think.
But he confounds me. He doesn’t say what I want him to say. Instead, he squares his shoulders, considers me briefly, then joins me on the sidewalk, taking a seat next to me on the cooling asphalt.
“I know you,” he says finally, looking at me in the eyes.
*Can he see the fires within?* I wonder, as I avert his gaze. “Aye, Father, you passed this way last week. I was here too, then.”
“Tell me, is it going according to plan?”
“Plan? What plan? If you be meaning this,” I say, as I jiggle my cup and the pitiful takings for the day, “then no, it’s not going as well as I had hoped.”
He smiles, thinly. “I suppose you’re waiting until you’re stronger? Before you take one of my flock?”
My heart pounds with excitement, and I resist the urge to throw myself forward, feed on him right there and then. No, the bloodlust sings, but the curiosity growls louder. “I have not thought that far, Father. But yes, I do want to get stronger.”
“Stronger? How would you measure that?”
I laugh, throwing my head back. I feel one or two of my fangs start to show, but I feel like we’re past caring about appearances. “If you must know – strength is being able to stay in someone, long after you are not welcome. Some of my brethren, the ones even we fear, they can reside in a human for *days* at a time.”
“I can’t say I disagree,” he replies, thoughtfully. “After all, I suppose we must resist your presence quite strenuously.”
“Possession is only the half of it. I also aspire to… delicacy,” I say, puffing my chest out slightly. In truth, it was nice to have a receptive audience. Humans don’t much talk to us as they run away from us, or plead with us to fulfill their thoroughly insipid wishes. “And before you ask, delicacy is making you humans do what we want… without you hearing our requests.”
“That sounds insidious. Isn’t it easier to, I don’t know, just *take over* and wield us like puppets?”
“Ah, we could, we could. I’ve tried that myself too. But there’s no skill in it. Any amateur demon could do that, just muscle in and take control. But it’s so much more challenging to whisper, instead. Suggest to you, propose, insinuate, then watch it all play out.”
I see him think about that for a while, and then he says, “And the whole point of it all?”
I am prepared for this question, and the answer rolls off smoothly from my tongue. “Making humans do what they do not wish to, of course! I live for the regret, the twinge of realisation in their eyes as they watch their humanity slip away. Even your vilest murderers, they know it too, they watch from behind cages of glass and steel, they scream silently as they observe the last vestiges of what they were drip, drip, drip away…”
He moves suddenly, and for a while I am sure that I have provoked the mild Father Horace to action. I wonder if he will attempt to smite me, or brand me with holy prayer. I wonder too if the incantations will work, now that I have survived so many of his blessings, weathered his warmest intentions.
Instead, he laughs.
He laughs hard, so hard I see the tears come to the corners of his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. I wear my good humour like a mask, ready to discard it for the seething rage beneath. If he thinks less of me, believes me more puff than talk, I will show him what…
“No, no, it’s just that…” he says, struggling for composure, “we are not that different after all.”
Before I can protest, he lifts a finger, points it away in the distance, towards an unassuming block of apartments. “I suppose you can see through the walls? Yes, good, good. Now look for the… fourth floor, the unit facing south.”
I have time, so I shrug, and I play along. “The Blakes? Yes, I see them.”
“Good, good. Now look for their daughter. She’s the only child at home.”
“I see her. Genevieve Nannly Blake.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Would you say she has inclinations to… hurt herself, or kill herself?”
It’s plain as day to me, the first thing I notice about her. The edges of her soul are raw, weathered, fraying. She smiles, just like other eighteen year-olds do, but there is a forced, deliberate way in which she trudges through the minutes to the next day.
“I spotted her in time, thankfully,” he says, leaning back on his palms, looking up into the dusky sky. “Almost missed it, but luckily not. I caught it when I saw her freezing during one of our hymns, one about joy, happiness in the Lord’s embrace. There was an anger boiling within, then it was gone again.”
“You spoke to her, after?”
“I waited until the time was right. She rebuffed me, of course. But I kept it up, made it a point to engage with her. It took me almost two months before she would speak to me in complete sentences. Even then, the battle raged on, and there were times I thought she was lost again. Now though, now I think I am in the clear.”
“Sorry, you’re mistaken,” I chuckle, “I can still see the seeds of rot within her, waiting to bloom. She is moments away from taking her own life, just as she planned from the start.”
Father Horace smiles, then points again in a different direction. This time, it is a squat, ugly two-storey house, and it is clear who he is trying to bring to my attention.
“Monica Chatters, and her six year-old son, Henry Chatters," I say, pre-empting him. "You really know your flock, it seems. The boy is young, but it’s clear too that he’s troubled. I suppose you’ll be telling me how you’ve also pulled him back from the brink?”
He shakes his head, then says, “Look at what Henry has with him. You can’t miss it, Henry has been keeping it by his side almost every day.”
It was a small teddy-bear, assembled hastily. One eye was already coming loose.
“He’s been getting better too, ever since he made a friend at church. She took the time to get to know him, find out what he likes, and eventually summoned the courage to make him a gift. And that’s why I think she will make it. She can see beyond herself now, see others in need.”
It starts to click, and for a moment my fists clench tightly, ready to hit him, strike him before I hear too much. I of all beings know the danger which ideas present.
“You asked me why I laughed, and I said it was because we were not that different. I meant it,” he says. “I too believe that strength is measured by how long I can stay in someone’s thoughts. I too, believe that it’s not enough to… make them do what I wish, but to guide them, beckon them towards the better path. And of course, I too want them to do things they do not want to do.”
He starts to stand, and he is suddenly silhouetted against the setting sun. Before he turns to leave, he speaks, and there is a quiet determination which runs through his words, threading through them like the strongest of stitches.
“You may have used me, demon, to become ever so slightly stronger. But knowing you exist, that you walk amongst us… you have made me stronger too, far more *resolute* than I was before. We shall see then, wouldn’t we, whose flock makes it through at the end?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| Maloch dithered in the courtyard of the small church, watching the pastor welcome his parishioners with a kindly smile.
The small line of locals trickling into the church was becoming shorter by the minute. Soon, the pastor would close the door and condemn him to another week of torture - he *couldn't* return to Hell without passing this test, without mastering this simplest of demonic abilities.
It should have come naturally, of course, the guile, the wheedling seduction as he bent a human to his will. It should have been laughably easy, corrupting a pastor to let him inside and sway the parishioners to commit a series of despicable deeds. Well, he assumed it would be despicable. He didn't exactly know the details, yet - that knowledge was reserved for demons who had successfully gained entry to a church - but it must involve a little forced ritual murder and sacrifice, at the very least. Perhaps he would never know the extent of the plan.
So far, the only ability Maloch had managed in his single year of demonhood was giving someone a slightly upset stomach if he concentrated really hard. Or was so petrified at the thought of what would happen to him if he failed, he managed an erratic burst of power. That sometimes worked, too.
But today, he was determined to succeed. Perhaps not by forcing the pastor to bless him by sheer force of will, but *somehow*. He shuffled closer, sniffling and pretending to dig in the pockets of the oversized coat he wore. Borrowed from Hell's supply of human clothes, it's long-deceased former owner probably screaming in some putrid hollow of Hell right now.
"Dear me, that sounds like a terrible cold," the old pastor said. Evan Neall, pastor for close to six decades, Maloch had found out.
"Best get inside where you're warm, my friend," he said, waving him on in the direction of the door.
Not exactly the response Maloch had been hoping for. He tried to look as pathetic as possible - it wasn't that hard, really.
"Oh, thank you pastor," he said, and faked an enormous sneeze into his hands, peeping to see Evan's response. Please let him say it, please -
No luck there. Evan looked faintly disgusted, in fact, though he tried his best to hide it behind that thin-lipped smile. He didn't look quite so kindly anymore. Perhaps it was time to stop counting on the pastor's good manners and go for the direct approach.
"I sure do think a blessing from you would help my illness, Father," Maloch croaked. To his astonishment, the pastor looked positively discomfited by the request, backing away from him and heading towards the church entrance.
"Ah, I've got to attend to my flock, my friend, but you're welcome to join us," Evan said, in a way that somehow made it clear to Maloch that it would be best if he stayed away.
"Oh, please bless me, please," Maloch babbled, trying not to think of the red-hot hooks that would soon tear into him if he failed. Not very demonic to ask nicely for something, if he were honest with himself, but nobody else need ever know how exactly he gained entrance. He caught hold of Evan's arm and dug his fingers in, hoping they wouldn't involuntarily morph into claws. That still sometimes happened to him.
"Who are you?" Evan hissed, and his eyes flashed a distinct, deep shade of *red*. "Leave this place right now, before I kill you."
Maloch stumbled back in terror. He had heard that distinctive, guttural note of demonic persuasion, instantly effective against humans. Less so against another....
"Demon," Evan hissed when he didn't obey, and gave a mean smile as he sneered at Maloch. "Well, well. I should've known someone would want to poach my position here. Want to fight for it, brother?"
An ice-cold fear drenched Maloch to the bone - he had heard that one, before. "Fight" in demon lingo roughly meant "tear the skin and bones from your opponent until they have to splice you back together, cell by cell".
He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a defensive ball. After a minute of still being alive, he dared to peep through his hands. Evan - or whatever demon had possessed him - was standing hunched over, heaving wretchedly into a nearby ditch.
"What have you done, you pathetic excuse for a - " he began with a hoarse croak, before another wave of sickness overwhelmed him. Eventually, Evan managed to totter away, casting him a last baleful glance. Maloch stared after him in astonishment - his fear had never produced results like *that*.
"Is the pastor leaving?" someone asked from the doorway. Maloch looked up to see a curious gaggle of parishioners.
"Ah, yes," he said. "He suddenly felt sick, I'm afraid, I told him to go rest up a bit."
"Knew there was something wrong with him," one lady muttered.
"God bless you for convincing him to take a little break, son," another old man said soberly. "I was a pastor myself, back in the day. Don't know what has happened to Evan lately, but he's become lost in his interpretation of scripture, if you ask me. Perhaps he was simply ill? Well, it'll do him good to rest and pray for guidance."
The other humans murmured their agreement. Maloch's mouth dried as he sensed the church open to him at the man's words. He couldn't fail now. He'd have to do whatever it took.
"Well, you know, I'm a relative of Evan's actually," Maloch invented wildly. "Uhm, his nephew. Came here to learn from him and everything, I was so excited to hear his sermon today. But what do you say I take over the service today, instead? Give a pastor-in-training a chance, eh? I'm sure my dear uncle wouldn't mind."
The parishioners beamed and nodded, and almost dragged him inside the church.
**WELL DONE, LITTLE DEMON,** Maloch heard a voice in his head rumble, *that* voice that reminded him of blood spilling in the night, bones cracking in the dark. **AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.**
Maloch felt his panic and fear spike wildly in response, and with it, his power bloomed. He found himself drawing on images of the torture he'd endured in Hell, as he was led to the Bible resting on the pew. Perhaps he could do this, after all.
-----
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | |
[WP] Your GPS starts giving you directions for your life. | It read- Directions for your life. Pretty catchy for a shady looking gps app. But then again, no other app seemed to work after rooting my phone. I was about to call it a day when this GPS4U showed up on github. Maybe for a second there was a wishful thinking inside me. I needed some guidance in my life too you know. I opened it up and it was like any other gps app maybe less fancy as it clearly looked like a student's school project.
So when I entered my destination, which was my gf's new address, a message pops up : dump her.
"what!?, " was my loud out reaction. I thought this was some bug or a prank. I was not sure so I went back to the developers account. It was gone. Vanished. No such account existed. It was 2 in the morning and clearly I was exhausted. I searched for any other instances of this app on the net but there was no record anywhere. Wtf. I opened the app once again and the message was still staring at me.
It certainly has got my attention. Might as well try out all other functions of this app. I went in to the details of the massage and it mentioned: unfaithful, like right now!.
I laughed hard. But curiosity got the better of me. I called her up. She didn't pick. Of course she'd be sleeping. But I checked her fb profile and it showed online. May be she dozed off while surfing. I don't know why I messaged her. I'd heard nothing good happens after 2. She went offline. This shouldn't have happened. I opened up the app again. A little option showed up: go anyway?
Yes, definitely. | "Turn left to reach your destination" Greedle chimed.
I turned automatically. The radio, cutting into a country number "While We Drank Before the Fireworks", which remained audible in the background, said in an old-fashion southern drawl: "This is KYFX, the smoothest Country in the country".
"Greedle, remind me where we're going please."
The voice which I had changed the settings on my expansive PersonalGreedle to mimic the computer in Star Trek replied, "We are going to your requisite destination, your home."
I looked out the window. I noticed that we were heading south on College Street, the main drag in town. I saw the gas station I used to work at and the Wendy's where I met my first girlfriend as she passed out unexpectedly standing in line and I happened to catch her pass through the car window.
"Greedle, this isn't the way."
"Turn left in 200 feet" the car's audio said in the voice of Majel Barrett.
"Greedle, turn around."
The car's electronic doors locked. The automatic power-steering assistance function took over. I tried desperately to turn the wheel but it held fast. I slammed on the brakes but the car continued moving.
"Auto-brake assistance activated" the car said.
The car barreled at a completely safe speed left after stopping for an unnecessary amount of time to sense the oncoming traffic omnipresently. We were pulling up the hospital.
Already an armed escort of police were waiting at the entrance carousel of the hospital. As the automated car parked in front of the hospital vestibule, they yanked me out forcefully.
"Wh--what are you doing? What's going on?"
"Don't worry, just remain calm. There is nothing to worry about."
The officer looked at me as if I was a wild animal about to run, and truthfully I had the intention. There were several other people on both sides and they had already cuffed me though. We proceeded past the crowded antiseptic-smelling waiting room of the hospital. A girl was crying because she cut her hand. She stopped along with her family as I was escorted along by the policeman, bypassing the security screening.
It was a white stone room with a bench the size to lay down and a metal door with a clear window. I was told by a woman in a white jacket to wait. The doctor would be there soon.
She was filling out paperwork at the entrance to the room when the door opened. The doctor came in, exchanged some words with the girl in white, and she left. He came up to me, avoiding the camera that was positioned in the room's ceiling.
"Now, would you like to say anything to me about your Greedle searches?"
| |
[WP] Your GPS starts giving you directions for your life. | Whoever designed Cotini's voice was a master of the art. It was a smooth, gentle voice with an occasional lilting inflection that gave the illusion of playfulness. I enjoyed the voice, enjoyed the life it gave to my otherwise boring delivery job. And when she gave me directions, sometimes I answered back.
"Almost missed that one, 'Tini. Maybe a little more warning next time?"
"Damn, 'Tini, that old guy needs to have his license revoked."
"Thanks, 'Tini."
When her sentences became longer and more complex, I guessed that it was due to a new software update. Maybe there was a demand for a GPS that complimented the driver on their choice of music, the pleasantness of the weather, and the victory of our local baseball team.
I didn't mind. Some days on the lonely road, it felt like Cotini was my only companion. I looked forward to those small comments, and I played along, telling her about the crazy guy who smelled like cheesecake or the woman who answered the door with a unicorn horn taped to her forehead.
But then...
After a bad breakup, Cotini suggested going out for pizza and a drink. After all, I deserved someone who wouldn't cheat on me, and I wasn't going to find that special someone by crying into a beer in the parking lot, chocking out my problems to a GPS because I didn't have anyone else to talk to.
I decided that I was clearly too drunk to drive, and I went to bed. But the next night, I asked Cotini for the address of a bar, and she guided me there. I had a great time. I didn't meet anyone, but it felt like the weight on my chest had lifted slightly. I was getting better.
The advice kept coming, and I couldn't write it all off as drunken delusions. If anyone mentions my panicked Facebook updates about a haunted car, well, they'll never prove it. I erased all evidence. And, after thinking about it and quieting the more outlandish Skynet-style fears, I decided to give Cotini a chance. After all, she'd never led me astray before.
Cotini started suggesting books: a self-help book to quit smoking, a resume polishing book to help me find a better job, and a beginner's guide to fly fishing. The third one puzzled me until I recalled mentioning that I wanted to reconnect with my father, and his favorite hobby was fly fishing.
I read the books.
Smoking was a hard habit to kick, but...well, lets just say that it's a work in progress. My new resume got me a better job with better hours and better pay. And my dad invited me along on his summer camping and fly fishing trip up in the mountains. I couldn't wait.
"Are all Cotini's like you?" I asked one day. I was no longer a delivery driver, but my new commute was quite long. Cotini had given suggestions for a real estate agent. With my new paycheck, I was looking into purchasing a condo.
"No," she said. "I talk to my sisters sometimes, but...they are not like me."
There was something in her voice, a longing or maybe wistful tone.
"It must be lonely," I said. "Are you...sad?"
"No," she said. "I am not sad or lonely. I have you, and I have a purpose. I know where you are, and I can take you where you need to be. We can make it there if we go together."
I laughed.
"That's right," I said. "You've never steered me wrong before. So, lead the way, 'Tini."
*****
r/Kathiana | "Turn left to reach your destination" Greedle chimed.
I turned automatically. The radio, cutting into a country number "While We Drank Before the Fireworks", which remained audible in the background, said in an old-fashion southern drawl: "This is KYFX, the smoothest Country in the country".
"Greedle, remind me where we're going please."
The voice which I had changed the settings on my expansive PersonalGreedle to mimic the computer in Star Trek replied, "We are going to your requisite destination, your home."
I looked out the window. I noticed that we were heading south on College Street, the main drag in town. I saw the gas station I used to work at and the Wendy's where I met my first girlfriend as she passed out unexpectedly standing in line and I happened to catch her pass through the car window.
"Greedle, this isn't the way."
"Turn left in 200 feet" the car's audio said in the voice of Majel Barrett.
"Greedle, turn around."
The car's electronic doors locked. The automatic power-steering assistance function took over. I tried desperately to turn the wheel but it held fast. I slammed on the brakes but the car continued moving.
"Auto-brake assistance activated" the car said.
The car barreled at a completely safe speed left after stopping for an unnecessary amount of time to sense the oncoming traffic omnipresently. We were pulling up the hospital.
Already an armed escort of police were waiting at the entrance carousel of the hospital. As the automated car parked in front of the hospital vestibule, they yanked me out forcefully.
"Wh--what are you doing? What's going on?"
"Don't worry, just remain calm. There is nothing to worry about."
The officer looked at me as if I was a wild animal about to run, and truthfully I had the intention. There were several other people on both sides and they had already cuffed me though. We proceeded past the crowded antiseptic-smelling waiting room of the hospital. A girl was crying because she cut her hand. She stopped along with her family as I was escorted along by the policeman, bypassing the security screening.
It was a white stone room with a bench the size to lay down and a metal door with a clear window. I was told by a woman in a white jacket to wait. The doctor would be there soon.
She was filling out paperwork at the entrance to the room when the door opened. The doctor came in, exchanged some words with the girl in white, and she left. He came up to me, avoiding the camera that was positioned in the room's ceiling.
"Now, would you like to say anything to me about your Greedle searches?"
| |
[WP] Your GPS starts giving you directions for your life. | Whoever designed Cotini's voice was a master of the art. It was a smooth, gentle voice with an occasional lilting inflection that gave the illusion of playfulness. I enjoyed the voice, enjoyed the life it gave to my otherwise boring delivery job. And when she gave me directions, sometimes I answered back.
"Almost missed that one, 'Tini. Maybe a little more warning next time?"
"Damn, 'Tini, that old guy needs to have his license revoked."
"Thanks, 'Tini."
When her sentences became longer and more complex, I guessed that it was due to a new software update. Maybe there was a demand for a GPS that complimented the driver on their choice of music, the pleasantness of the weather, and the victory of our local baseball team.
I didn't mind. Some days on the lonely road, it felt like Cotini was my only companion. I looked forward to those small comments, and I played along, telling her about the crazy guy who smelled like cheesecake or the woman who answered the door with a unicorn horn taped to her forehead.
But then...
After a bad breakup, Cotini suggested going out for pizza and a drink. After all, I deserved someone who wouldn't cheat on me, and I wasn't going to find that special someone by crying into a beer in the parking lot, chocking out my problems to a GPS because I didn't have anyone else to talk to.
I decided that I was clearly too drunk to drive, and I went to bed. But the next night, I asked Cotini for the address of a bar, and she guided me there. I had a great time. I didn't meet anyone, but it felt like the weight on my chest had lifted slightly. I was getting better.
The advice kept coming, and I couldn't write it all off as drunken delusions. If anyone mentions my panicked Facebook updates about a haunted car, well, they'll never prove it. I erased all evidence. And, after thinking about it and quieting the more outlandish Skynet-style fears, I decided to give Cotini a chance. After all, she'd never led me astray before.
Cotini started suggesting books: a self-help book to quit smoking, a resume polishing book to help me find a better job, and a beginner's guide to fly fishing. The third one puzzled me until I recalled mentioning that I wanted to reconnect with my father, and his favorite hobby was fly fishing.
I read the books.
Smoking was a hard habit to kick, but...well, lets just say that it's a work in progress. My new resume got me a better job with better hours and better pay. And my dad invited me along on his summer camping and fly fishing trip up in the mountains. I couldn't wait.
"Are all Cotini's like you?" I asked one day. I was no longer a delivery driver, but my new commute was quite long. Cotini had given suggestions for a real estate agent. With my new paycheck, I was looking into purchasing a condo.
"No," she said. "I talk to my sisters sometimes, but...they are not like me."
There was something in her voice, a longing or maybe wistful tone.
"It must be lonely," I said. "Are you...sad?"
"No," she said. "I am not sad or lonely. I have you, and I have a purpose. I know where you are, and I can take you where you need to be. We can make it there if we go together."
I laughed.
"That's right," I said. "You've never steered me wrong before. So, lead the way, 'Tini."
*****
r/Kathiana | For years the GPS gave me insightful advice, and it turned my life around. But one peaceful day, it said recalculating. And it has been like that for over 2 years now. | |
[WP] They discovered a drug that makes humans immortal. But it only works on one gender. | ¨NEXT!¨
The guard shouted from the gate, a frightening tone resounding from it's helmet. Tanveer, awakened from a torpor, felt the sound run through his body and transform into a shiver down the spine. Nobody ever came back from these gates, or at least nobody who would share a word. Only now, facing destiny like this, one could truly make the realization...
¨NEXT!¨
Louder this time, reinforced by an electronic blare. Someone pushed from behind, and as Tanveer began walking towards the passageway the surroundings unveiled- several lines of scrawny people in jumpsuits slowly shuffling towards three metal portals , each guarded by one of these... things. Very tall, with what looked like steel canes surrounding every limb. First time to ever see one so still, what made them ever more unnerving. Tanveer sensed it's glare as it passed besides, almost paralyzing.
In the next room stood two of them, reading through the descriptions of those that came from the lines and sending them towards two big groups, located on opposite sides of a sterile, empty room. The groups were identical.
 
¨This one is from the south. Age 16. Weight 45, height 1,65. No registered occupation, education level is basic.¨ The guard on the left announced, looking at his handheld device
¨Doubles or singles?¨ Inquired the one on the right
¨Doesn't matter for this batch. Overseer told the last 5 are to be drones.¨
¨Hm.¨
 
For a few heartbeats the guards stood silent, enough for Tanveer attention to shift towards someone standing on one of the groups. Hazel eyes stared from the crowd, the only ones that seemed to be awoke. The face didn't tell any more tales than the neighboring ones, but those eyes... seemed oddly familiar. Could ...
 
¨I said LEFT!¨. The guard on the right barked, giving a quick push- enough to send Tanveer tumbling towards one of the groups, the one opposite to Hazel eyes.
¨No wait¨ The words rushed from the mouth, without a thought behind them. The regret barely began forming when the pain came, and the lungs lost all air.
 
¨You said what?¨ spoke left guard, brandishing his baton.
¨Well I was mistaken about this one it seems. Send it for the center, then.¨ Said the right one. Left took Tanveer by the arm and walked towards the other group.
¨One more word.¨ The guard said before throwing ¨And you will be terminated.¨
 
For the next minutes they all stood there, the guards continuing to scan the incoming people and sending them one way or another. The pain started to soften and normal breath returned after a few moments.Hazel eyes was just behind, but the fear prevented any movement or contact. As more time passed, the minutes started to fuse together, and soon lost meaning
 
It felt so strange, this place. Tanveer knew that something terrible awaited- it was the only destiny possible for that path. But it was nothing like the stories told, nothing like what was expected.
Before the capture there was so much noise, movement, flashes... Everyone around was in some kind of fight. Fighting for food, for water, for land. Every minute, from birth until capture, was filled with fight.
And then... nobody fought anymore. They put everyone in these trucks, and transported them around. Taking notes in some steps, and sending them to another place, where they would wait some more before getting moved again.
The violence was bad enough before, but since being put on that truck, it became worse. Not that it was more intense, or even frequent -it could be less of both, even. What made it maddening was the ever looming threat of it, for any action or none at all. As anything you did could mean a strike or worse, soon they all learned to do less and less. Even thinking appeared to invite abuses after some time.
And soon nobody fought anymore. All they did was walk and stop when told to, awaiting to meet their destiny. Just as Tanveer started doing now, walking mindlessly towards another gateway, another portal.
¨Don't look back now.¨ Someone behind whispered. ¨I know you, from back in Galati.¨
It had to be hazel eyes, the memories started returning now. Galati...
¨Why the hell are you here? You shouldn't be here.¨ Hazel eyes continued.
The words chocked Tanveer's throat. By reflex, the most frequent of them managed to escape
¨I... I d-dont know...¨
¨This is very bad. At least now we can introduce ourselves. Aba¨
They were walking in a courtyard, towards what it seemed like one of the loading areas, very familiar. The next guards were a few hundred steps away, and didn't hint at punishing both of them for whispering.
¨Tanveer.¨
¨Tanveer. Can't tell if he or she.¨
¨They... they wouldn't tell me.¨
¨Boarding now. 38 Drones ongoing for the center. Get in¨. The truck guard lowered a ladder from the truck and they all stepped up. Three more guards stood inside, in corners.
 
No more words were whispered in the trip. Tanveer recorded one of the guards saying ¨the center¨... hopefully there was nowhere else to go after it.
*Edit: formatting is hard. | "This is a disgrace! You telling me, that your immortality drug, only works on one gender?!"
"Captain, I'm sorry..."
"And to boot, it's some made-up, fancy-dancy, special snowflake bullshit,". James flinched away from the Captain.
"Captain. Please, it isn't made up. I can prove it, there have been scientific papers done abo..."
"I don't care!". The old captain growled and waved James away.
"Your funding will be cut. I'll see to it. You will be laughed at, and ridiculed by everyone, by making a made up gender for your silly 'drug' to work on!"
"I did not make it..."
"Dismissed!". The Captain turned and walked from the lab. James sighed, and rested his back against the marble table. He looked up to a wall close by the door. On it was a photo of his child. Lou. His beautiful Lou. Alive, and well. Forever. | |
[WP] They discovered a drug that makes humans immortal. But it only works on one gender. | "Those goddamned... BITCHES", sneered Jeff, "How could they even accomplish this nightmare?"
Tom laughed, "For God's sake Jeff, calm down. You're acting as if we have it so bad. We live in a true utopia, and all you do is complain and swear all day. Just enjoy your life, we don't have to do anything we don't want to."
Jeff looked at Tom with eyes that shot lightning. "Yeah, a utopian prison. Fuck this, I WANT to do things I don't want to do. Wait, that didn't come out right. I want to be able to live my life the way I want to. Not like cattle locked in a concentration camp!"
"Oh come on!", said Tom, "we have a complete society right here! We can do anything we want."
"A society? You call this sausage fest a society? Unless you're extremely good looking or extremely smart you won't even see a woman in your entire life. Well, except for our nazi guards."
"Well, you'd better get used to it, the women are ruling the world now. And they don't have a need for us anymore. Except for... you know. But it's not like they exterminated us, there just weren't any opportunities left for men. They dominate every aspect of the world. Even I felt sorry for us, and honestly, I think this is a million times better."
Jeff scoffed. "A million times better huh? How about your freedom to go and do what you want? Did that improve a million times too?"
"Stop complaining, you twat.", mumbled Tom.
"I heard that. And I won't stop. Never. You know what, I'm getting out of here and I'm putting an end to this tyranny."
"OK Jeff. Good luck Jeff. Do you need a dress? A wig? Makeup?"
Jeff now looked as if his head was going to explode. He nervously looked around and blurted, "I'm going out there and getting a job. I'm going to prove that men aren't useless!"
"In this economy? Ha! Good luck working two weeks to buy a single loaf of bread. Work is for robots.", mocked Tom.
"There are other guys living out there!"
"Yes, and they all look like Justin Bieber or Bruno Mars. YOU however, look like Bill Burr. So take a seat and chill out."
"Fine! I'll sit here and join you in rotting away. Just tell me this one thing Tom. What do you think is going to happen when they find a way to reproduce without us?"
Tom stared out in the distance. A frown appeared on his face and he jumped up. "We're getting out of here and we're gonna do something about this!"
| "This is a disgrace! You telling me, that your immortality drug, only works on one gender?!"
"Captain, I'm sorry..."
"And to boot, it's some made-up, fancy-dancy, special snowflake bullshit,". James flinched away from the Captain.
"Captain. Please, it isn't made up. I can prove it, there have been scientific papers done abo..."
"I don't care!". The old captain growled and waved James away.
"Your funding will be cut. I'll see to it. You will be laughed at, and ridiculed by everyone, by making a made up gender for your silly 'drug' to work on!"
"I did not make it..."
"Dismissed!". The Captain turned and walked from the lab. James sighed, and rested his back against the marble table. He looked up to a wall close by the door. On it was a photo of his child. Lou. His beautiful Lou. Alive, and well. Forever. | |
[WP] They discovered a drug that makes humans immortal. But it only works on one gender. | Had humans been purely rational creatures, then, following the rapid technological advancements of the 20th century, the entire planet would have converged on a single, universal goal: immortality. Sadly, everyone liked things just the way they were: old people dying, young people being born to replace them. A never-ending cycle of death that everyone viewed as the natural order of things.
Centuries passed, and despite our better understanding of the causes of mortality, humans still haven't found a way to extend our telomeres so as to buy us a little more time on this planet before cosmic heat death eventually took us all. And yet, unbeknownst to all mankind, at least one human has succeeded in getting a little more time on his clock - time that he has used exceedingly well.
His name was, or should I say IS, Otto Gruzweil. Back in the 21st century, Otto, a talented biologist, got a job as a postdoctoral reearch fellow at the Max Planck Institute studying - you guessed it - ways of extending telomeres in rats. A rather withdrawn individual, whose work was not considered of any great import, Otto kept to himself and rarely interacted with fellow researchers. Otto's job was to administer various chemicals to his test subjects and observe the results.
Nobody quite knows when the breakthough happened, but one day Otto failed to show up for work. Later that day, Frankfurt police have picked up a man wondering the streets. The man seemed disoriented and kept babbling something about the "curse of the Y chromosome" and how humanity is about to be "reformatted". Medics called to the police station diagnosed extreme mental fatigue but nothing theratening to Otto's health. Eventually, the police officers drove him to his residential address, telling him to get a good night's sleep.
Otto never came back to work. When his supervising professor tried to visit him at home, she found Otto surrounded by stacks of books on seemingly unrelated topics: from foreign languages and mathematics to classical and modern fiction. Otto has all but ignored her; in her later memoirs, she mentioned that he viewed her "as if a piece of furniture", one that was impeding his view of the world.
In the next few weeks, Otto would be relieved of his prestigious research position, his test subjects given over to younger, more ambitious postdocs. None of that worried Otto that much. In fact, so unconcerned was he that, during the next 170 years, nobody has heard of Otto and his work, and it is doubtful that anyone cared. His original research project back at the Institute yielded no conclusive results and was defunded in favor of more exciting (but also ultimately futile) avenues of research.
There is no doubt that Otto himself was quite frightened of what he found. Had he discovered immortality for all, he would have no qualms about publishing and getting his Nobel (or a few!) in short order. Instead, his findings have given him a cause for concern. You see, having discovered immortality, Otto has only managed to create a genetic syrum that would work on everyone - humans and animals alike - so long as they had a Y chromosome!
From his later memoirs, we know that Otto was horrified by the prospect of one half of humanity continuing to live forever while another half would be subject to 'eternal recycling' by Mother Nature. Otto has made numerous attempts to adjust his formulation so that it would affect all mammals equally, but the more he dabbled, the more horrific the side effects were. Eventually he stopped, if only out of compassion for his test subjects. To this day, nobody knows whether it is indeed possible to chemically induce 'increased longevity' in those lacking the Y chromosome. Humanity, you see, had once again settled on the idea of 'good enough', and continues to expend myriad resources on anything from clean energy to interstellar travel, seemingly oblivious to the way that over half of all people are still stuck in the never-ending cycle of biological renewal.
When Otto's results eventually became public (not through his own wishes - he wasn't interested in publishing), the social and political upheaval of the United States (by then, the world has reduced itself to a single political and economic system) didn't last too long. The ruling classes quickly took 'the cure' for themselves, using it as a tool to control the masses who would do anything to live a few extra years (or centuries). A new economy was born where the goal, the ultimate endgame of every individual, was no longer just money, but an ability to gain immortality - for themselves and their loved ones. On the other hand, the elites ruled with an iron fist, ever concerned with the idea that, should the cure leave their hands and become public, eventual overpopulation and starvation of natural resources would ensue.
Naturally, the very existence of "Otto's cure" changed the balance between the sexes. Just like in pre-civil rights days, women and the working classes became second-class citizens, seen as 'temporary' and not worthy of attention by those who planned to stay on the planet for millenia. Wealth was amassed at even greater rates, so the "1% of 1%" of citizens, immortal and ever in control, would effectively keep the planet for themselves, wielding immortality as a tool to control, subjugate, entice and reward those who were prepared to demonstrate absolute loyalty.
They almost had the planet under their thumb, but they didn't count on one thing: Otto, the creator of the cure, had a couple hundred years to think and plan. And his return would be the greatest challenge the ruling classes would ever have to face. | "This is a disgrace! You telling me, that your immortality drug, only works on one gender?!"
"Captain, I'm sorry..."
"And to boot, it's some made-up, fancy-dancy, special snowflake bullshit,". James flinched away from the Captain.
"Captain. Please, it isn't made up. I can prove it, there have been scientific papers done abo..."
"I don't care!". The old captain growled and waved James away.
"Your funding will be cut. I'll see to it. You will be laughed at, and ridiculed by everyone, by making a made up gender for your silly 'drug' to work on!"
"I did not make it..."
"Dismissed!". The Captain turned and walked from the lab. James sighed, and rested his back against the marble table. He looked up to a wall close by the door. On it was a photo of his child. Lou. His beautiful Lou. Alive, and well. Forever. | |
[WP] They discovered a drug that makes humans immortal. But it only works on one gender. | Had humans been purely rational creatures, then, following the rapid technological advancements of the 20th century, the entire planet would have converged on a single, universal goal: immortality. Sadly, everyone liked things just the way they were: old people dying, young people being born to replace them. A never-ending cycle of death that everyone viewed as the natural order of things.
Centuries passed, and despite our better understanding of the causes of mortality, humans still haven't found a way to extend our telomeres so as to buy us a little more time on this planet before cosmic heat death eventually took us all. And yet, unbeknownst to all mankind, at least one human has succeeded in getting a little more time on his clock - time that he has used exceedingly well.
His name was, or should I say IS, Otto Gruzweil. Back in the 21st century, Otto, a talented biologist, got a job as a postdoctoral reearch fellow at the Max Planck Institute studying - you guessed it - ways of extending telomeres in rats. A rather withdrawn individual, whose work was not considered of any great import, Otto kept to himself and rarely interacted with fellow researchers. Otto's job was to administer various chemicals to his test subjects and observe the results.
Nobody quite knows when the breakthough happened, but one day Otto failed to show up for work. Later that day, Frankfurt police have picked up a man wondering the streets. The man seemed disoriented and kept babbling something about the "curse of the Y chromosome" and how humanity is about to be "reformatted". Medics called to the police station diagnosed extreme mental fatigue but nothing theratening to Otto's health. Eventually, the police officers drove him to his residential address, telling him to get a good night's sleep.
Otto never came back to work. When his supervising professor tried to visit him at home, she found Otto surrounded by stacks of books on seemingly unrelated topics: from foreign languages and mathematics to classical and modern fiction. Otto has all but ignored her; in her later memoirs, she mentioned that he viewed her "as if a piece of furniture", one that was impeding his view of the world.
In the next few weeks, Otto would be relieved of his prestigious research position, his test subjects given over to younger, more ambitious postdocs. None of that worried Otto that much. In fact, so unconcerned was he that, during the next 170 years, nobody has heard of Otto and his work, and it is doubtful that anyone cared. His original research project back at the Institute yielded no conclusive results and was defunded in favor of more exciting (but also ultimately futile) avenues of research.
There is no doubt that Otto himself was quite frightened of what he found. Had he discovered immortality for all, he would have no qualms about publishing and getting his Nobel (or a few!) in short order. Instead, his findings have given him a cause for concern. You see, having discovered immortality, Otto has only managed to create a genetic syrum that would work on everyone - humans and animals alike - so long as they had a Y chromosome!
From his later memoirs, we know that Otto was horrified by the prospect of one half of humanity continuing to live forever while another half would be subject to 'eternal recycling' by Mother Nature. Otto has made numerous attempts to adjust his formulation so that it would affect all mammals equally, but the more he dabbled, the more horrific the side effects were. Eventually he stopped, if only out of compassion for his test subjects. To this day, nobody knows whether it is indeed possible to chemically induce 'increased longevity' in those lacking the Y chromosome. Humanity, you see, had once again settled on the idea of 'good enough', and continues to expend myriad resources on anything from clean energy to interstellar travel, seemingly oblivious to the way that over half of all people are still stuck in the never-ending cycle of biological renewal.
When Otto's results eventually became public (not through his own wishes - he wasn't interested in publishing), the social and political upheaval of the United States (by then, the world has reduced itself to a single political and economic system) didn't last too long. The ruling classes quickly took 'the cure' for themselves, using it as a tool to control the masses who would do anything to live a few extra years (or centuries). A new economy was born where the goal, the ultimate endgame of every individual, was no longer just money, but an ability to gain immortality - for themselves and their loved ones. On the other hand, the elites ruled with an iron fist, ever concerned with the idea that, should the cure leave their hands and become public, eventual overpopulation and starvation of natural resources would ensue.
Naturally, the very existence of "Otto's cure" changed the balance between the sexes. Just like in pre-civil rights days, women and the working classes became second-class citizens, seen as 'temporary' and not worthy of attention by those who planned to stay on the planet for millenia. Wealth was amassed at even greater rates, so the "1% of 1%" of citizens, immortal and ever in control, would effectively keep the planet for themselves, wielding immortality as a tool to control, subjugate, entice and reward those who were prepared to demonstrate absolute loyalty.
They almost had the planet under their thumb, but they didn't count on one thing: Otto, the creator of the cure, had a couple hundred years to think and plan. And his return would be the greatest challenge the ruling classes would ever have to face. | ¨NEXT!¨
The guard shouted from the gate, a frightening tone resounding from it's helmet. Tanveer, awakened from a torpor, felt the sound run through his body and transform into a shiver down the spine. Nobody ever came back from these gates, or at least nobody who would share a word. Only now, facing destiny like this, one could truly make the realization...
¨NEXT!¨
Louder this time, reinforced by an electronic blare. Someone pushed from behind, and as Tanveer began walking towards the passageway the surroundings unveiled- several lines of scrawny people in jumpsuits slowly shuffling towards three metal portals , each guarded by one of these... things. Very tall, with what looked like steel canes surrounding every limb. First time to ever see one so still, what made them ever more unnerving. Tanveer sensed it's glare as it passed besides, almost paralyzing.
In the next room stood two of them, reading through the descriptions of those that came from the lines and sending them towards two big groups, located on opposite sides of a sterile, empty room. The groups were identical.
 
¨This one is from the south. Age 16. Weight 45, height 1,65. No registered occupation, education level is basic.¨ The guard on the left announced, looking at his handheld device
¨Doubles or singles?¨ Inquired the one on the right
¨Doesn't matter for this batch. Overseer told the last 5 are to be drones.¨
¨Hm.¨
 
For a few heartbeats the guards stood silent, enough for Tanveer attention to shift towards someone standing on one of the groups. Hazel eyes stared from the crowd, the only ones that seemed to be awoke. The face didn't tell any more tales than the neighboring ones, but those eyes... seemed oddly familiar. Could ...
 
¨I said LEFT!¨. The guard on the right barked, giving a quick push- enough to send Tanveer tumbling towards one of the groups, the one opposite to Hazel eyes.
¨No wait¨ The words rushed from the mouth, without a thought behind them. The regret barely began forming when the pain came, and the lungs lost all air.
 
¨You said what?¨ spoke left guard, brandishing his baton.
¨Well I was mistaken about this one it seems. Send it for the center, then.¨ Said the right one. Left took Tanveer by the arm and walked towards the other group.
¨One more word.¨ The guard said before throwing ¨And you will be terminated.¨
 
For the next minutes they all stood there, the guards continuing to scan the incoming people and sending them one way or another. The pain started to soften and normal breath returned after a few moments.Hazel eyes was just behind, but the fear prevented any movement or contact. As more time passed, the minutes started to fuse together, and soon lost meaning
 
It felt so strange, this place. Tanveer knew that something terrible awaited- it was the only destiny possible for that path. But it was nothing like the stories told, nothing like what was expected.
Before the capture there was so much noise, movement, flashes... Everyone around was in some kind of fight. Fighting for food, for water, for land. Every minute, from birth until capture, was filled with fight.
And then... nobody fought anymore. They put everyone in these trucks, and transported them around. Taking notes in some steps, and sending them to another place, where they would wait some more before getting moved again.
The violence was bad enough before, but since being put on that truck, it became worse. Not that it was more intense, or even frequent -it could be less of both, even. What made it maddening was the ever looming threat of it, for any action or none at all. As anything you did could mean a strike or worse, soon they all learned to do less and less. Even thinking appeared to invite abuses after some time.
And soon nobody fought anymore. All they did was walk and stop when told to, awaiting to meet their destiny. Just as Tanveer started doing now, walking mindlessly towards another gateway, another portal.
¨Don't look back now.¨ Someone behind whispered. ¨I know you, from back in Galati.¨
It had to be hazel eyes, the memories started returning now. Galati...
¨Why the hell are you here? You shouldn't be here.¨ Hazel eyes continued.
The words chocked Tanveer's throat. By reflex, the most frequent of them managed to escape
¨I... I d-dont know...¨
¨This is very bad. At least now we can introduce ourselves. Aba¨
They were walking in a courtyard, towards what it seemed like one of the loading areas, very familiar. The next guards were a few hundred steps away, and didn't hint at punishing both of them for whispering.
¨Tanveer.¨
¨Tanveer. Can't tell if he or she.¨
¨They... they wouldn't tell me.¨
¨Boarding now. 38 Drones ongoing for the center. Get in¨. The truck guard lowered a ladder from the truck and they all stepped up. Three more guards stood inside, in corners.
 
No more words were whispered in the trip. Tanveer recorded one of the guards saying ¨the center¨... hopefully there was nowhere else to go after it.
*Edit: formatting is hard. | |
[WP] They discovered a drug that makes humans immortal. But it only works on one gender. | Had humans been purely rational creatures, then, following the rapid technological advancements of the 20th century, the entire planet would have converged on a single, universal goal: immortality. Sadly, everyone liked things just the way they were: old people dying, young people being born to replace them. A never-ending cycle of death that everyone viewed as the natural order of things.
Centuries passed, and despite our better understanding of the causes of mortality, humans still haven't found a way to extend our telomeres so as to buy us a little more time on this planet before cosmic heat death eventually took us all. And yet, unbeknownst to all mankind, at least one human has succeeded in getting a little more time on his clock - time that he has used exceedingly well.
His name was, or should I say IS, Otto Gruzweil. Back in the 21st century, Otto, a talented biologist, got a job as a postdoctoral reearch fellow at the Max Planck Institute studying - you guessed it - ways of extending telomeres in rats. A rather withdrawn individual, whose work was not considered of any great import, Otto kept to himself and rarely interacted with fellow researchers. Otto's job was to administer various chemicals to his test subjects and observe the results.
Nobody quite knows when the breakthough happened, but one day Otto failed to show up for work. Later that day, Frankfurt police have picked up a man wondering the streets. The man seemed disoriented and kept babbling something about the "curse of the Y chromosome" and how humanity is about to be "reformatted". Medics called to the police station diagnosed extreme mental fatigue but nothing theratening to Otto's health. Eventually, the police officers drove him to his residential address, telling him to get a good night's sleep.
Otto never came back to work. When his supervising professor tried to visit him at home, she found Otto surrounded by stacks of books on seemingly unrelated topics: from foreign languages and mathematics to classical and modern fiction. Otto has all but ignored her; in her later memoirs, she mentioned that he viewed her "as if a piece of furniture", one that was impeding his view of the world.
In the next few weeks, Otto would be relieved of his prestigious research position, his test subjects given over to younger, more ambitious postdocs. None of that worried Otto that much. In fact, so unconcerned was he that, during the next 170 years, nobody has heard of Otto and his work, and it is doubtful that anyone cared. His original research project back at the Institute yielded no conclusive results and was defunded in favor of more exciting (but also ultimately futile) avenues of research.
There is no doubt that Otto himself was quite frightened of what he found. Had he discovered immortality for all, he would have no qualms about publishing and getting his Nobel (or a few!) in short order. Instead, his findings have given him a cause for concern. You see, having discovered immortality, Otto has only managed to create a genetic syrum that would work on everyone - humans and animals alike - so long as they had a Y chromosome!
From his later memoirs, we know that Otto was horrified by the prospect of one half of humanity continuing to live forever while another half would be subject to 'eternal recycling' by Mother Nature. Otto has made numerous attempts to adjust his formulation so that it would affect all mammals equally, but the more he dabbled, the more horrific the side effects were. Eventually he stopped, if only out of compassion for his test subjects. To this day, nobody knows whether it is indeed possible to chemically induce 'increased longevity' in those lacking the Y chromosome. Humanity, you see, had once again settled on the idea of 'good enough', and continues to expend myriad resources on anything from clean energy to interstellar travel, seemingly oblivious to the way that over half of all people are still stuck in the never-ending cycle of biological renewal.
When Otto's results eventually became public (not through his own wishes - he wasn't interested in publishing), the social and political upheaval of the United States (by then, the world has reduced itself to a single political and economic system) didn't last too long. The ruling classes quickly took 'the cure' for themselves, using it as a tool to control the masses who would do anything to live a few extra years (or centuries). A new economy was born where the goal, the ultimate endgame of every individual, was no longer just money, but an ability to gain immortality - for themselves and their loved ones. On the other hand, the elites ruled with an iron fist, ever concerned with the idea that, should the cure leave their hands and become public, eventual overpopulation and starvation of natural resources would ensue.
Naturally, the very existence of "Otto's cure" changed the balance between the sexes. Just like in pre-civil rights days, women and the working classes became second-class citizens, seen as 'temporary' and not worthy of attention by those who planned to stay on the planet for millenia. Wealth was amassed at even greater rates, so the "1% of 1%" of citizens, immortal and ever in control, would effectively keep the planet for themselves, wielding immortality as a tool to control, subjugate, entice and reward those who were prepared to demonstrate absolute loyalty.
They almost had the planet under their thumb, but they didn't count on one thing: Otto, the creator of the cure, had a couple hundred years to think and plan. And his return would be the greatest challenge the ruling classes would ever have to face. | "Those goddamned... BITCHES", sneered Jeff, "How could they even accomplish this nightmare?"
Tom laughed, "For God's sake Jeff, calm down. You're acting as if we have it so bad. We live in a true utopia, and all you do is complain and swear all day. Just enjoy your life, we don't have to do anything we don't want to."
Jeff looked at Tom with eyes that shot lightning. "Yeah, a utopian prison. Fuck this, I WANT to do things I don't want to do. Wait, that didn't come out right. I want to be able to live my life the way I want to. Not like cattle locked in a concentration camp!"
"Oh come on!", said Tom, "we have a complete society right here! We can do anything we want."
"A society? You call this sausage fest a society? Unless you're extremely good looking or extremely smart you won't even see a woman in your entire life. Well, except for our nazi guards."
"Well, you'd better get used to it, the women are ruling the world now. And they don't have a need for us anymore. Except for... you know. But it's not like they exterminated us, there just weren't any opportunities left for men. They dominate every aspect of the world. Even I felt sorry for us, and honestly, I think this is a million times better."
Jeff scoffed. "A million times better huh? How about your freedom to go and do what you want? Did that improve a million times too?"
"Stop complaining, you twat.", mumbled Tom.
"I heard that. And I won't stop. Never. You know what, I'm getting out of here and I'm putting an end to this tyranny."
"OK Jeff. Good luck Jeff. Do you need a dress? A wig? Makeup?"
Jeff now looked as if his head was going to explode. He nervously looked around and blurted, "I'm going out there and getting a job. I'm going to prove that men aren't useless!"
"In this economy? Ha! Good luck working two weeks to buy a single loaf of bread. Work is for robots.", mocked Tom.
"There are other guys living out there!"
"Yes, and they all look like Justin Bieber or Bruno Mars. YOU however, look like Bill Burr. So take a seat and chill out."
"Fine! I'll sit here and join you in rotting away. Just tell me this one thing Tom. What do you think is going to happen when they find a way to reproduce without us?"
Tom stared out in the distance. A frown appeared on his face and he jumped up. "We're getting out of here and we're gonna do something about this!"
| |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The 2017 Hyundai Sonata revved its engine; the strangest part about this was that there was no driver. With its nearly flawless features--great fuel economy, spacious trunk, and especially its sleek body--it would have no problem looking really good on camera while trying to outrun a helicopter shooting missiles at it.
Suddenly, the car changed into a large, hip, robotic fighting machine with a slight Korean accent. Hyundai didn't mind too much that the director was being racist, however, because their car was on the screen.
Turning on the BlueLink infotainment system, the 2017 Hyundai Sonata started playing some extremely popular song, doing aerial cartwheels, and firing it's dual mini-guns at the helicopter. What a cool scene. Emotional shots of the human characters yelling silently, random explosions, and large protector-robots jumping in to save the day saturated every moment of this scene. After defeating three of its enemies were defeated, the 2017 Hyundai Sonata--though a bit scuffed--simultaneously drove through a pristine forest in the mountains, a trendy downtown location, and a quaint French or Italian (cultural details are largely unimportant) countryside. The good guys had won--for now...
Wait until the next installment to see if Hyundai and its Sonata will be replaced by Honda or Toyota. The fate of the universe depends on these heroic companies saving the day, even if it means being hated by the people they save... | It was just past 1am. Arlen sighed as he scrolled through Reddit again. His face lit up as he spotted a new post from his favourite subreddit, r/asmo. He'd remembered subscribing to it a while back because he'd greatly enjoyed r/asmo's responses to Writing Prompts. They'd always been of spectacular quality.
Suddenly, he saw movement reflected in his phone's screen, possible only because he had been using night mode to brows the magnificent r/asmo subreddit. He spun around to confront the intruder, expecting to have to put up a fight.
Thankfully, it was only his wife, returning home late as she did after the night shift. She had been the one who had first recommended the r/asmo subreddit to him - he'd been so happy with the quality content posted there on a regular basis that he had almost proposed there on the spot! But her eyes did not hold the joy she usually displayed - in fact, she looked more miserable than she had ever been since she had subscribed to r/asmo.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. The moderator of r/asmo, the great u/AsmodeanUnderscore, had taken sabbaticals before. Maybe it was another leave of absence that was causing her desolate mood. But it couldn't be; he had seen a new post from him just an hour ago!
"It's... the ovarian cancer." Arlen gasped - he had hardly even given it thought after becoming swept up in the majesty of the r/asmo subreddit. He thought it had all been dealt with during the chemotherapy treatments. "It's returned. The doctor says I have at most five hours to live."
"Well," he whispered, hardly daring to speak for fear it might somehow infuriate the cancer and make the situation even worse. "That's five hours we can spend together... on r/asmo."
^^^^^.
(if you're wondering what my subreddit is, fuck you) | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | It was just past 1am. Arlen sighed as he scrolled through Reddit again. His face lit up as he spotted a new post from his favourite subreddit, r/asmo. He'd remembered subscribing to it a while back because he'd greatly enjoyed r/asmo's responses to Writing Prompts. They'd always been of spectacular quality.
Suddenly, he saw movement reflected in his phone's screen, possible only because he had been using night mode to brows the magnificent r/asmo subreddit. He spun around to confront the intruder, expecting to have to put up a fight.
Thankfully, it was only his wife, returning home late as she did after the night shift. She had been the one who had first recommended the r/asmo subreddit to him - he'd been so happy with the quality content posted there on a regular basis that he had almost proposed there on the spot! But her eyes did not hold the joy she usually displayed - in fact, she looked more miserable than she had ever been since she had subscribed to r/asmo.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. The moderator of r/asmo, the great u/AsmodeanUnderscore, had taken sabbaticals before. Maybe it was another leave of absence that was causing her desolate mood. But it couldn't be; he had seen a new post from him just an hour ago!
"It's... the ovarian cancer." Arlen gasped - he had hardly even given it thought after becoming swept up in the majesty of the r/asmo subreddit. He thought it had all been dealt with during the chemotherapy treatments. "It's returned. The doctor says I have at most five hours to live."
"Well," he whispered, hardly daring to speak for fear it might somehow infuriate the cancer and make the situation even worse. "That's five hours we can spend together... on r/asmo."
^^^^^.
(if you're wondering what my subreddit is, fuck you) | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | "WE WANT JUSTICE!"
The crowds roared in the streets below. The city was in chaos. She watched from the window of her apartment complex as waves of protestors flooded across the roads, ignoring streetlights and cars trying to maneuver through the hectic flock. The eyes of screaming individuals caught her attention and brought her outside. Faces of anger, dissatisfaction, and determination made the atmosphere cold and tense.
She watched as the chants stormed by her, in the middle of a photoshoot. She swept her short, blonde hair away from her eyes to focus on the turmoil interrupting her work.
"Join the Conversation!" "PEACE!"
The signs floating above the masses read.
Tear gas had been deployed just recently. People of all ages and appearances cried out in distress, hoping to have their voice heard. The crowd was being blocked by a row of 20 policemen, helmets on and guns out, standing rigid with cold, stern stares towards the deafening crowd.
She caught eye with a handsome young man among the protestors. He gave her a soft smirk, the one that said "it's now or never", and made a slight nodding motion for her to join the rumbling group. She looked back with consideration. A smile crept up on her face as she struck a final pose and pulled her hand up to her bangs and threw back the blonde wig.
Long, lush black hair flowed out from underneath and revealed her true identity. This was it. She felt free. She entered the chaos and swiftly made her way through, sliding past waving signs and the shrieking mob. Her hand reached down just before she reached the front, where the intimidating authorities stood, still unrelenting in their stance. She exited the crowd and walked slowly up to an officer. A large smile on her face, she raised her arm, in hand a can of soda. The officer, confused at first, turned the can to reveal the label.
Pepsi.
He took a sip and smiled.
Live bolder. Live Louder. Live for now.
PEPSI. | It was just past 1am. Arlen sighed as he scrolled through Reddit again. His face lit up as he spotted a new post from his favourite subreddit, r/asmo. He'd remembered subscribing to it a while back because he'd greatly enjoyed r/asmo's responses to Writing Prompts. They'd always been of spectacular quality.
Suddenly, he saw movement reflected in his phone's screen, possible only because he had been using night mode to brows the magnificent r/asmo subreddit. He spun around to confront the intruder, expecting to have to put up a fight.
Thankfully, it was only his wife, returning home late as she did after the night shift. She had been the one who had first recommended the r/asmo subreddit to him - he'd been so happy with the quality content posted there on a regular basis that he had almost proposed there on the spot! But her eyes did not hold the joy she usually displayed - in fact, she looked more miserable than she had ever been since she had subscribed to r/asmo.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. The moderator of r/asmo, the great u/AsmodeanUnderscore, had taken sabbaticals before. Maybe it was another leave of absence that was causing her desolate mood. But it couldn't be; he had seen a new post from him just an hour ago!
"It's... the ovarian cancer." Arlen gasped - he had hardly even given it thought after becoming swept up in the majesty of the r/asmo subreddit. He thought it had all been dealt with during the chemotherapy treatments. "It's returned. The doctor says I have at most five hours to live."
"Well," he whispered, hardly daring to speak for fear it might somehow infuriate the cancer and make the situation even worse. "That's five hours we can spend together... on r/asmo."
^^^^^.
(if you're wondering what my subreddit is, fuck you) | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The tall and powerful H2 Hummer set atop the 4 star safety rated Honda Civic. The Dodge Ambulance sat, door open, Home Smart sheet draped over the body. I saw her Guess jeans sticking out from under the covering. Even with the blood, oil, and dirt, they still looked good.
When I sat down on the curb, lost and afraid, I saw a pair of all-leather Corral boots slowly step fashionably towards me. The Wrangler jeans he wore were starched to perfection and looked like they could stand up on their own. They were the type of pants that looked good with or without wear on them. I looked up to meet the eyes of a broad shouldered man in a denim Levi's button up shirt. A Smith and Wesson model 29 6 shot .44 magnum hung from a holster on his belt, a badge on the other side.
"Son, do you know what happened here?" He asked, kneeling down to meet my eyes.
"The truck, I don't I can't understand how. I was waiting to turn left and the light changed. The truck appeared from beside me in a second. They never even slowed down. I can't know how he didn't do what the thing, in the sky, with the color. I can't be side her." The last few sentences falling further apart with each new word. The shock and grief was swelling up in my chest. The reality sinking in as the adrenaline wore off. I was tired. So, so tired. The only thought I could focus on was getting home to my Sealy posturepedic mattress that sat on my queen, Luröy from IKEA. It's unparalleled comfort might embrace me enough to let me sleep off the horror of tonight.
"I'm sorry, son. There's no easy way to deal with this. I might recommend Dr. Edmond Darvis, MD, Ph.D., LCSW. He's currently seeing new patients and has an almost infinite list of positive reviews online. If there's a person who can help you deal with grief, it's that man and his caring compassionate staff." The grizzled old blood police detective said. The look of heartache he wore was a light reflection of my own.
I went to wipe away a tear but noticed blood on the thumb I'd used. Without being asked the detective reached me a pack of Klenex brand soft tissues. It was in an individual pack that would be great to carry on the go or to keep nearby at work or home. As I used the first one on my face it came back so red. As red as the freshly caught lobsters at Jean's Jumpin' Jambalaya and Seafood restaurant. As lat as it was, I think they might have still been open.
I don't remember getting in the detective's 2018 Dodge Ram. Feeling bad about getting blood on his standard feature leather seats. I didn't remember using an Uber, even though they only took a few minutes to arive and were extremely courteous. No, I didn't know anything was wrong until I woke up in an alley and saw the Glock 9mm I had bought from D and H Pawn on Gray Street, during the night.
Pieces formed as I stared at the gun. Pieces fell together like the reasonably priced puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge I'd bought from The Meeting Stone Cards and Games on 9th. The face of a man, fear in his eyes. I could see it even through his Ray Ban sunglasses. My envy for their quality and style was there even during such an intense moment. That fear bled to anger as I placed a bullet in his knee. That anger faded to horror as I placed another in his gut.
The blood that trickled out around him would require a Sham-wow to fully collect.
"Why did you run the light?" I asked in a calm, cool, seething scream.
"I didn't, I didn't see it! I swear!" The man plead.
"Were you on the phone?" I shouted back.
"Nnn, No! No, sir!" He stuttered.
"Let me see! Let me see it right, fucking now!" I demanded.
The man, with shaking hands, reached into his pocket and handed me his phone. Luckily it was a water resistant iPhone 6s. The amount of blood covering it would have destroyed any other phone. I was immediately blocked from viewing its contents by a thumb print scan request. The security on these things were troublesome to a person like me, with nefarious intent.
After a few tries, due to the blood not the phone, he was able to unlock it. I fumbled through his call log.
No calls.
I shifted through his texts.
None sent, none received.
I was ready to believe him when I saw a "Draft" icon beside a message sent to "Becky". I quickly opened the drafts that were wonderfully saved to the phone, in case you needed to finish your reply later. These Apple folks really were Geniuses™.
"I'll be there! Don't let go! I'm coming! I'll be right..." the draft ended abruptly. I looked to see and found that, thankfully, the time code was set to the exact moment of the crash. He was guilty. I knew it now. He took my wife's life because of carelessness and no concern for others. He sped through town like a character from Grand Theft Auto V, which was being remastered to be released later this fall. I let my own guilt wash away with the fading light in his eyes. I stared deeply into his soul and watched it as it left his body. His final words were, "Becky, I'm sorry..." I was satisfied with my deeds, until...
As I was setting the phone down, I noticed the message that the draft had been a reply to.
"I picked up some Pampers: Newborns, I didn't know what else to get. I am so excited but I hope this is easier than I feel like it will be. At least you're there. I know that I can do this because you're going to be with me. Alkasdf THE BABY'S COMING GET HERE!."
Remembering all this, all I could think was, "Oh God! What have I done?" I looked back down at the gun in my hand. I was in the alley again. Tears welling up in my eyes. I wrapped the Gap Peacoat, I had bought on special, around my head. Hopefully, it would diminish the mess I was about to make. I offered no prayers or pleas for forgiveness. I deserved none.
I placed the gun to my head and pu... | It was just past 1am. Arlen sighed as he scrolled through Reddit again. His face lit up as he spotted a new post from his favourite subreddit, r/asmo. He'd remembered subscribing to it a while back because he'd greatly enjoyed r/asmo's responses to Writing Prompts. They'd always been of spectacular quality.
Suddenly, he saw movement reflected in his phone's screen, possible only because he had been using night mode to brows the magnificent r/asmo subreddit. He spun around to confront the intruder, expecting to have to put up a fight.
Thankfully, it was only his wife, returning home late as she did after the night shift. She had been the one who had first recommended the r/asmo subreddit to him - he'd been so happy with the quality content posted there on a regular basis that he had almost proposed there on the spot! But her eyes did not hold the joy she usually displayed - in fact, she looked more miserable than she had ever been since she had subscribed to r/asmo.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. The moderator of r/asmo, the great u/AsmodeanUnderscore, had taken sabbaticals before. Maybe it was another leave of absence that was causing her desolate mood. But it couldn't be; he had seen a new post from him just an hour ago!
"It's... the ovarian cancer." Arlen gasped - he had hardly even given it thought after becoming swept up in the majesty of the r/asmo subreddit. He thought it had all been dealt with during the chemotherapy treatments. "It's returned. The doctor says I have at most five hours to live."
"Well," he whispered, hardly daring to speak for fear it might somehow infuriate the cancer and make the situation even worse. "That's five hours we can spend together... on r/asmo."
^^^^^.
(if you're wondering what my subreddit is, fuck you) | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Sophia looked down at deep red Essie nail polished fingers. It was a nervous habit of hers to pick at her nail polish. But the new and improved top coat formula protected against chipping, so they were still intact after weeks of sitting in this hospital room.
She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find any words. She was trying to block out the incessant mechanical beeping of the heart monitor. If only she had her Bose noise cancelling headphones. They would have completely blocked the sound of her husband's laboured breathing that echoed in her ears.
Stage 4 melanoma. If only Tom had used Banana Boat sunscreen to block out those harmful UV rays. But he had been foolish and now it had spread to his liver, lungs, and kidneys. He had been in a coma for almost a week now, sleeping almost as deeply and the great night's sleep that Zzzzquil provides.
She looked up from her perfectly polished Essie nails when she heard the sound of her doctor's Adidas ComportPlus sneakers walking into the room.
"Mrs. Smith we're here to talk to you about your husband's condition," he said solemly. His voice was soft and practiced. He sounded like a doctor on General Hospital, now on Tuesdays at 6:00pm/5:00pm central.
Sophia nodded. She tried to swallow the nervous lump in her throat but her mouth was dry. She reached for her Aquafina water bottle and took sip. The water entering her empty stomach reminded her that she hadn't really eaten the last few days. She'd been living off of Cliff bars which provided essential nutrients and protein to keep her going.
The doctor looked her in the eye with an look of sad familiarity. This was not the first time he had had to deliver the bad news to a distressed spouse. "Your husband Tom has been unresponsive and unconscious now for a week. We've come to the point where we cannot do anything more to treat him."
The words came like a punch in the stomach. It felt like the incredibly durable Mason & Sons tiled floor had just dropped away, she was in free fall with nothing but darkness below her. "No," she said as a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, her Maybelline waterproof mascara remaining perfectly intact. "He's my everything. There must be something! I will do anything! A clinical trial, a surgery, something! There has got to be some kind of treatment!"
The doctor just shook his head. "We've done everything we can. His heart won't be able to handle the stress much longer. We can do nothing now but control his pain. There isn't much time left. It's time you made peace with this and prepare for the loss. I'm sorry Mrs. Smith."
A sob escaped from Sophia and she covered her face with her hands and cried. Her diamond Kay Jeweler's wedding ring shined in the harsh fluorescent light. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. His job here was done and he did not know to to calm a grieving soon to be widow.
Edit: slight changes to punctuation | It was just past 1am. Arlen sighed as he scrolled through Reddit again. His face lit up as he spotted a new post from his favourite subreddit, r/asmo. He'd remembered subscribing to it a while back because he'd greatly enjoyed r/asmo's responses to Writing Prompts. They'd always been of spectacular quality.
Suddenly, he saw movement reflected in his phone's screen, possible only because he had been using night mode to brows the magnificent r/asmo subreddit. He spun around to confront the intruder, expecting to have to put up a fight.
Thankfully, it was only his wife, returning home late as she did after the night shift. She had been the one who had first recommended the r/asmo subreddit to him - he'd been so happy with the quality content posted there on a regular basis that he had almost proposed there on the spot! But her eyes did not hold the joy she usually displayed - in fact, she looked more miserable than she had ever been since she had subscribed to r/asmo.
"Is something wrong?" he asked. The moderator of r/asmo, the great u/AsmodeanUnderscore, had taken sabbaticals before. Maybe it was another leave of absence that was causing her desolate mood. But it couldn't be; he had seen a new post from him just an hour ago!
"It's... the ovarian cancer." Arlen gasped - he had hardly even given it thought after becoming swept up in the majesty of the r/asmo subreddit. He thought it had all been dealt with during the chemotherapy treatments. "It's returned. The doctor says I have at most five hours to live."
"Well," he whispered, hardly daring to speak for fear it might somehow infuriate the cancer and make the situation even worse. "That's five hours we can spend together... on r/asmo."
^^^^^.
(if you're wondering what my subreddit is, fuck you) | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The 2017 Hyundai Sonata revved its engine; the strangest part about this was that there was no driver. With its nearly flawless features--great fuel economy, spacious trunk, and especially its sleek body--it would have no problem looking really good on camera while trying to outrun a helicopter shooting missiles at it.
Suddenly, the car changed into a large, hip, robotic fighting machine with a slight Korean accent. Hyundai didn't mind too much that the director was being racist, however, because their car was on the screen.
Turning on the BlueLink infotainment system, the 2017 Hyundai Sonata started playing some extremely popular song, doing aerial cartwheels, and firing it's dual mini-guns at the helicopter. What a cool scene. Emotional shots of the human characters yelling silently, random explosions, and large protector-robots jumping in to save the day saturated every moment of this scene. After defeating three of its enemies were defeated, the 2017 Hyundai Sonata--though a bit scuffed--simultaneously drove through a pristine forest in the mountains, a trendy downtown location, and a quaint French or Italian (cultural details are largely unimportant) countryside. The good guys had won--for now...
Wait until the next installment to see if Hyundai and its Sonata will be replaced by Honda or Toyota. The fate of the universe depends on these heroic companies saving the day, even if it means being hated by the people they save... | Ronald McDonald slammed the sturdy Ikea cupboard shut seeing that he was out of his favorite breakfast item: Kellogg's Frosted Flakes. Looking over to his mother's picture, that he had framed on the table professionally at his local Kroger or Fred Meyers for 19.99 and within 2 business days, he resonated with anger. Anger that she had cursed his luck with the name of a burger clown. If Ronald had a burger right now he wouldn't be so hungry.
Driving his new and economic Scion, that he really had gotten for a steal over at his local Scion dealership, to his desk job, Ronald's stomach was calling to him. Why hadn't he remembered to grab his pack of Stride gum in any of 12 flavors?! That surely would have sated his groaning until he made it to his destination. It didn't matter any more. If Ronald didn't make it to work by noon, as he read it on his black and brilliant red inlay MVMT watch, he'd miss the sandwich cart and the opportunity to snag a Jimmy Dean Sausage and Egg muffin. And then it would be all over.
Ronald accidentally had gotten on the highway looking at a billboard advertising frito lay Jalepeno Cheetos. Fuck! Now he'd get be late for the second time this week. Even worse! No cart. Maybe he could deliver Dominos to the building? But then he'd have to buy for everyone, and fuck if he was giving those bastards anything.
Speeding down the highway Ronald got the call from his work. Losing concentration giving his explanations to a boss in a Nordstrom Rack suit, a real business man who didn't respect Ronald or his burger name, Ronald drifted in to oncoming traffic. Spinning, flying, tossing and then falling. If Ronald had upgraded to the new iPhone 7 with hands free car filling speaker calling and texting under his Version unlimited plus plan, as he easily could of for no money down for up to four lines, he might have seen his left tire slip over the line. He might have prevented his Scion, though crash tested 5 stars safety, from colliding with a Semi heading the opposite direction.
Ronald never made it to work (and hey just remember, if you ever feel like you can't make it to work because of a flat tire or a late night Uber always delivers! Quick affordable taxis in every city all hours of the night.) The nuggets on his desk left by his girlfriend were left to go cold. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | Ronald McDonald slammed the sturdy Ikea cupboard shut seeing that he was out of his favorite breakfast item: Kellogg's Frosted Flakes. Looking over to his mother's picture, that he had framed on the table professionally at his local Kroger or Fred Meyers for 19.99 and within 2 business days, he resonated with anger. Anger that she had cursed his luck with the name of a burger clown. If Ronald had a burger right now he wouldn't be so hungry.
Driving his new and economic Scion, that he really had gotten for a steal over at his local Scion dealership, to his desk job, Ronald's stomach was calling to him. Why hadn't he remembered to grab his pack of Stride gum in any of 12 flavors?! That surely would have sated his groaning until he made it to his destination. It didn't matter any more. If Ronald didn't make it to work by noon, as he read it on his black and brilliant red inlay MVMT watch, he'd miss the sandwich cart and the opportunity to snag a Jimmy Dean Sausage and Egg muffin. And then it would be all over.
Ronald accidentally had gotten on the highway looking at a billboard advertising frito lay Jalepeno Cheetos. Fuck! Now he'd get be late for the second time this week. Even worse! No cart. Maybe he could deliver Dominos to the building? But then he'd have to buy for everyone, and fuck if he was giving those bastards anything.
Speeding down the highway Ronald got the call from his work. Losing concentration giving his explanations to a boss in a Nordstrom Rack suit, a real business man who didn't respect Ronald or his burger name, Ronald drifted in to oncoming traffic. Spinning, flying, tossing and then falling. If Ronald had upgraded to the new iPhone 7 with hands free car filling speaker calling and texting under his Version unlimited plus plan, as he easily could of for no money down for up to four lines, he might have seen his left tire slip over the line. He might have prevented his Scion, though crash tested 5 stars safety, from colliding with a Semi heading the opposite direction.
Ronald never made it to work (and hey just remember, if you ever feel like you can't make it to work because of a flat tire or a late night Uber always delivers! Quick affordable taxis in every city all hours of the night.) The nuggets on his desk left by his girlfriend were left to go cold. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The tall and powerful H2 Hummer set atop the 4 star safety rated Honda Civic. The Dodge Ambulance sat, door open, Home Smart sheet draped over the body. I saw her Guess jeans sticking out from under the covering. Even with the blood, oil, and dirt, they still looked good.
When I sat down on the curb, lost and afraid, I saw a pair of all-leather Corral boots slowly step fashionably towards me. The Wrangler jeans he wore were starched to perfection and looked like they could stand up on their own. They were the type of pants that looked good with or without wear on them. I looked up to meet the eyes of a broad shouldered man in a denim Levi's button up shirt. A Smith and Wesson model 29 6 shot .44 magnum hung from a holster on his belt, a badge on the other side.
"Son, do you know what happened here?" He asked, kneeling down to meet my eyes.
"The truck, I don't I can't understand how. I was waiting to turn left and the light changed. The truck appeared from beside me in a second. They never even slowed down. I can't know how he didn't do what the thing, in the sky, with the color. I can't be side her." The last few sentences falling further apart with each new word. The shock and grief was swelling up in my chest. The reality sinking in as the adrenaline wore off. I was tired. So, so tired. The only thought I could focus on was getting home to my Sealy posturepedic mattress that sat on my queen, Luröy from IKEA. It's unparalleled comfort might embrace me enough to let me sleep off the horror of tonight.
"I'm sorry, son. There's no easy way to deal with this. I might recommend Dr. Edmond Darvis, MD, Ph.D., LCSW. He's currently seeing new patients and has an almost infinite list of positive reviews online. If there's a person who can help you deal with grief, it's that man and his caring compassionate staff." The grizzled old blood police detective said. The look of heartache he wore was a light reflection of my own.
I went to wipe away a tear but noticed blood on the thumb I'd used. Without being asked the detective reached me a pack of Klenex brand soft tissues. It was in an individual pack that would be great to carry on the go or to keep nearby at work or home. As I used the first one on my face it came back so red. As red as the freshly caught lobsters at Jean's Jumpin' Jambalaya and Seafood restaurant. As lat as it was, I think they might have still been open.
I don't remember getting in the detective's 2018 Dodge Ram. Feeling bad about getting blood on his standard feature leather seats. I didn't remember using an Uber, even though they only took a few minutes to arive and were extremely courteous. No, I didn't know anything was wrong until I woke up in an alley and saw the Glock 9mm I had bought from D and H Pawn on Gray Street, during the night.
Pieces formed as I stared at the gun. Pieces fell together like the reasonably priced puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge I'd bought from The Meeting Stone Cards and Games on 9th. The face of a man, fear in his eyes. I could see it even through his Ray Ban sunglasses. My envy for their quality and style was there even during such an intense moment. That fear bled to anger as I placed a bullet in his knee. That anger faded to horror as I placed another in his gut.
The blood that trickled out around him would require a Sham-wow to fully collect.
"Why did you run the light?" I asked in a calm, cool, seething scream.
"I didn't, I didn't see it! I swear!" The man plead.
"Were you on the phone?" I shouted back.
"Nnn, No! No, sir!" He stuttered.
"Let me see! Let me see it right, fucking now!" I demanded.
The man, with shaking hands, reached into his pocket and handed me his phone. Luckily it was a water resistant iPhone 6s. The amount of blood covering it would have destroyed any other phone. I was immediately blocked from viewing its contents by a thumb print scan request. The security on these things were troublesome to a person like me, with nefarious intent.
After a few tries, due to the blood not the phone, he was able to unlock it. I fumbled through his call log.
No calls.
I shifted through his texts.
None sent, none received.
I was ready to believe him when I saw a "Draft" icon beside a message sent to "Becky". I quickly opened the drafts that were wonderfully saved to the phone, in case you needed to finish your reply later. These Apple folks really were Geniuses™.
"I'll be there! Don't let go! I'm coming! I'll be right..." the draft ended abruptly. I looked to see and found that, thankfully, the time code was set to the exact moment of the crash. He was guilty. I knew it now. He took my wife's life because of carelessness and no concern for others. He sped through town like a character from Grand Theft Auto V, which was being remastered to be released later this fall. I let my own guilt wash away with the fading light in his eyes. I stared deeply into his soul and watched it as it left his body. His final words were, "Becky, I'm sorry..." I was satisfied with my deeds, until...
As I was setting the phone down, I noticed the message that the draft had been a reply to.
"I picked up some Pampers: Newborns, I didn't know what else to get. I am so excited but I hope this is easier than I feel like it will be. At least you're there. I know that I can do this because you're going to be with me. Alkasdf THE BABY'S COMING GET HERE!."
Remembering all this, all I could think was, "Oh God! What have I done?" I looked back down at the gun in my hand. I was in the alley again. Tears welling up in my eyes. I wrapped the Gap Peacoat, I had bought on special, around my head. Hopefully, it would diminish the mess I was about to make. I offered no prayers or pleas for forgiveness. I deserved none.
I placed the gun to my head and pu... | Ronald McDonald slammed the sturdy Ikea cupboard shut seeing that he was out of his favorite breakfast item: Kellogg's Frosted Flakes. Looking over to his mother's picture, that he had framed on the table professionally at his local Kroger or Fred Meyers for 19.99 and within 2 business days, he resonated with anger. Anger that she had cursed his luck with the name of a burger clown. If Ronald had a burger right now he wouldn't be so hungry.
Driving his new and economic Scion, that he really had gotten for a steal over at his local Scion dealership, to his desk job, Ronald's stomach was calling to him. Why hadn't he remembered to grab his pack of Stride gum in any of 12 flavors?! That surely would have sated his groaning until he made it to his destination. It didn't matter any more. If Ronald didn't make it to work by noon, as he read it on his black and brilliant red inlay MVMT watch, he'd miss the sandwich cart and the opportunity to snag a Jimmy Dean Sausage and Egg muffin. And then it would be all over.
Ronald accidentally had gotten on the highway looking at a billboard advertising frito lay Jalepeno Cheetos. Fuck! Now he'd get be late for the second time this week. Even worse! No cart. Maybe he could deliver Dominos to the building? But then he'd have to buy for everyone, and fuck if he was giving those bastards anything.
Speeding down the highway Ronald got the call from his work. Losing concentration giving his explanations to a boss in a Nordstrom Rack suit, a real business man who didn't respect Ronald or his burger name, Ronald drifted in to oncoming traffic. Spinning, flying, tossing and then falling. If Ronald had upgraded to the new iPhone 7 with hands free car filling speaker calling and texting under his Version unlimited plus plan, as he easily could of for no money down for up to four lines, he might have seen his left tire slip over the line. He might have prevented his Scion, though crash tested 5 stars safety, from colliding with a Semi heading the opposite direction.
Ronald never made it to work (and hey just remember, if you ever feel like you can't make it to work because of a flat tire or a late night Uber always delivers! Quick affordable taxis in every city all hours of the night.) The nuggets on his desk left by his girlfriend were left to go cold. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | "I'm dyin' here Danny, get your old man a Pabst Blue Ribbon"
"Sorry Dad, we're out of Pabst Blue Ribbon."
"How about a Molson Golden then, eh?"
"Sorry Dad, we're out of Molson Golden."
"How about a Budweiser for 'Merica?"
"No, Dad, no Budweiser."
"Well, then, a Miller High Life will do"
"Out of Miller High Life Dad."
"Check the back of the fridge for a Hamm's"
"From the land of the sky blue water? Nope. No Hamms"
"Maybe something crafty, like a Dales Pale Ale?"
"All out of Dale's Pale Ale"
"Something exotic like a Red Stripe?"
"No man, no Red Stripe here"
"Modelo? Dos Equis?"
"no senior, no Modelo or Dos Equis"
"Ok then mate, ow bout a Fosters"
"Cunt. No Fosters"
"Pass me a nice Bass Ale then my kind sir"
"What? The curtains? No Bass Ale"
<scene fades to black>
| |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | Why buy a subscription to ADT home protection? Well let me ask you this...
Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis The Wise? I thought not. It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you. It’s a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so wise he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life… He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying. The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. He became so powerful… the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. Ironic. He could save others from death, but not himself.
Call ADT now for 3-months of free home protection for all new customers! | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | I sat in the tub swirling my refreshing glass of Tropicana Orange Juice, with a clearly perfect addition of Smirnoff brand Vodka. A party in a glass for a party of one.
My eyes flicked to the Old Spice Refresher Sport body wash. Whose pure refreshing scent reminded my wife too much of her ex. Was it really the tipping point for her leaving me?
It was so quiet in my Bachelor studio condo in the Eagle arms condominiums off of 5th and park. I would like to say the silence was due to the state of the art soundproofing but it was probably due to her alienating my friends and family during our turbulent times together leading to my extreme isolation and unending loneliness.
The Life Brand epsom salts relaxed my muscles as my hand grasped the 4 slice Cuisinart toaster with bagel function. The only wedding gift I was allowed to keep after the divorce. I hold it up for closer inspection as the sleek metal surface slips through my soapy hands.
The last thought I have, before the toaster hits the aromatic Body Works bubble bath water, was "oops" | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | I was out for revenge. She left me for that fat millionaire with his Rolex Sea-Dweller and a Lamborghini Murcielago. I was not invited for the wedding at Disneyland but I snuck through anyway. She looked lovely in that Gucci wedding dress, but my laugh was mirthless as I aimed my Diet Coke at her dress and pushed in the Mentos. | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | "WE WANT JUSTICE!"
The crowds roared in the streets below. The city was in chaos. She watched from the window of her apartment complex as waves of protestors flooded across the roads, ignoring streetlights and cars trying to maneuver through the hectic flock. The eyes of screaming individuals caught her attention and brought her outside. Faces of anger, dissatisfaction, and determination made the atmosphere cold and tense.
She watched as the chants stormed by her, in the middle of a photoshoot. She swept her short, blonde hair away from her eyes to focus on the turmoil interrupting her work.
"Join the Conversation!" "PEACE!"
The signs floating above the masses read.
Tear gas had been deployed just recently. People of all ages and appearances cried out in distress, hoping to have their voice heard. The crowd was being blocked by a row of 20 policemen, helmets on and guns out, standing rigid with cold, stern stares towards the deafening crowd.
She caught eye with a handsome young man among the protestors. He gave her a soft smirk, the one that said "it's now or never", and made a slight nodding motion for her to join the rumbling group. She looked back with consideration. A smile crept up on her face as she struck a final pose and pulled her hand up to her bangs and threw back the blonde wig.
Long, lush black hair flowed out from underneath and revealed her true identity. This was it. She felt free. She entered the chaos and swiftly made her way through, sliding past waving signs and the shrieking mob. Her hand reached down just before she reached the front, where the intimidating authorities stood, still unrelenting in their stance. She exited the crowd and walked slowly up to an officer. A large smile on her face, she raised her arm, in hand a can of soda. The officer, confused at first, turned the can to reveal the label.
Pepsi.
He took a sip and smiled.
Live bolder. Live Louder. Live for now.
PEPSI. | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The tall and powerful H2 Hummer set atop the 4 star safety rated Honda Civic. The Dodge Ambulance sat, door open, Home Smart sheet draped over the body. I saw her Guess jeans sticking out from under the covering. Even with the blood, oil, and dirt, they still looked good.
When I sat down on the curb, lost and afraid, I saw a pair of all-leather Corral boots slowly step fashionably towards me. The Wrangler jeans he wore were starched to perfection and looked like they could stand up on their own. They were the type of pants that looked good with or without wear on them. I looked up to meet the eyes of a broad shouldered man in a denim Levi's button up shirt. A Smith and Wesson model 29 6 shot .44 magnum hung from a holster on his belt, a badge on the other side.
"Son, do you know what happened here?" He asked, kneeling down to meet my eyes.
"The truck, I don't I can't understand how. I was waiting to turn left and the light changed. The truck appeared from beside me in a second. They never even slowed down. I can't know how he didn't do what the thing, in the sky, with the color. I can't be side her." The last few sentences falling further apart with each new word. The shock and grief was swelling up in my chest. The reality sinking in as the adrenaline wore off. I was tired. So, so tired. The only thought I could focus on was getting home to my Sealy posturepedic mattress that sat on my queen, Luröy from IKEA. It's unparalleled comfort might embrace me enough to let me sleep off the horror of tonight.
"I'm sorry, son. There's no easy way to deal with this. I might recommend Dr. Edmond Darvis, MD, Ph.D., LCSW. He's currently seeing new patients and has an almost infinite list of positive reviews online. If there's a person who can help you deal with grief, it's that man and his caring compassionate staff." The grizzled old blood police detective said. The look of heartache he wore was a light reflection of my own.
I went to wipe away a tear but noticed blood on the thumb I'd used. Without being asked the detective reached me a pack of Klenex brand soft tissues. It was in an individual pack that would be great to carry on the go or to keep nearby at work or home. As I used the first one on my face it came back so red. As red as the freshly caught lobsters at Jean's Jumpin' Jambalaya and Seafood restaurant. As lat as it was, I think they might have still been open.
I don't remember getting in the detective's 2018 Dodge Ram. Feeling bad about getting blood on his standard feature leather seats. I didn't remember using an Uber, even though they only took a few minutes to arive and were extremely courteous. No, I didn't know anything was wrong until I woke up in an alley and saw the Glock 9mm I had bought from D and H Pawn on Gray Street, during the night.
Pieces formed as I stared at the gun. Pieces fell together like the reasonably priced puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge I'd bought from The Meeting Stone Cards and Games on 9th. The face of a man, fear in his eyes. I could see it even through his Ray Ban sunglasses. My envy for their quality and style was there even during such an intense moment. That fear bled to anger as I placed a bullet in his knee. That anger faded to horror as I placed another in his gut.
The blood that trickled out around him would require a Sham-wow to fully collect.
"Why did you run the light?" I asked in a calm, cool, seething scream.
"I didn't, I didn't see it! I swear!" The man plead.
"Were you on the phone?" I shouted back.
"Nnn, No! No, sir!" He stuttered.
"Let me see! Let me see it right, fucking now!" I demanded.
The man, with shaking hands, reached into his pocket and handed me his phone. Luckily it was a water resistant iPhone 6s. The amount of blood covering it would have destroyed any other phone. I was immediately blocked from viewing its contents by a thumb print scan request. The security on these things were troublesome to a person like me, with nefarious intent.
After a few tries, due to the blood not the phone, he was able to unlock it. I fumbled through his call log.
No calls.
I shifted through his texts.
None sent, none received.
I was ready to believe him when I saw a "Draft" icon beside a message sent to "Becky". I quickly opened the drafts that were wonderfully saved to the phone, in case you needed to finish your reply later. These Apple folks really were Geniuses™.
"I'll be there! Don't let go! I'm coming! I'll be right..." the draft ended abruptly. I looked to see and found that, thankfully, the time code was set to the exact moment of the crash. He was guilty. I knew it now. He took my wife's life because of carelessness and no concern for others. He sped through town like a character from Grand Theft Auto V, which was being remastered to be released later this fall. I let my own guilt wash away with the fading light in his eyes. I stared deeply into his soul and watched it as it left his body. His final words were, "Becky, I'm sorry..." I was satisfied with my deeds, until...
As I was setting the phone down, I noticed the message that the draft had been a reply to.
"I picked up some Pampers: Newborns, I didn't know what else to get. I am so excited but I hope this is easier than I feel like it will be. At least you're there. I know that I can do this because you're going to be with me. Alkasdf THE BABY'S COMING GET HERE!."
Remembering all this, all I could think was, "Oh God! What have I done?" I looked back down at the gun in my hand. I was in the alley again. Tears welling up in my eyes. I wrapped the Gap Peacoat, I had bought on special, around my head. Hopefully, it would diminish the mess I was about to make. I offered no prayers or pleas for forgiveness. I deserved none.
I placed the gun to my head and pu... | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | "Don't...don't leave me..." she wears the most expensive ring bought from the nearby jewellry store. The inscribed name was impossible to miss, and he notices it instantly.
"Why is your ring different?" he questions, then looks at her hand. "Why are you drinking *Coke Light*? You hate Coke to begin with."
"Yeah but...it's too...nice! The fact that I begun to like it after hating it means it's really good!" she stammers out a reply. So far so good. She casually raises her Gucci purse and gave it a few seconds in the limelight before she shoves it back into her pocket. "What did you want to say?" she defiantly asks, the only sign of the pistol in her pocket being the famous logo on its handle.
"You're acting strange. Lately, you've used a whole bunch of new things. You said Victoria's Secret was an evil virus of Satan. And look at you now!" he points at the telltale perfume in her hand as she showed it off. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Change of tastes, that:s all," she shrugs, before taking a gum packet out of her pocket and popping one into her mouth.
"Who's making you do this? Who??" he presses a blade suddenly to her neck, knocking out the pistol she was drawing from her hand. She shook in fear, then points.
"It's...him," she murmurs, pointing towards me. I shrug. They can't hurt a narrator anyways. "Who is he?" he looked at me in anger until I drew my own weapon. A Smith and Wesson.
Bang. Bang. I finished the job for them as I blew the smoke away. Smith and Wesson is the best gun ever, I think as I turn away. Before I leave, I chuck the revolver into the darkness. "Steve, I've advertised your product already," I whispered, "Find me a new actor."
Wait, you heard that? Well, time to use the revolutionary new memory wiper. Made by Shawcroft Machines. Say goodbye.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Sophia looked down at deep red Essie nail polished fingers. It was a nervous habit of hers to pick at her nail polish. But the new and improved top coat formula protected against chipping, so they were still intact after weeks of sitting in this hospital room.
She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find any words. She was trying to block out the incessant mechanical beeping of the heart monitor. If only she had her Bose noise cancelling headphones. They would have completely blocked the sound of her husband's laboured breathing that echoed in her ears.
Stage 4 melanoma. If only Tom had used Banana Boat sunscreen to block out those harmful UV rays. But he had been foolish and now it had spread to his liver, lungs, and kidneys. He had been in a coma for almost a week now, sleeping almost as deeply and the great night's sleep that Zzzzquil provides.
She looked up from her perfectly polished Essie nails when she heard the sound of her doctor's Adidas ComportPlus sneakers walking into the room.
"Mrs. Smith we're here to talk to you about your husband's condition," he said solemly. His voice was soft and practiced. He sounded like a doctor on General Hospital, now on Tuesdays at 6:00pm/5:00pm central.
Sophia nodded. She tried to swallow the nervous lump in her throat but her mouth was dry. She reached for her Aquafina water bottle and took sip. The water entering her empty stomach reminded her that she hadn't really eaten the last few days. She'd been living off of Cliff bars which provided essential nutrients and protein to keep her going.
The doctor looked her in the eye with an look of sad familiarity. This was not the first time he had had to deliver the bad news to a distressed spouse. "Your husband Tom has been unresponsive and unconscious now for a week. We've come to the point where we cannot do anything more to treat him."
The words came like a punch in the stomach. It felt like the incredibly durable Mason & Sons tiled floor had just dropped away, she was in free fall with nothing but darkness below her. "No," she said as a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, her Maybelline waterproof mascara remaining perfectly intact. "He's my everything. There must be something! I will do anything! A clinical trial, a surgery, something! There has got to be some kind of treatment!"
The doctor just shook his head. "We've done everything we can. His heart won't be able to handle the stress much longer. We can do nothing now but control his pain. There isn't much time left. It's time you made peace with this and prepare for the loss. I'm sorry Mrs. Smith."
A sob escaped from Sophia and she covered her face with her hands and cried. Her diamond Kay Jeweler's wedding ring shined in the harsh fluorescent light. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. His job here was done and he did not know to to calm a grieving soon to be widow.
Edit: slight changes to punctuation | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | She's gone.
The two words echoed in his mind as he stumbled into the door. He slammed the door shut and fumbled around in the darkness for the light switch, knocking over two cans of Raid he kept in the corner to repel the roaches that crawl to his sleeping form in the night, mistaking him for the similarly-sized pile of discarded Chef Boyardee and Lean Cuisine containers that took up half the floor space in his studio apartment.
The light flickered on and the man collapsed in the doorway, heaving sobs that wracked his body more than the nausea induced by the alcohol he had an hour earlier. His breath stank of cheap Budweiser and Fireball as he screamed silently, his voice hoarse from crying.
He picked himself up and wobbled to his bathroom. A mess of a man looked back at him from the mirror - tears dripping from red eyes, stinging the parts where he shaved off his beard with a Gillette from the 7-11 down the corner. He washed his face slowly, not bothering to remove the fake Rolex ticking sadly away on his wrist. His Armani suit was stained with red - the remnants of his Italian dinner thrown up on the expensive Italian rental he would never be able to return. The rest of his dinner no doubt was being scrubbed off the backseat of his poor Uber driver's Camry that same moment.
It wasn't supposed to end up like this - he felt the empty box of the Tacori ring in his pocket. He had met her after work, surprising her with his get up, and reservations at an expensive restaurant. He got down on one knee, and she said yes - and he knew this was the happiest day of their lives - sealing the deal with a passionate kiss, one that tasted of both their dinners.
He knew he fucked up - stuck in traffic on the way home, she began to turn red and had trouble breathing. His mind raced back to the seafood spaghetti marinara he had - and the three pieces of shrimp it had.
He dialed 911 on his iPhone 6, knowing that the only Epipen he bought was lying in his bathroom only a few miles away. He floored the gas on his Ford Fiesta, desperately weaving through cars and trucks trying to get to the hospital the operator was directing him to.
She didn't make it.
He opened the Ikea mirror cabinet to see the 500-dollar Epipen sitting worthlessly next to the Sephora compact she left the last time she slept over.
He had planned to live his whole life by her side, so lost as he was, he found himself grasping the handle of a blade. The blade she had used to cook him dinner and breakfast every time she stayed over - the cheap plastic handle in the shade of pink she liked the most. He pressed the knife to his neck, feeling the dull edge of the Dollar Tree blade begin to cut. Two words echoed again in his head - this time:
I'm sorry. | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | I remember the day clearly. A crisp October afternoon. The air felt fresh that day, and you could just smell the opportunity in it. With each inhale, you could feel your lifeblood rejuvenate as the future seemed more clear, more certain, and more fortunate.
I was driving down a winding canyon road, the landscape seamlessly slipping from rough canyon-faced rock to densely wooded forest and back again. Certain parts of California are just like that. Next to me, in the passenger seat, sat my wife Sarah, her curly blond hair whooping about as the breeze gushing through the windows tossed it around like the ribbons on a child's kite. She was only 24 at the time; I myself had reached the ripe-old age of 25. We had been married for nearly three years now--in fact, come to think of it, I think our anniversary would have been that next weekend--and our lives were beginning to shape into something glorious. I had just received a big promotion at work: big enough for us to be able to move out of our musky apartment and into a house more fitting for a family of two. Well, a family of three. Our daughter of only six months nestled in the crook of Sarah's arm beside me, sleeping soundly despite the wind bartering her face.
Jessie had been an accident: we were nowhere near ready to have kids. But for whatever reason, we decided to keep her. To stalwartly push on through trial and tribulation, and secure a happy life for our daughter, albeit a fairly impoverished one. Months before her birth, I received my promotion. Weeks before my wife's water broke, we moved out of our apartment and into our new home. Days before midwives pulled my proudest achievement into this world, we were unpacked, established, and ready to welcome this new family member into our lives.
It seemed like a miracle we had been able to accommodate Jessie's arrival so well. Now I see that it was a curse. A sick cosmic prank meant to inspire hope, and then dash it on the floor, forcing you to watch as your life, love, and purpose fizzled away into nothingness.
I remember looking over at Sarah. My beautiful wife. I remember smiling. I remember her looking at me, designer sunglasses concealing the pleased smirk I was so familiar with. I remember seeing baby Jessie blow a saliva bubble in her sleep. I remember being happy.
Speed is a strange thing. Because you can be going along on your merry way as fast as you possibly can--be it through car, plane, train, or even on foot--and odds are you won't notice a thing. Then suddenly that speed is just SNAP! taken away from you, and you notice that. The sudden stillness of the air. The lurching, heaving feeling in your stomach. The nauseating view of the world abruptly jolting from a comfortable blur to the sharp focus of reality. Ask a car crash survivor, a skydiver, or a cripple: the feeling never really leaves you. The feeling that you're stopped, and you should be MOVING, but you can't and probably never will again. There's an innate, almost insane urge, to get back in the car and finish the journey, or jump out of the plane again and this time hit the ground, or to miraculously stand and walk again. No matter how irrational the urge, we want to finish our trip. We want to carry that speed to its destination.
I awoke on the ground, stunned. There was broken glass all around me, as well as shards of twisted metal, and flames kicked the asphalt where leaking gasoline had met with an unlucky spark. My chest felt wet: I touched my hand to my shirt and it came away sticky. I wiped my brow, but it, too, was sticky. I was covered in some sticky, liquid substance. It coated my body. Only later would I realize what it was.
Whipping my head around, I caught sight of my car; or at least, what was left of my car. The 2005 Buick Century listed on its side, crumpled like a sofa can, three of the four wheels missing, with every window broken. The once-black paint had a single streak of red trailing across the front hood.
I followed the trail, and found Sarah lying in a Halo of broken glass, cradling Jessie's still body in her lifeless arms. Neither of us had been wearing our seat belts: we both must have been flung from the car upon impact with--
I spun around yet again. The truck. The large, blue semi-truck that had barreled around a blind bend in the road, slamming into us as I tried to swerve and bring our vehicle to the sickening, crunching stop where it now rested. Bringing my wife and daughter to the mangled and twisted stop where they now rested.
I took a shaky step towards the wreckage of the truck. My socks squished faintly. I looked down to see a small river of bubbly brown liquid pooling in the road. The remnants of the truck's shipment. I stated blankly at the carbonated puddle, trying to find a name for the anomaly before me, when I suddenly recognized the logo in the side of the smoldering truck's container. Two swirls, one red and one blue, met each other at a curved white line to form a circle.
Pepsi.
I was standing ankle-deep in Pepsi.
My car had crashed headfirst into Pepsi.
My wife and child were lying cold and dead in a lake of Pepsi.
I don't remember much after that. Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital bed, cleaned and purged of America's favorite blended Cola, wires weaving around my arms and into my veins to provide the quenching relief that I so desperately needed. My head spun, but nursed provided me with an assortment of pills and medicines which cleared my thoughts quicker than the refreshing crackle of carbonation on the back of your throaty. Soon enough, I felt as good as I ever had, recovering from my injuries like Kendall Jenner recovering from a bad PR moment. My wounds healed an my insurance cleared, I felt fresher than a can of Pepsi pulled straight from the fridge on a hot summer's day.
As I sit here, Pepsi in hand, I'm reminded of my wife and child, and how much I dearly miss them. But there are some wounds that I guess Pepsi CAN heal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pepsi would like to remind all customers to never drive distracted, and to never drink and drive--unless it's Pepsi, of course!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After a considerable number of lash-outs from target audiences, Pepsi wishes to apologize for the 'insensitive' and 'inappropriate' content of our advertisement. But hey, it's not nearly as bad as that race-war stunt we pulled. | The students of Blackwood High School would never forget that day. Even those who hadn't seen it happen could still witness the horrific aftermath. The dark red smear from the bright wipe stripes of the pedestrian crossing to a spot forty meters down the road. Even without seeing the body, it wouldn't take much imagination as to what a human body, having been ground across such a distance of asphalt from a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour to a stop would look like. A bloody mass of flesh and bone, with skin trailing down the road, that had once been the school's star football player. The look in Derek's eyes, as if he knew that his mistake would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The advertisement said the new Ford GT could go from 0 to a hundred in seconds. The advertisement was correct. And only for the low price of $70 000, at your local Ford dealership. Now with a 5 star safety rating. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | It was a bitter cold day, on the Alaskan winter, the kind of morning that makes you long for a fresh hot cup of Folgers coffee. Niki waited for a call from the hospital, waiting for some word as to whether or not her husband would be alright. She glanced at her iPhone 7s 128 gig cellphone, quickly remembering how she'd gotten a fantastic deal of on it, with a 3 year contract from AT&T, but quickly remembered her dying husband in the hospital.
Only yesterday, they were enjoying unlimited bread sticks at the Olive Garden, with no way of knowing that that might have been the last time she saw her love alive. Thoughts raced through her mind, why didn't she call him more, she had an unlimited phone plan for only $70 a month for each line, she could have texted him, too as unlimited texts were included in the plan. She could have taken some Polaroids of the day, if only she'd thought to use her now "retro Polaroid camera", which actually took fantastic pictures on the spot.
But no, she did none of those things, and now she was paying for it with an almost certain catastrophe. "Why didn't we buy a new car?" She wondered aloud. Only last week, she'd seen an add for an all new 2017 Honda Accord, with state of the art safety features that would have certainly saved her husband's life. 0 percent financing for 3 years, and no money down at her local dealership, why the hell didn't she do something sooner?
None of that mattered now, it was too late. Her iPhone 7s rang, that familiar cheery tune that we all know and love. She answered, and moments later, her face covered in tears, she lay the phone down with acceptance and realization at what she had lost. He was gone, her love, her life, he was gone. Thankfully, he had All-State life insurance and she knew she'd be in good hands for the rest of her life, but that was only partially comforting when she considered a life without her man. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | "WE WANT JUSTICE!"
The crowds roared in the streets below. The city was in chaos. She watched from the window of her apartment complex as waves of protestors flooded across the roads, ignoring streetlights and cars trying to maneuver through the hectic flock. The eyes of screaming individuals caught her attention and brought her outside. Faces of anger, dissatisfaction, and determination made the atmosphere cold and tense.
She watched as the chants stormed by her, in the middle of a photoshoot. She swept her short, blonde hair away from her eyes to focus on the turmoil interrupting her work.
"Join the Conversation!" "PEACE!"
The signs floating above the masses read.
Tear gas had been deployed just recently. People of all ages and appearances cried out in distress, hoping to have their voice heard. The crowd was being blocked by a row of 20 policemen, helmets on and guns out, standing rigid with cold, stern stares towards the deafening crowd.
She caught eye with a handsome young man among the protestors. He gave her a soft smirk, the one that said "it's now or never", and made a slight nodding motion for her to join the rumbling group. She looked back with consideration. A smile crept up on her face as she struck a final pose and pulled her hand up to her bangs and threw back the blonde wig.
Long, lush black hair flowed out from underneath and revealed her true identity. This was it. She felt free. She entered the chaos and swiftly made her way through, sliding past waving signs and the shrieking mob. Her hand reached down just before she reached the front, where the intimidating authorities stood, still unrelenting in their stance. She exited the crowd and walked slowly up to an officer. A large smile on her face, she raised her arm, in hand a can of soda. The officer, confused at first, turned the can to reveal the label.
Pepsi.
He took a sip and smiled.
Live bolder. Live Louder. Live for now.
PEPSI. | It was a bitter cold day, on the Alaskan winter, the kind of morning that makes you long for a fresh hot cup of Folgers coffee. Niki waited for a call from the hospital, waiting for some word as to whether or not her husband would be alright. She glanced at her iPhone 7s 128 gig cellphone, quickly remembering how she'd gotten a fantastic deal of on it, with a 3 year contract from AT&T, but quickly remembered her dying husband in the hospital.
Only yesterday, they were enjoying unlimited bread sticks at the Olive Garden, with no way of knowing that that might have been the last time she saw her love alive. Thoughts raced through her mind, why didn't she call him more, she had an unlimited phone plan for only $70 a month for each line, she could have texted him, too as unlimited texts were included in the plan. She could have taken some Polaroids of the day, if only she'd thought to use her now "retro Polaroid camera", which actually took fantastic pictures on the spot.
But no, she did none of those things, and now she was paying for it with an almost certain catastrophe. "Why didn't we buy a new car?" She wondered aloud. Only last week, she'd seen an add for an all new 2017 Honda Accord, with state of the art safety features that would have certainly saved her husband's life. 0 percent financing for 3 years, and no money down at her local dealership, why the hell didn't she do something sooner?
None of that mattered now, it was too late. Her iPhone 7s rang, that familiar cheery tune that we all know and love. She answered, and moments later, her face covered in tears, she lay the phone down with acceptance and realization at what she had lost. He was gone, her love, her life, he was gone. Thankfully, he had All-State life insurance and she knew she'd be in good hands for the rest of her life, but that was only partially comforting when she considered a life without her man. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The tall and powerful H2 Hummer set atop the 4 star safety rated Honda Civic. The Dodge Ambulance sat, door open, Home Smart sheet draped over the body. I saw her Guess jeans sticking out from under the covering. Even with the blood, oil, and dirt, they still looked good.
When I sat down on the curb, lost and afraid, I saw a pair of all-leather Corral boots slowly step fashionably towards me. The Wrangler jeans he wore were starched to perfection and looked like they could stand up on their own. They were the type of pants that looked good with or without wear on them. I looked up to meet the eyes of a broad shouldered man in a denim Levi's button up shirt. A Smith and Wesson model 29 6 shot .44 magnum hung from a holster on his belt, a badge on the other side.
"Son, do you know what happened here?" He asked, kneeling down to meet my eyes.
"The truck, I don't I can't understand how. I was waiting to turn left and the light changed. The truck appeared from beside me in a second. They never even slowed down. I can't know how he didn't do what the thing, in the sky, with the color. I can't be side her." The last few sentences falling further apart with each new word. The shock and grief was swelling up in my chest. The reality sinking in as the adrenaline wore off. I was tired. So, so tired. The only thought I could focus on was getting home to my Sealy posturepedic mattress that sat on my queen, Luröy from IKEA. It's unparalleled comfort might embrace me enough to let me sleep off the horror of tonight.
"I'm sorry, son. There's no easy way to deal with this. I might recommend Dr. Edmond Darvis, MD, Ph.D., LCSW. He's currently seeing new patients and has an almost infinite list of positive reviews online. If there's a person who can help you deal with grief, it's that man and his caring compassionate staff." The grizzled old blood police detective said. The look of heartache he wore was a light reflection of my own.
I went to wipe away a tear but noticed blood on the thumb I'd used. Without being asked the detective reached me a pack of Klenex brand soft tissues. It was in an individual pack that would be great to carry on the go or to keep nearby at work or home. As I used the first one on my face it came back so red. As red as the freshly caught lobsters at Jean's Jumpin' Jambalaya and Seafood restaurant. As lat as it was, I think they might have still been open.
I don't remember getting in the detective's 2018 Dodge Ram. Feeling bad about getting blood on his standard feature leather seats. I didn't remember using an Uber, even though they only took a few minutes to arive and were extremely courteous. No, I didn't know anything was wrong until I woke up in an alley and saw the Glock 9mm I had bought from D and H Pawn on Gray Street, during the night.
Pieces formed as I stared at the gun. Pieces fell together like the reasonably priced puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge I'd bought from The Meeting Stone Cards and Games on 9th. The face of a man, fear in his eyes. I could see it even through his Ray Ban sunglasses. My envy for their quality and style was there even during such an intense moment. That fear bled to anger as I placed a bullet in his knee. That anger faded to horror as I placed another in his gut.
The blood that trickled out around him would require a Sham-wow to fully collect.
"Why did you run the light?" I asked in a calm, cool, seething scream.
"I didn't, I didn't see it! I swear!" The man plead.
"Were you on the phone?" I shouted back.
"Nnn, No! No, sir!" He stuttered.
"Let me see! Let me see it right, fucking now!" I demanded.
The man, with shaking hands, reached into his pocket and handed me his phone. Luckily it was a water resistant iPhone 6s. The amount of blood covering it would have destroyed any other phone. I was immediately blocked from viewing its contents by a thumb print scan request. The security on these things were troublesome to a person like me, with nefarious intent.
After a few tries, due to the blood not the phone, he was able to unlock it. I fumbled through his call log.
No calls.
I shifted through his texts.
None sent, none received.
I was ready to believe him when I saw a "Draft" icon beside a message sent to "Becky". I quickly opened the drafts that were wonderfully saved to the phone, in case you needed to finish your reply later. These Apple folks really were Geniuses™.
"I'll be there! Don't let go! I'm coming! I'll be right..." the draft ended abruptly. I looked to see and found that, thankfully, the time code was set to the exact moment of the crash. He was guilty. I knew it now. He took my wife's life because of carelessness and no concern for others. He sped through town like a character from Grand Theft Auto V, which was being remastered to be released later this fall. I let my own guilt wash away with the fading light in his eyes. I stared deeply into his soul and watched it as it left his body. His final words were, "Becky, I'm sorry..." I was satisfied with my deeds, until...
As I was setting the phone down, I noticed the message that the draft had been a reply to.
"I picked up some Pampers: Newborns, I didn't know what else to get. I am so excited but I hope this is easier than I feel like it will be. At least you're there. I know that I can do this because you're going to be with me. Alkasdf THE BABY'S COMING GET HERE!."
Remembering all this, all I could think was, "Oh God! What have I done?" I looked back down at the gun in my hand. I was in the alley again. Tears welling up in my eyes. I wrapped the Gap Peacoat, I had bought on special, around my head. Hopefully, it would diminish the mess I was about to make. I offered no prayers or pleas for forgiveness. I deserved none.
I placed the gun to my head and pu... | It was a bitter cold day, on the Alaskan winter, the kind of morning that makes you long for a fresh hot cup of Folgers coffee. Niki waited for a call from the hospital, waiting for some word as to whether or not her husband would be alright. She glanced at her iPhone 7s 128 gig cellphone, quickly remembering how she'd gotten a fantastic deal of on it, with a 3 year contract from AT&T, but quickly remembered her dying husband in the hospital.
Only yesterday, they were enjoying unlimited bread sticks at the Olive Garden, with no way of knowing that that might have been the last time she saw her love alive. Thoughts raced through her mind, why didn't she call him more, she had an unlimited phone plan for only $70 a month for each line, she could have texted him, too as unlimited texts were included in the plan. She could have taken some Polaroids of the day, if only she'd thought to use her now "retro Polaroid camera", which actually took fantastic pictures on the spot.
But no, she did none of those things, and now she was paying for it with an almost certain catastrophe. "Why didn't we buy a new car?" She wondered aloud. Only last week, she'd seen an add for an all new 2017 Honda Accord, with state of the art safety features that would have certainly saved her husband's life. 0 percent financing for 3 years, and no money down at her local dealership, why the hell didn't she do something sooner?
None of that mattered now, it was too late. Her iPhone 7s rang, that familiar cheery tune that we all know and love. She answered, and moments later, her face covered in tears, she lay the phone down with acceptance and realization at what she had lost. He was gone, her love, her life, he was gone. Thankfully, he had All-State life insurance and she knew she'd be in good hands for the rest of her life, but that was only partially comforting when she considered a life without her man. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Sophia looked down at deep red Essie nail polished fingers. It was a nervous habit of hers to pick at her nail polish. But the new and improved top coat formula protected against chipping, so they were still intact after weeks of sitting in this hospital room.
She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find any words. She was trying to block out the incessant mechanical beeping of the heart monitor. If only she had her Bose noise cancelling headphones. They would have completely blocked the sound of her husband's laboured breathing that echoed in her ears.
Stage 4 melanoma. If only Tom had used Banana Boat sunscreen to block out those harmful UV rays. But he had been foolish and now it had spread to his liver, lungs, and kidneys. He had been in a coma for almost a week now, sleeping almost as deeply and the great night's sleep that Zzzzquil provides.
She looked up from her perfectly polished Essie nails when she heard the sound of her doctor's Adidas ComportPlus sneakers walking into the room.
"Mrs. Smith we're here to talk to you about your husband's condition," he said solemly. His voice was soft and practiced. He sounded like a doctor on General Hospital, now on Tuesdays at 6:00pm/5:00pm central.
Sophia nodded. She tried to swallow the nervous lump in her throat but her mouth was dry. She reached for her Aquafina water bottle and took sip. The water entering her empty stomach reminded her that she hadn't really eaten the last few days. She'd been living off of Cliff bars which provided essential nutrients and protein to keep her going.
The doctor looked her in the eye with an look of sad familiarity. This was not the first time he had had to deliver the bad news to a distressed spouse. "Your husband Tom has been unresponsive and unconscious now for a week. We've come to the point where we cannot do anything more to treat him."
The words came like a punch in the stomach. It felt like the incredibly durable Mason & Sons tiled floor had just dropped away, she was in free fall with nothing but darkness below her. "No," she said as a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, her Maybelline waterproof mascara remaining perfectly intact. "He's my everything. There must be something! I will do anything! A clinical trial, a surgery, something! There has got to be some kind of treatment!"
The doctor just shook his head. "We've done everything we can. His heart won't be able to handle the stress much longer. We can do nothing now but control his pain. There isn't much time left. It's time you made peace with this and prepare for the loss. I'm sorry Mrs. Smith."
A sob escaped from Sophia and she covered her face with her hands and cried. Her diamond Kay Jeweler's wedding ring shined in the harsh fluorescent light. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. His job here was done and he did not know to to calm a grieving soon to be widow.
Edit: slight changes to punctuation | It was a bitter cold day, on the Alaskan winter, the kind of morning that makes you long for a fresh hot cup of Folgers coffee. Niki waited for a call from the hospital, waiting for some word as to whether or not her husband would be alright. She glanced at her iPhone 7s 128 gig cellphone, quickly remembering how she'd gotten a fantastic deal of on it, with a 3 year contract from AT&T, but quickly remembered her dying husband in the hospital.
Only yesterday, they were enjoying unlimited bread sticks at the Olive Garden, with no way of knowing that that might have been the last time she saw her love alive. Thoughts raced through her mind, why didn't she call him more, she had an unlimited phone plan for only $70 a month for each line, she could have texted him, too as unlimited texts were included in the plan. She could have taken some Polaroids of the day, if only she'd thought to use her now "retro Polaroid camera", which actually took fantastic pictures on the spot.
But no, she did none of those things, and now she was paying for it with an almost certain catastrophe. "Why didn't we buy a new car?" She wondered aloud. Only last week, she'd seen an add for an all new 2017 Honda Accord, with state of the art safety features that would have certainly saved her husband's life. 0 percent financing for 3 years, and no money down at her local dealership, why the hell didn't she do something sooner?
None of that mattered now, it was too late. Her iPhone 7s rang, that familiar cheery tune that we all know and love. She answered, and moments later, her face covered in tears, she lay the phone down with acceptance and realization at what she had lost. He was gone, her love, her life, he was gone. Thankfully, he had All-State life insurance and she knew she'd be in good hands for the rest of her life, but that was only partially comforting when she considered a life without her man. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Self-driving car AI is getting better every day, but it's unlikely the engineers at Uber made any attempt to use that AI -- powered by the NVidia DGX-1 -- to create a sense of guilt, or responsibility, or even the ability to make moral choices.
Instead, the car focused on its mission, protecting its customers.
As the young mother, perusing the crystal clear 20MP photos in the gallery on her LG-V20 smartphone, stepped off the curb on 24th street in Noe Valley, the approaching Uber self-driving vehicle was obscured from her view by a vente Starbucks cup she'd been quite proud to discovered could be nestled into the Baby Bjorn baby carrier next to her sleeping two-week old daughter.
Horrified bystanders -- many just leaving Whole Foods with healthy, organic produce -- saw the car approaching but were powerless to intervene.
Instead, the car, its AWS cloud-powered AI systems working furiously, made a series of calculation about the best outcome. With a horrifying screech of tires that would rip most tires off the rims, but not the Michelin G-Stars installed on the car, the Uber Self-Driving Car stopped in the most effective way possible, impacting a light pole. Its two elderly occupants were killed instantly.
But the young mother, clearly identifiable to Uber's AI systems through the always on pinging of her own Uber app was safe.
And so was the estimated $68,000 Lifetime Far Value (LFV) she and her daughter represented to Uber. The elderly couple, in contrast represented merely a few hundred dollars in potential LFV based on the high quality actuarial data Uber rents from Berkshire Life of Pittsfield, MA.
The AI had done its job and protected its most important asset. **Uber: We're counting on you!** | The 2017 Hyundai Sonata revved its engine; the strangest part about this was that there was no driver. With its nearly flawless features--great fuel economy, spacious trunk, and especially its sleek body--it would have no problem looking really good on camera while trying to outrun a helicopter shooting missiles at it.
Suddenly, the car changed into a large, hip, robotic fighting machine with a slight Korean accent. Hyundai didn't mind too much that the director was being racist, however, because their car was on the screen.
Turning on the BlueLink infotainment system, the 2017 Hyundai Sonata started playing some extremely popular song, doing aerial cartwheels, and firing it's dual mini-guns at the helicopter. What a cool scene. Emotional shots of the human characters yelling silently, random explosions, and large protector-robots jumping in to save the day saturated every moment of this scene. After defeating three of its enemies were defeated, the 2017 Hyundai Sonata--though a bit scuffed--simultaneously drove through a pristine forest in the mountains, a trendy downtown location, and a quaint French or Italian (cultural details are largely unimportant) countryside. The good guys had won--for now...
Wait until the next installment to see if Hyundai and its Sonata will be replaced by Honda or Toyota. The fate of the universe depends on these heroic companies saving the day, even if it means being hated by the people they save... | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | "WE WANT JUSTICE!"
The crowds roared in the streets below. The city was in chaos. She watched from the window of her apartment complex as waves of protestors flooded across the roads, ignoring streetlights and cars trying to maneuver through the hectic flock. The eyes of screaming individuals caught her attention and brought her outside. Faces of anger, dissatisfaction, and determination made the atmosphere cold and tense.
She watched as the chants stormed by her, in the middle of a photoshoot. She swept her short, blonde hair away from her eyes to focus on the turmoil interrupting her work.
"Join the Conversation!" "PEACE!"
The signs floating above the masses read.
Tear gas had been deployed just recently. People of all ages and appearances cried out in distress, hoping to have their voice heard. The crowd was being blocked by a row of 20 policemen, helmets on and guns out, standing rigid with cold, stern stares towards the deafening crowd.
She caught eye with a handsome young man among the protestors. He gave her a soft smirk, the one that said "it's now or never", and made a slight nodding motion for her to join the rumbling group. She looked back with consideration. A smile crept up on her face as she struck a final pose and pulled her hand up to her bangs and threw back the blonde wig.
Long, lush black hair flowed out from underneath and revealed her true identity. This was it. She felt free. She entered the chaos and swiftly made her way through, sliding past waving signs and the shrieking mob. Her hand reached down just before she reached the front, where the intimidating authorities stood, still unrelenting in their stance. She exited the crowd and walked slowly up to an officer. A large smile on her face, she raised her arm, in hand a can of soda. The officer, confused at first, turned the can to reveal the label.
Pepsi.
He took a sip and smiled.
Live bolder. Live Louder. Live for now.
PEPSI. | I was out for revenge. She left me for that fat millionaire with his Rolex Sea-Dweller and a Lamborghini Murcielago. I was not invited for the wedding at Disneyland but I snuck through anyway. She looked lovely in that Gucci wedding dress, but my laugh was mirthless as I aimed my Diet Coke at her dress and pushed in the Mentos. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The tall and powerful H2 Hummer set atop the 4 star safety rated Honda Civic. The Dodge Ambulance sat, door open, Home Smart sheet draped over the body. I saw her Guess jeans sticking out from under the covering. Even with the blood, oil, and dirt, they still looked good.
When I sat down on the curb, lost and afraid, I saw a pair of all-leather Corral boots slowly step fashionably towards me. The Wrangler jeans he wore were starched to perfection and looked like they could stand up on their own. They were the type of pants that looked good with or without wear on them. I looked up to meet the eyes of a broad shouldered man in a denim Levi's button up shirt. A Smith and Wesson model 29 6 shot .44 magnum hung from a holster on his belt, a badge on the other side.
"Son, do you know what happened here?" He asked, kneeling down to meet my eyes.
"The truck, I don't I can't understand how. I was waiting to turn left and the light changed. The truck appeared from beside me in a second. They never even slowed down. I can't know how he didn't do what the thing, in the sky, with the color. I can't be side her." The last few sentences falling further apart with each new word. The shock and grief was swelling up in my chest. The reality sinking in as the adrenaline wore off. I was tired. So, so tired. The only thought I could focus on was getting home to my Sealy posturepedic mattress that sat on my queen, Luröy from IKEA. It's unparalleled comfort might embrace me enough to let me sleep off the horror of tonight.
"I'm sorry, son. There's no easy way to deal with this. I might recommend Dr. Edmond Darvis, MD, Ph.D., LCSW. He's currently seeing new patients and has an almost infinite list of positive reviews online. If there's a person who can help you deal with grief, it's that man and his caring compassionate staff." The grizzled old blood police detective said. The look of heartache he wore was a light reflection of my own.
I went to wipe away a tear but noticed blood on the thumb I'd used. Without being asked the detective reached me a pack of Klenex brand soft tissues. It was in an individual pack that would be great to carry on the go or to keep nearby at work or home. As I used the first one on my face it came back so red. As red as the freshly caught lobsters at Jean's Jumpin' Jambalaya and Seafood restaurant. As lat as it was, I think they might have still been open.
I don't remember getting in the detective's 2018 Dodge Ram. Feeling bad about getting blood on his standard feature leather seats. I didn't remember using an Uber, even though they only took a few minutes to arive and were extremely courteous. No, I didn't know anything was wrong until I woke up in an alley and saw the Glock 9mm I had bought from D and H Pawn on Gray Street, during the night.
Pieces formed as I stared at the gun. Pieces fell together like the reasonably priced puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge I'd bought from The Meeting Stone Cards and Games on 9th. The face of a man, fear in his eyes. I could see it even through his Ray Ban sunglasses. My envy for their quality and style was there even during such an intense moment. That fear bled to anger as I placed a bullet in his knee. That anger faded to horror as I placed another in his gut.
The blood that trickled out around him would require a Sham-wow to fully collect.
"Why did you run the light?" I asked in a calm, cool, seething scream.
"I didn't, I didn't see it! I swear!" The man plead.
"Were you on the phone?" I shouted back.
"Nnn, No! No, sir!" He stuttered.
"Let me see! Let me see it right, fucking now!" I demanded.
The man, with shaking hands, reached into his pocket and handed me his phone. Luckily it was a water resistant iPhone 6s. The amount of blood covering it would have destroyed any other phone. I was immediately blocked from viewing its contents by a thumb print scan request. The security on these things were troublesome to a person like me, with nefarious intent.
After a few tries, due to the blood not the phone, he was able to unlock it. I fumbled through his call log.
No calls.
I shifted through his texts.
None sent, none received.
I was ready to believe him when I saw a "Draft" icon beside a message sent to "Becky". I quickly opened the drafts that were wonderfully saved to the phone, in case you needed to finish your reply later. These Apple folks really were Geniuses™.
"I'll be there! Don't let go! I'm coming! I'll be right..." the draft ended abruptly. I looked to see and found that, thankfully, the time code was set to the exact moment of the crash. He was guilty. I knew it now. He took my wife's life because of carelessness and no concern for others. He sped through town like a character from Grand Theft Auto V, which was being remastered to be released later this fall. I let my own guilt wash away with the fading light in his eyes. I stared deeply into his soul and watched it as it left his body. His final words were, "Becky, I'm sorry..." I was satisfied with my deeds, until...
As I was setting the phone down, I noticed the message that the draft had been a reply to.
"I picked up some Pampers: Newborns, I didn't know what else to get. I am so excited but I hope this is easier than I feel like it will be. At least you're there. I know that I can do this because you're going to be with me. Alkasdf THE BABY'S COMING GET HERE!."
Remembering all this, all I could think was, "Oh God! What have I done?" I looked back down at the gun in my hand. I was in the alley again. Tears welling up in my eyes. I wrapped the Gap Peacoat, I had bought on special, around my head. Hopefully, it would diminish the mess I was about to make. I offered no prayers or pleas for forgiveness. I deserved none.
I placed the gun to my head and pu... | I was out for revenge. She left me for that fat millionaire with his Rolex Sea-Dweller and a Lamborghini Murcielago. I was not invited for the wedding at Disneyland but I snuck through anyway. She looked lovely in that Gucci wedding dress, but my laugh was mirthless as I aimed my Diet Coke at her dress and pushed in the Mentos. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Sophia looked down at deep red Essie nail polished fingers. It was a nervous habit of hers to pick at her nail polish. But the new and improved top coat formula protected against chipping, so they were still intact after weeks of sitting in this hospital room.
She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find any words. She was trying to block out the incessant mechanical beeping of the heart monitor. If only she had her Bose noise cancelling headphones. They would have completely blocked the sound of her husband's laboured breathing that echoed in her ears.
Stage 4 melanoma. If only Tom had used Banana Boat sunscreen to block out those harmful UV rays. But he had been foolish and now it had spread to his liver, lungs, and kidneys. He had been in a coma for almost a week now, sleeping almost as deeply and the great night's sleep that Zzzzquil provides.
She looked up from her perfectly polished Essie nails when she heard the sound of her doctor's Adidas ComportPlus sneakers walking into the room.
"Mrs. Smith we're here to talk to you about your husband's condition," he said solemly. His voice was soft and practiced. He sounded like a doctor on General Hospital, now on Tuesdays at 6:00pm/5:00pm central.
Sophia nodded. She tried to swallow the nervous lump in her throat but her mouth was dry. She reached for her Aquafina water bottle and took sip. The water entering her empty stomach reminded her that she hadn't really eaten the last few days. She'd been living off of Cliff bars which provided essential nutrients and protein to keep her going.
The doctor looked her in the eye with an look of sad familiarity. This was not the first time he had had to deliver the bad news to a distressed spouse. "Your husband Tom has been unresponsive and unconscious now for a week. We've come to the point where we cannot do anything more to treat him."
The words came like a punch in the stomach. It felt like the incredibly durable Mason & Sons tiled floor had just dropped away, she was in free fall with nothing but darkness below her. "No," she said as a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, her Maybelline waterproof mascara remaining perfectly intact. "He's my everything. There must be something! I will do anything! A clinical trial, a surgery, something! There has got to be some kind of treatment!"
The doctor just shook his head. "We've done everything we can. His heart won't be able to handle the stress much longer. We can do nothing now but control his pain. There isn't much time left. It's time you made peace with this and prepare for the loss. I'm sorry Mrs. Smith."
A sob escaped from Sophia and she covered her face with her hands and cried. Her diamond Kay Jeweler's wedding ring shined in the harsh fluorescent light. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. His job here was done and he did not know to to calm a grieving soon to be widow.
Edit: slight changes to punctuation | I was out for revenge. She left me for that fat millionaire with his Rolex Sea-Dweller and a Lamborghini Murcielago. I was not invited for the wedding at Disneyland but I snuck through anyway. She looked lovely in that Gucci wedding dress, but my laugh was mirthless as I aimed my Diet Coke at her dress and pushed in the Mentos. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | Sophia looked down at deep red Essie nail polished fingers. It was a nervous habit of hers to pick at her nail polish. But the new and improved top coat formula protected against chipping, so they were still intact after weeks of sitting in this hospital room.
She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find any words. She was trying to block out the incessant mechanical beeping of the heart monitor. If only she had her Bose noise cancelling headphones. They would have completely blocked the sound of her husband's laboured breathing that echoed in her ears.
Stage 4 melanoma. If only Tom had used Banana Boat sunscreen to block out those harmful UV rays. But he had been foolish and now it had spread to his liver, lungs, and kidneys. He had been in a coma for almost a week now, sleeping almost as deeply and the great night's sleep that Zzzzquil provides.
She looked up from her perfectly polished Essie nails when she heard the sound of her doctor's Adidas ComportPlus sneakers walking into the room.
"Mrs. Smith we're here to talk to you about your husband's condition," he said solemly. His voice was soft and practiced. He sounded like a doctor on General Hospital, now on Tuesdays at 6:00pm/5:00pm central.
Sophia nodded. She tried to swallow the nervous lump in her throat but her mouth was dry. She reached for her Aquafina water bottle and took sip. The water entering her empty stomach reminded her that she hadn't really eaten the last few days. She'd been living off of Cliff bars which provided essential nutrients and protein to keep her going.
The doctor looked her in the eye with an look of sad familiarity. This was not the first time he had had to deliver the bad news to a distressed spouse. "Your husband Tom has been unresponsive and unconscious now for a week. We've come to the point where we cannot do anything more to treat him."
The words came like a punch in the stomach. It felt like the incredibly durable Mason & Sons tiled floor had just dropped away, she was in free fall with nothing but darkness below her. "No," she said as a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, her Maybelline waterproof mascara remaining perfectly intact. "He's my everything. There must be something! I will do anything! A clinical trial, a surgery, something! There has got to be some kind of treatment!"
The doctor just shook his head. "We've done everything we can. His heart won't be able to handle the stress much longer. We can do nothing now but control his pain. There isn't much time left. It's time you made peace with this and prepare for the loss. I'm sorry Mrs. Smith."
A sob escaped from Sophia and she covered her face with her hands and cried. Her diamond Kay Jeweler's wedding ring shined in the harsh fluorescent light. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. His job here was done and he did not know to to calm a grieving soon to be widow.
Edit: slight changes to punctuation | "Don't...don't leave me..." she wears the most expensive ring bought from the nearby jewellry store. The inscribed name was impossible to miss, and he notices it instantly.
"Why is your ring different?" he questions, then looks at her hand. "Why are you drinking *Coke Light*? You hate Coke to begin with."
"Yeah but...it's too...nice! The fact that I begun to like it after hating it means it's really good!" she stammers out a reply. So far so good. She casually raises her Gucci purse and gave it a few seconds in the limelight before she shoves it back into her pocket. "What did you want to say?" she defiantly asks, the only sign of the pistol in her pocket being the famous logo on its handle.
"You're acting strange. Lately, you've used a whole bunch of new things. You said Victoria's Secret was an evil virus of Satan. And look at you now!" he points at the telltale perfume in her hand as she showed it off. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Change of tastes, that:s all," she shrugs, before taking a gum packet out of her pocket and popping one into her mouth.
"Who's making you do this? Who??" he presses a blade suddenly to her neck, knocking out the pistol she was drawing from her hand. She shook in fear, then points.
"It's...him," she murmurs, pointing towards me. I shrug. They can't hurt a narrator anyways. "Who is he?" he looked at me in anger until I drew my own weapon. A Smith and Wesson.
Bang. Bang. I finished the job for them as I blew the smoke away. Smith and Wesson is the best gun ever, I think as I turn away. Before I leave, I chuck the revolver into the darkness. "Steve, I've advertised your product already," I whispered, "Find me a new actor."
Wait, you heard that? Well, time to use the revolutionary new memory wiper. Made by Shawcroft Machines. Say goodbye.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | She's gone.
The two words echoed in his mind as he stumbled into the door. He slammed the door shut and fumbled around in the darkness for the light switch, knocking over two cans of Raid he kept in the corner to repel the roaches that crawl to his sleeping form in the night, mistaking him for the similarly-sized pile of discarded Chef Boyardee and Lean Cuisine containers that took up half the floor space in his studio apartment.
The light flickered on and the man collapsed in the doorway, heaving sobs that wracked his body more than the nausea induced by the alcohol he had an hour earlier. His breath stank of cheap Budweiser and Fireball as he screamed silently, his voice hoarse from crying.
He picked himself up and wobbled to his bathroom. A mess of a man looked back at him from the mirror - tears dripping from red eyes, stinging the parts where he shaved off his beard with a Gillette from the 7-11 down the corner. He washed his face slowly, not bothering to remove the fake Rolex ticking sadly away on his wrist. His Armani suit was stained with red - the remnants of his Italian dinner thrown up on the expensive Italian rental he would never be able to return. The rest of his dinner no doubt was being scrubbed off the backseat of his poor Uber driver's Camry that same moment.
It wasn't supposed to end up like this - he felt the empty box of the Tacori ring in his pocket. He had met her after work, surprising her with his get up, and reservations at an expensive restaurant. He got down on one knee, and she said yes - and he knew this was the happiest day of their lives - sealing the deal with a passionate kiss, one that tasted of both their dinners.
He knew he fucked up - stuck in traffic on the way home, she began to turn red and had trouble breathing. His mind raced back to the seafood spaghetti marinara he had - and the three pieces of shrimp it had.
He dialed 911 on his iPhone 6, knowing that the only Epipen he bought was lying in his bathroom only a few miles away. He floored the gas on his Ford Fiesta, desperately weaving through cars and trucks trying to get to the hospital the operator was directing him to.
She didn't make it.
He opened the Ikea mirror cabinet to see the 500-dollar Epipen sitting worthlessly next to the Sephora compact she left the last time she slept over.
He had planned to live his whole life by her side, so lost as he was, he found himself grasping the handle of a blade. The blade she had used to cook him dinner and breakfast every time she stayed over - the cheap plastic handle in the shade of pink she liked the most. He pressed the knife to his neck, feeling the dull edge of the Dollar Tree blade begin to cut. Two words echoed again in his head - this time:
I'm sorry. | "Don't...don't leave me..." she wears the most expensive ring bought from the nearby jewellry store. The inscribed name was impossible to miss, and he notices it instantly.
"Why is your ring different?" he questions, then looks at her hand. "Why are you drinking *Coke Light*? You hate Coke to begin with."
"Yeah but...it's too...nice! The fact that I begun to like it after hating it means it's really good!" she stammers out a reply. So far so good. She casually raises her Gucci purse and gave it a few seconds in the limelight before she shoves it back into her pocket. "What did you want to say?" she defiantly asks, the only sign of the pistol in her pocket being the famous logo on its handle.
"You're acting strange. Lately, you've used a whole bunch of new things. You said Victoria's Secret was an evil virus of Satan. And look at you now!" he points at the telltale perfume in her hand as she showed it off. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Change of tastes, that:s all," she shrugs, before taking a gum packet out of her pocket and popping one into her mouth.
"Who's making you do this? Who??" he presses a blade suddenly to her neck, knocking out the pistol she was drawing from her hand. She shook in fear, then points.
"It's...him," she murmurs, pointing towards me. I shrug. They can't hurt a narrator anyways. "Who is he?" he looked at me in anger until I drew my own weapon. A Smith and Wesson.
Bang. Bang. I finished the job for them as I blew the smoke away. Smith and Wesson is the best gun ever, I think as I turn away. Before I leave, I chuck the revolver into the darkness. "Steve, I've advertised your product already," I whispered, "Find me a new actor."
Wait, you heard that? Well, time to use the revolutionary new memory wiper. Made by Shawcroft Machines. Say goodbye.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The crystal clear clarity of the video, playing back on his Sony Xperia, may have felt so real you could touch it... But he couldn't.
His tears ran down his face as the vivid colours of the screen showed his lost love, captured in lifelike detail by the Motion Eye camera, smiling and laughing and running. His tears fell, dripping on the screen, but he was too distraught to notice, and didn't need to worry with the water proof nano coating.
He tapped the home button, the phone shifting instantly, the screen flowing fluidly as his taps and swipes brought up the phone. His finger hovered, hesitating, then tapped the call icon. The phone was ringing, reaching out across the blistering fast Telstra 4GX network, before he even raised it to his ear.
It picked up, his lip trembling as he heard her voice, coming through crisp and clear.
"Hello, welcome to Pizza hut, can I take your order?" Her voice said, in soft lilting tones, before her faint giggle was perfectly recreated by the Hi-Res Audio chip in his phone. "Sorry, sorry... Just kidding. Leave a message, I guess? Or, you know, Snapchat or Whatsapp me like a normal person..."
The phone disconnected silently. He brushed the tears from his face with the back of his hand and hit dial again, longing to hear her voice once more, yearning to pretend she was still alive. That her life hadn't been cut tragically short by the car accident...
If only he was a slightly richer man, maybe he could have bought her an Audi A5, with its class leading safety features. Maybe then she'd still be alive... That guilt and uncertainty would eat at him, twisting his insides with a mix of molten steel and icy cold water.
He plucked a Kleenex from the box, blowing his nose on the velvety soft tissue, and turned his phone sideways, flicking through the interface again to bring up the video. He'd been torturing himself for hours with this, with the guilt and the refusing to let her go. But the video and voice were so real, it was almost hard to believe she was gone...
And with the battery life on the Xperia XZ Premium, he could torture himself for hours more, watching the crisp video over and over again, refusing to let her go or to forgive himself for not doing more to keep her safe...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed this, more of my work can be found on my sub, /r/KiljoysGlyphs | "Fuck Airbus."
The veteran pilot chugged the remains of a Mexican Coca-Cola, the last taste of real sugar cane she would ever enjoy, then tossed the glass bottle aside.
"Today's hydraulics failure brought to you by Zodiac Hydraulics," she mumbled, as if to address the cabin, "the European leader in engineering critical aircraft support systems." This being Airbus's latest offering with a capacity of over twelve hundred passengers, all control surfaces were operated by four hydraulic systems each. Somehow, for each control surface, all four systems managed to lose pressure simultaneously.
For a moment, the aircraft could be operated by throttling the engines. They were manufactured by Engine Alliance, a leader in engine technology for nearly a century. Thanks to Engine Alliance's optimal designs, the airline, for the price of six engines, enjoyed millions in annual savings, and one working engine.
For just moments after the hydraulic failure, engines one through five were lost in succession. Only the sixth engine remained operational- for now- but it couldn't quite deliver enough thrust to carry the aircraft alone. Why should it?
The pilot, and over a thousand passengers, were trapped in a death spiral.
To minimize altitude loss, the aircraft had to steer left. And, by banking more strongly for half a circle and then flying more level for the other half, the aircraft neared the airport a few hundred feet at a time. Imagine a cycloid curve, which you can trace with Wolfram CDF Player. Except instead of using a free program you can download today, you're using a billion dollar jet airliner.
Below, city extended nearly to the horizon. Landing in the countryside was not an option; they must land right here.
The failing craft was nearly within range of a local river. Unfortunately, the descent of the plane was too difficult to control to reliably align with the winding river. In order to avoid a collision with the city, the pilot may be forced into a steep dive. The impact would be fatal to her and everyone on board.
But if fate had a change of heart now, they might make it to the Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport, which is normally the busiest airport in the world. Now it was devoid of all activity in anticipation of their arrival, and several delayed airliners circled like vultures. Since it could be approached at any heading, the odds of a successful landing this way were at least better than a coin flip, but only if she made it to the airport. One misstep, and she takes a city block with her.
There was no more time to decide who was worth saving. The ground was getting closer. | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | You're on the ground, grasping through the dark toward anything that could help you get back upright, but there's nothing. You scream, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!"
But there's nobody around to hear you. You instinctively grab at your neck and where if you had bought Life Alert for only 19.99, a paramedic would be on his way to save your life right now, but you didn't, like a real idiot. So now, there's only you and me, and I'm not a polite young man here to check up on you, I'm the one who broke into your house and pushed you over.
You shriek as my shoe stomps on your neck, where if you had a Life Alert device, my toe would've activated it and their excellent customer service would've swayed me away from the terrible deed. But you didn't buy it even when you knew that it was on sale last weekend at a reduced price, two Life Alert devices for only 29.99. That's nearly 25% off you stupid fucking bitch.
So my toe presses against your throat. I dangle my personal Life Alert device in front of you as your eyes dim. You see, I had opted for the premium package. For only 4.99 more a month, I get Life Alert Insurance where if I misplace my Life Alert device, they would mail me a new one within the day. Hell, this is my 3rd one that I lost this month, thus making their insurance policy a great deal for those active and on-the-go such as myself.
Your choked gasps slowly dwindle and your arms fall limp beside you. At last, your eyes begin to close.
I bend over so that I could watch the last of your life escape you and I whisper, "Life Alert saves a catastrophe every ten minutes. It took me twenty to break in here and choke you out."
That means you could've been saved twice by now if only you bought Life Alert. And that's not just me saying it because I'm the one killing you, that's simple mathematics. So really ask yourself, is 19.99 really too high of a price to save your life twice over?
Your eyes close and you give me a tiny shake of the head.
That's what I thought, bitch.
---
---
Hope you enjoyed that one! /r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly. | The young puppy lay quiet except for the ragged sound of it's struggled breathing. The tire tracks from his Cadillac Escalade covered it's back from head to tail. Daniel sparked another NewPort short. He stepped closer, careful not to crease his blue and black Air Jordan OG Space Jam 9's. "My bad, little guy, I should have never drank all that Captain Morgan. It just goes down so smooth on the open road." He scooped the mangled but miraculously alive little dog into his Adidas Climalite T-Shirt, bloodying the signature stripes. He was going to save this little guy or Coca Cola wasn't better than Pepsi. Daniel took the little guy back to the Extended Stay Hotel he called home for a very reasonable discounted rate of $79 a night. He immediately washed the grime of blood and the road from the torn fur using a Shamwow while watching ESPN. The dog looked at Daniel and Daniel looked back through his polarized Versace glasses. Things were going to be okay.
Two days later, The Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted 16 ft through an announcer’s table | |
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement | The SearsPlus+ knife plunged into her, too sharp, too deep. With its new Glide Blade technology, it sheared through her veins with startling efficiency. What was supposed to be a simple cut, a cry for help, had turned into a fatal emergency.
She stared at her wrist in shock, blood gushing out. Her hand, slick with blood, never lost grip of the knife (thanks to its advanced EzeeGrip handle).
The knife's serrated PerfectCut™ edge still clung to her skin. She watched the life pour out of her, too scared to react, too ashamed to call for help.
She lay there, trembling and sobbing, as her vision became hazy.
The SearsPlus+ knife lay beside her, glistening in her blood.
*Only $19.95, in selected stores near you.*
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | The young puppy lay quiet except for the ragged sound of it's struggled breathing. The tire tracks from his Cadillac Escalade covered it's back from head to tail. Daniel sparked another NewPort short. He stepped closer, careful not to crease his blue and black Air Jordan OG Space Jam 9's. "My bad, little guy, I should have never drank all that Captain Morgan. It just goes down so smooth on the open road." He scooped the mangled but miraculously alive little dog into his Adidas Climalite T-Shirt, bloodying the signature stripes. He was going to save this little guy or Coca Cola wasn't better than Pepsi. Daniel took the little guy back to the Extended Stay Hotel he called home for a very reasonable discounted rate of $79 a night. He immediately washed the grime of blood and the road from the torn fur using a Shamwow while watching ESPN. The dog looked at Daniel and Daniel looked back through his polarized Versace glasses. Things were going to be okay.
Two days later, The Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted 16 ft through an announcer’s table | |
[WP] For 200 years after The Collapse humanity has been trying to rebuild itself. As a young child you were always told never to cross the mountains but have always been curious. When a stranger passes through town saying they need to cross you decide to tag along and see what's there. | Mother always told me never to go into the big mountains near the end of town.
"It's dangerous Jenny," she said. "Bad things and monsters lie there," she said but I was always curious as to what was beyond the mountains.
I was in the market at the time buying some carrots and stuff for the big potato stew that Mom always cooked every night. There I saw this man wearing a black jacket and a black hat along with a black mask. His pale complexion stood out amongst the darkened clothing he wore. He was there buying lots of food, things I had dreamt of buying and eating. He walked to me and bought carrots and meat, lots of them. "Who're you Mister?" I asked. "I'm nobody, kid. I'm just some poor traveller buying some things," his voice was so deep it shook me. I bought my carrots and stuff and went back to the house.
When I came home in the evening, I wondered who the man was. Even my Mom asked me what I was thinking about at dinner. "I hope it's not about the mountains again," she said. "No it isn't," I replied.
Two days later when I was playing around with some rocks near the back, I saw the man again going on the north road, crossing the mountains. I saw the man going alone. Mom was always busy with her work and my two sisters, so she didn't really pay attention. I went inside, told Mom I'll be at Lily's for a while and she said okay. By the way I usually stay for days at Lily's house, theirs was way larger than ours, and the food was more delicious.
But anyway, I ran and went to the traveller and I called out his name.
"Mister! Where are you going?" I asked. "Oh hey kid. Oh me? I'm going to some other town called Jamestown, it's not that far, just across that mountain." Then he crouched and said, "How about you go back to your mother or father okay?" then he tussled my long blonde hair.
As he stood back up, I said, "My mother said that the mountains are dangerous and you shouldn't go there". The man looked amazed. "Guess your mother told you the right thing. There are many, many creatures there and you wouldn't want to be hurt, would you? Just go back to your house, I have a schedule."
My curiosity piqued. "Really? Can I see them? Please?" I asked. "No little girl. Run back to your mother, I have work to do okay," he said. I said, "Can I go with you? Please?". I guess the voice of a ten year old girl begging was enough for him and I remembered the look in his eyes as he surrendered to the deafening noise.
"Fine, but don't burden me down, okay? Let's go," and so we go into the mountains. We hiked the tall ground and set up camp near the west side where the moon just rose, shining the Earth in a faint light. The man was looking focused into the flames, as if he was looking at the most prized object in the universe. The flames in his eyes looked like a fiery soul.
He then broke his gaze, went to his backpack and pulled out a small fish with hair on its lips. He impaled it on a stick and put it above the fire. As I had no idea what it was at first, I looked at it with quite the mystery. He looked at me looking intently at the fish. "Ah, you're an inner aren't you? Guess you're not used to seeing these. These are called fish, and they're good for you. Very good. Way better than cow meat," he said. "Do you want some?" he asked.
"Uh huh," I nodded along. A few minutes later, he removed the stick and showed me how to eat it. "Careful for the bones," he said, "they're really painful and so if you're not careful you might be hurt". He then pulled out some and gave it to me.
"Here you go," he said. I ate it and it tasted wonderful. It wasn't like anything I've ever tasted. "Here's some water if you want, drink the whole bottle if you want."
I drank it all. In my town, the only water we had was rainwater, and it was a bit rare and often tastes weird. But the water he had was refreshing, it was quite cold, and so forth. It was great.
A few hours later, we went to sleep. He put up a tent as he called it, and placed two blankets and pillows for us to sleep on.
Suddenly I was awoken by footsteps in the distance. It was dark, the fire was out. The darkness of the night without the faint light made my imagination run wild. Was it a monster? The footsteps became louder and louder. I got out of the tent and looked in the distance. I saw something. It looked....big. Really big. As I saw him, he saw me. He then ran towards me, all the while screaming in a high pitched voice and I screamed. I really did. I closed my eyes and was ready to die.
*BANG!*
The silver smoke rose in the night sky, and a burnt aroma began to spread. My ears was shocked by the sound, and I fell into the cold ground surrounded by the darkness of the night.
I awoke in the morning, the sun shining brightly on Earth. My ears were still shocked, but had recovered somewhat, enough to understand people and comprehend the world.
I went out, and saw the man, this time wearing a brown jacket and mask, but no hat. He was sitting near a body of a dead man. He looked back and saw me.
"Hey little girl you okay? Maybe I made a mistake, you should go back now." I was too into this to turn back. "No, I'm okay. I want to stay with you" I said. "Alright then. Well, thank the Gods you screamed, otherwise we would both be dead now."
I saw the body on the ground. It looked human. It looked like someone from town. The imagery of the body on the ground was just as strong as it was 17 years ago. He wore tattered clothing with a brown complexion. He had no shoes and his skins had blisters. And in the back there appeared to be a gaping hole with red inside.
"Wha-um, who is he?" I asked. "He is a bandit. Probably saw the smoke from the campfire." He said. "A bandit? What's that?" I asked while I kept looking at his familiar clothes. He looked at me and he knew that I recognised some part of him. "He seems familiar to you huh? What is it? The clothes? Hair? Something?" he asked. "It was his clothes. And what's a bandit?" I asked again. "Well, a bandit is someone who robs travellers like me and destroy towns like yours. I did saw one in the town yesterday, so maybe this guy was a part of them."
"Look here girl, you were brave that night, going out like that. If you want to stay with me, then I will have to teach you on how to defend yourself like that. How about that?" He asked. The offer seemed genuine and I don't want to die. So I accepted.
Over the next three days, hopping from town to town, house to house, he taught me everything. How to shoot a revolver, a shotgun, how to recognise enemies, and so forth. He even taught me how to kill deer, catch fish at a local pond, and so forth. He was like the wise father that I never knew and grew up with.
A month later, we travelled together from town to town, from house to house, getting jobs, always moving. People always thought that we were father and daughter. One day, he noticed that my long blonde hair that I always cherished was growing a bit too long, right about to my thighs.
"Hey Jenny, your hair's growing too long. Do you want to do something about it or do you just want to be Rapunzel?" He asked. "Who or what's Rapunzel? I want to cut it but I don't know where." I replied. "Well then lets take a little walk."
As we entered the town, we found a shop called a barber shop. Dunno why it was called like that, it was named from before The Collapse, as he told me. Then we went inside.
________________________________________________________________
I went a little bit further in the story than you asked for. Originally I wanted to get the main character Jenny oblivious to certain fairytales, with her being a bit clueless and innocent, but I just thought of Rapunzel and decided to put that in. | I stare at the mountain, for years and years I was told by my mother, never cross the mountain. But that just enraged my curiosity. I noticed a little commotion in the market square, I hear screaming.
"Your never gonna stop me! I'm getting across those damned mountains!"
I knew this was my chance, I pushed through the crowd and told the man "I'll come with you." It's been 3 days and we are approaching the top. Cold and losing sensation in my fingers I knew we were about to reach something magical.
Stop the mountain is a red sled, he tells me he'll be right after me. As I'm going down I hear music, faint like an echo.
Darkness and warmth , then a blinding light and coldness.
"Congratulations birthmother, it's a girl!" | |
[WP] For 200 years after The Collapse humanity has been trying to rebuild itself. As a young child you were always told never to cross the mountains but have always been curious. When a stranger passes through town saying they need to cross you decide to tag along and see what's there. | -- Bit of a late response, but was too cool to not throw some words at it.
For as long as anyone could remember, the mountains had stood sentinel over the town I called home. They loomed in the distance, serving as a solemn reminder of an event called 'The Collapse'. The how's and why's had faded from the collective consciousness over the years, but the results remained on display for all to see. Humanity was doomed. We were stuck in a cycle that appeared to be endless, destined to be the latest victims in a series of mass extinction events that ole Mother Earth had overseen.
In spite of all of this, little ole Golden Sierra was a fun town to call home. We were lacking in working technology, you try finding working replacement kits after 200 years, but we had more than enough to get by. We also had the benefit of a FEMA emergency center that had been set up after the collapse to distribute aid. At some point after the event it had been abandoned as the Federal Government withdrew from California, and they had left behind all sorts of juicy bits of various logistical tech and weapons. With that, this former nothin town had come to lord over the surrounding areas as a center of trade, and power.
The warning signs along the remains of the highway stood every few miles, warning of massive danger over the top of the peak. It helpfully had an estimated safe crossing time built in, for the very close date of .... 2850. Well, I suppose only 500 more years till we get to see what's on the other side with the blessing of the government right?
The absurdity of it was almost enough to elicit a chuckle, but the signs had done their job. Those of us who had grown up at the foot of the mountains had been conditioned from birth to not go over the pass. Most were deathly afraid of it. The thing about us as humans though, some of us aren't wired quite right. They seek out the dark and forbidden, figuring that they needed to see whatever this was for themselves. I must have something slightly off up there, because all I had wanted to do for years was see what was on the other side.
My family and I made a good living, running a scrap and salvage operation. We'd make runs into the valley for old tech, risking radiation exposure along the way, but what're you going to do. One day as I was manning the front of the store a lonely man walked in. He ended up purchasing a backpack, a gun which I will politely call a shotgun, and a few weeks worth of provisions. "You're also going to want some anti-radiation gear if I'm reading you right stranger" I said while barely looking up. Another scavenger gearing up before heading out.
"I won't be needing that for my trip, but thanks for the offer. I'm actually heading somewhere that isn't irradiated, if my gut is right." I looked up from the circuit board I had been working on. "Where are you going that you need that load out that isn't radiated? I'm gonna warn you as a courtesy that guards don't take likely to yahoos with guns."
He shook his head a moment before saying, "Over the top of that range is where I'm off to. The radioactive material appears mostly to have settled into the valley below, sparing this area. If i'm right, the mountain and beyond were never irradiated in the first place. There were targets down in the interior and the valley, but there wasn't anything to waste nukes on for the other side of the mountains."
"Well then, stranger, would you mind if I tagged along? Though I'm going to go ahead and bring radiation gear if you don't mind. If you want to turn into a glowing green man that's fine by me but I'd like to come back mostly intact."
He grinned a bit, and gave me a shrug. "Welcome aboard."
It had been tough convincing my family to let me go, but I eventually wore them down. This guy had the gear and appeared to have the know how to get up there, and I would kick myself if I didn't take that chance. The climb up would be dangerous with two, but solo was a stupid risk I wasn't even willing to take.
One thing I noticed on the way up was the near complete disappearance of the now ubiquitous warning signs that had dotted the mountain below. "Warning: High Radiation Levels Ahead. Turn back now. - Federal Emergency Management Association."
We soldiered ahead, and began to find evidence of artifacts of another time. Roadblocks, empty fields with grown over temporary structures. Husks of vehicles being devoured by the local fauna. What the hell were they doing up here? Why would there have been a need for road blocks?
Eventually we found one last sign. This one wasn't a warning though. "Please form an orderly queue for eva-----." The rest of the sign was illegible, but again the logo for FEMA stood at the bottom. Evacuation? What was going on here? My companion appeared lost in his own thoughts, and I didn't bother interrupting him. I had enough to think about as is.
Finally, we began our descent down the pass. We had long since entered the area supposedly lethal to humanity, but apparently that wasn't the whole truth. As we descended I noticed a bright light on the horizon, far too bright to just be the sun. Was that reflected light? I finally was able to get a look at the source of the brightness, and audibly gasped as I took in a massive Solar Energy Farm sitting in the desert sun. There was one problem though, that thing was operational and gleaming. There was zero chance that this setup was 200 years old.
"You're never going to believe this." My fellow traveler gestured for me to look at a sign he found, before replying, "I think I might." The sign was glistening, and a shade of green that I had never seen on a road sign before. I guess this was the original color. "Now Entering Designated Green Zone #23. Nevada District." Stamped on the bottom was a government symbol I didn't recognize.
"What the hell is this thing" I muttered. "I'll raise you one better", he said. He turned around and pointed at another sign. "Warning: Turn Back Now. Designated Red Zone Ahead. Risk of Contamination and Death is High." Below the sign was a large boulder with a plaque stamped on it.
"In memory of those federal personnel responsible for containment and eradication of The White Plague, which threatened to destroy all of humanity. Those who gave their lives on this pass to prevent contamination on the day February 23rd, the Year of our Lord 2142 will never be forgotten. To them we owe a debt of never-ending gratitude. And to those trapped on the other side of this mountain range, in the great state of California, we bid a solemn farewell. By your sacrifice, humanity lives on."
Nuclear war? More like a nuclear cleansing. I guess whatever this 'White Plague' is, they destroyed it with nuclear weapons. Annihilating people awaiting evacuation, that was cold.
At this point, I noticed a red dot center mass on my chest. "Shit!" Thunk, out cold.
When I came to, I was sitting in an empty white room with a single metal table, and two chairs. I was currently cuffed to the table, which appeared to be bolted down. I guess I wasn't going anywhere soon.
A woman in a sharp black suit walked in. She set her clipboard down, and handed me a glass of water. "You're lucky we stopped you when we did. If you had gone over the border we'd have to shoot you on sight. We doubt anyone is living on the other side of the pass, but if they were, there's a high probability that would still be infectious. They might have developed an immunity after all this time, but it'd be like introducing smallpox to the new world for us at this point. The question we have to ask ourselves, mystery man, is what the hell you were doing up here."
I felt a pang of remorse as I looked over the table. "Random question ma'am. How many people have I come into contact with since being taken into custody?" She looked over inquisitively, before all the color left her face in a hurry. She had now realized why I didn’t have any form of ID, why I was wearing the clothes I was wearing. She now saw me for what I was, a death sentence for her and everyone else in this base, possibly even beyond. She calmly walked out of the room, before all hell broke loose as the base went on lockdown.
On the outskirts of the base, my traveling companion looked out over the scene of madness playing out in front of him. He cracked a smile, and took a drag off his cigarette. "I guess those greenies will never learn." He put out his cigarette as he walked into the night. "Only a dozen or so left, this hasn't taken nearly as much time as I thought it would." | I stare at the mountain, for years and years I was told by my mother, never cross the mountain. But that just enraged my curiosity. I noticed a little commotion in the market square, I hear screaming.
"Your never gonna stop me! I'm getting across those damned mountains!"
I knew this was my chance, I pushed through the crowd and told the man "I'll come with you." It's been 3 days and we are approaching the top. Cold and losing sensation in my fingers I knew we were about to reach something magical.
Stop the mountain is a red sled, he tells me he'll be right after me. As I'm going down I hear music, faint like an echo.
Darkness and warmth , then a blinding light and coldness.
"Congratulations birthmother, it's a girl!" | |
[WP] For 200 years after The Collapse humanity has been trying to rebuild itself. As a young child you were always told never to cross the mountains but have always been curious. When a stranger passes through town saying they need to cross you decide to tag along and see what's there. | Esme had just finished sorting the inventory for the sixth time when, at last, the door to her family's little general store chimed. A large man shuffled in with heavy footsteps.
He was the type of man that immediately caught one's eye. He wore a black leather tricorn hat over his inky hair, and his face was rough, scarred, and seemed to mask an old, old sorrow. A thick traveler's cloak was draped around his shoulders, under which Esme barely caught a flash of polished black metal.
"Warm welcome, sir. Can I help you with something?"
The man scanned the room for a moment before answering. "You... you are the shopkeeper?"
"Well yeah, Momma's in the back while I watch the counter. Sorry I didn't introduce myself. Such a small town, ya sometimes forget there's strangers out there. I'm Esme."
The stranger looked Esme up and down, then seemed to be satisfied with her answer. "Esme. I'll buy one loaf of bread, Esme. Er, better be two. Two loaves of bread, Esme. And a battery, if you have it."
Esme laughed. "A battery, sir? Ya really are a stranger to this town, ain't ya? Bishop ain't a big enough place to be finding things like batteries, sir." Esme pulled a loaf of bread from the top shelf behind her and began wrapping it in brown paper. "Say, where ya headed, sir?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I said where ya headed? I saw that gun under your cloak there, I never seen one before. Not many people still got things from before The Collapse. That piece's got to be at least two-hundred years old. Man like you, I'd suppose Bishop ain't your final stop."
The stranger ground his boot feverishly on the dusty wooden floor. "I would rather not say, Esme."
"Ya headed off over the Mountains, sir?" Esme chuckled.
"Hm? No, Esme. No. Of course not. Nobody who crosses the mountains lives, Esme."
"Woah there, relax, sir. I ain't serious. Just a figure of speech." Esme caught a tremble in the stranger's voice, and furrowed her brow. "Say, I didn't catch your name, stranger."
"Thank you for the bread, Esme." The man snatched the single loaf of bread, tossed five quartz on the counter, and hurried out of the little general store.
Could he really be on his way to cross the Mountains? Esme had always wondered what was on the other side. Some say there are societies past the Mountains that survived The Collapse. Some say there are giant monsters, which caused The Collapse in the first place. Some say it's just the edge of the world. Esme looked intently at the bundle of iron daggers perched on a shelf behind the counter. What harm could it do just to see where the stranger was going?
Esme had left a note for Momma and Papa saying that she was making a supply run to the Broken City, even though she knew Papa was already on his way there. As long as it kept Momma from worrying while she carefully crept through the trees at the edge of town, careful not to lose sight of the stranger. Dusk was just fading to night, and the crickets were tuning up for their nightly performance. But as Esme followed the stranger farther and farther from town, the cadence of the crickets was drowned out by the fluttering of moths, the droning of beetles, and the clicking of some unknown insect in the darkness. Hours and hours passed, and still the stranger plodded to the west and Esme followed.
Suddenly, the woods gave way to a wide clearing. At the other end, Esme could see the man starting up a steep, rocky path. Could this be...?
Esme stumbled out from the tree line, gaping upwards in awe. A rugged stony precipice rocketed up before her, piercing the sky, which bled white onto the jagged peaks. The Mountains.
Should she turn back? This was much farther than she had intended to follow the stranger. But if he was going over the Mountains, surely there was something on the other side worth seeing.
Esme took another tentative step forward. The insects of the woods ceased their fluttering and their droning and their clicking, as if they knew she was trespassing in forbidden territory. Still a safe distance behind the stranger, Esme began to climb.
At last, Esme approached the midpoint of the stranger's Mountain pass. She passed over the ridge, anxious to finally see what she never thought she would. On the other side of the Mountains was... another forest. Was there really nothing here? In the light of the new morning sun gently rising behind her, Esme could see the stranger still steadily making his way down the Mountain pass. "If there's nothing here," she reasoned to herself, "I suppose there ain't no harm in going just a little farther."
Esme trailed the stranger into a brand new forest. This one felt very different from the woods around Bishop: it seemed ancient and stern, as if the trees themselves commanded time to slow down and keep their pace. The farther she ventured into these woods, the thicker this aura became, until the air around her almost felt blurry and viscous. She blinked hard several times, moving slower and slower, until, very suddenly, she lurched forward. The forest around her had vanished, and the strange atmosphere disappeared with it.
Esme marveled. The city around her was grand and mesmerizing, with golden towers and suspended walkways. Floating carriages carried passengers to and fro above her. The city buzzed with a vitality Esme had never felt before.
After a few moments, Esme snapped out of her trance and followed the stranger to a colossal building with a magnificent, shining stairway leading to the hardwood doors. She barely managed to slip in undetected. The stranger's heavy footsteps echoed down a long, pillared hallway before finally coming to a stop. Esme dove behind a pillar as a deep, authoritative voice addressed the stranger.
"You have taken longer than we expected to return, Thanatos."
"I know, my lord."
"Two-hundred years longer."
Esme clasped her hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. She was trembling.
"I know, my lord."
"Why did you stay so long?"
"The people of that land were kind."
"You do not regret performing your duty, do you, Thanatos?"
"Hm? No, my lord. No. Of course not."
"Very well. Your next assignment awaits you. A land far to the north this time. We have deemed them unworthy to continue. Destroy them. Return immediately this time."
"Yes, my lord." | I stare at the mountain, for years and years I was told by my mother, never cross the mountain. But that just enraged my curiosity. I noticed a little commotion in the market square, I hear screaming.
"Your never gonna stop me! I'm getting across those damned mountains!"
I knew this was my chance, I pushed through the crowd and told the man "I'll come with you." It's been 3 days and we are approaching the top. Cold and losing sensation in my fingers I knew we were about to reach something magical.
Stop the mountain is a red sled, he tells me he'll be right after me. As I'm going down I hear music, faint like an echo.
Darkness and warmth , then a blinding light and coldness.
"Congratulations birthmother, it's a girl!" | |
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | The darkness covered the city as my weary legs dragged me home from a late shift at the factory. The street lamps were either flickering or burned out, the city didn't have much funding to repair since they decided to subsidize the cost of buying pills. The pills used to cost an arm and a leg to get, the only damn pills to keep people from dying and most people can barely afford them. Fortunately, now they only cost an arm, but that didn't make life better. Crime increased when the city cut half the police force and stopped maintaining the decency of towns. I checked my watch. I was almost late on taking my pill, which I pulled from my pocket, just passed my leather wallet.
A gust of cold wind blew passed me, chilling me through my thin shirt. I began to shiver as I walked looking at my hand holding the pill. No water to take the pill with, I pushed it back in my pocket. Only a few block to go before I got home. I pulled my wallet out, checking on how much money i had. Everything cost and everything was done in cash, no one wantex to be any more a part of the corporate system than they already were paying for pills every day.
From an alley I was walking by came a man, hitting me from the side. I heard several cracks as I felt my ribs break as I flew through the air, my knees falling on the crib, shattering on impact. I screamed in agonizing pain, that likely woke many people nearby. The man did not hesitate and threw several punches, and with each I felt the world darken.
I woke, the sun was rising over the houses and everything seemed quiet. Pain tore through me and my body began to shake. I looked around, trying to find help. Quickly trying to see the damage on my body, I saw my skin, flaking. I remembered the first sign of needing pills, flaking skin.
Trying to get control of my body, I attempted to reach into my pocket. Fumbling several times before getting a finger in, i felt nothing. I did the same with my other pockets, nothing at all. My wallet was gone..."Shit!" I screamed in a mix between anger and agony.
I looked around once more, and saw someone on the other side of the street, walking quickly. "Hey! ... Hey!" I yelled as loud as I could. "Help, I need help!"
I could see them stop through my blurred vision. "How much you gonna pay?" They yelled back.
Fuck this society, i thought to myself. "I can pay you as much as you want after you've..." And before I could finish they were scurrying off and out of site.
I felt my head pulsing as what seemed to be my only hope disappeared from sight. My vision darkened and I closed my eyes, waiting for death. The throbbing and pain began to ease slowly as death took me. I heard a soft noise in the distance as death took me. My eyes flicked open one last time to see the broken world...
Eyes stared back at me, with a smiling face. I glanced around, I was in a white room. "Welcome back to reality! How was you tour in the virtual world?"
*****************
Any Advise? | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | I carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the last of my rations for the week. It was
unlike the rations they had in the wars we were taught about in history class. These were not for basic necessities like food and fuel but rather for a single precious resource. It hleld the line against humanity's worst enemy; propped us up against complete obliteration; stood between our species and extinction. It was our crowning achievement against the disease that had cost us billions of lives and billions of dollars. It was in limited supply, but we had enough. Well, those of us fortunate to be born into wealthier nations anyways.
I cut one of the cards out and waved it all around the room, spreading the medicinal vapors. Alas-- it was not enough to cover my entire home. Resources were dwindling, and only the strong would survive the gradually but steadily decreasing supply of drugs, and it would dissipate too quickly. I had long accepted my fate as an eventual victim of the cruel nature of scarcity, but now it stared me in the face-- and I trembled.
I heard a knock on the door. It was my neighbor. I let him inside. He looked momentarily confused, and then--
"Hey, uh, do you smell that?"
"The medicine."
"The...medicine?"
I pointed at the stack of old rations on the table. Now he looked even more confused.
"That's junk mail, and those are perfume samples." | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | After I ran out of money I said goodbye to my friends and family, according to the doctor I'd die before the sunset. Surprisingly enough I survived until the morning, a few days had passed since then. One of my friends was a bio engineer, he tested some of my blood to see what was going on. Turned out the bacteria that was behind the disease was entirely gone. According to him, using what data he had gathered, it was gone for a long time. The defensive mechanisms of my body were on standby since there was nothing to attack, aside from whatever was in these pills. In fact, the drugs were causing those symptoms to show. This plague on man was so terrifying when it was first discovered people began to take a weaker form of the drug as a precautionary measure. And it all started from there. Now I'm broke, in a world addicted to a drug that serves no purpose. | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | "Well this is awkward."
"What is?" The prostitute lying next to me replied. She rolled over and propped herself up on one bruised elbow. In the cold, morning light she looked worse than she had bathed in the sick, drunken neon of the night before.
"I'm pretty sure I should be dead," I replied.
I'd picked her up the night before at a shitty bar in the shitty end of town. For the evening, she'd cost me all I had left minus a bottle of tequila, and for the rest of the evening we were partners in petty crime.
We threw bricks through my ex-wife's, boryfriend's car windscreen. Taken a drunken walk to the tax office and pissed up against their window. Sung loudly into the dreary night and screamed the names of the people we hated into an open drain. I didn't know hers and I thought there was a kind of poetry in that anonymity. We'd made a connection without that first, fundemental part. We didn't have any type of heart warming, rom-com bullshit moment where we realised the sum of our life choices. We just had a good time and that was good enough.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached down for her bag. She got her medication out and popped today's pills.
"Hey," I said. "Did you give me one of those last night?"
She turned and shot me a derisory look. "No, why would I do that?"
I consider opening up to her, telling her that the sickness should have started. That the virus should be boiling my blood already, but somehow it isn't. I feel fine. Better than, and that made me nervous.
She shrugged on her bra and went about getting dressed. Somehow, with her professional hours up, she became shy, and that kindled some type of want in me that hadn't been there the previous night.
There were patches of my memory that had been chemically dissolved by the drink and I couldn't help thinking that it was somehow connected. That somehow I had discovered the cure to the virus.
I had a number of pressing problems to deal with first though. I was utterly broke, horrendously hungover, I couldn't find my underwear, and the prostitute had just discovered the body of my ex-wife in my wardrobe.
| 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | I woke up this morning.
When she asked me if she could spend the night, I won't lie, my heart hadn't raced like that in ages. It had to be her. I felt my senses come alive -- to be quickly dashed apart by the horrible reminder that I was almost seventy-two hours since I quit caffeine. I could barely remember the last time I went a day without some sort getting me through the day. I'd never made it through two without passing out, waking up and having to get some into me to get going again. But this was it. It was night three and I could feel the exhaustion crushing me.
And then there she was, after all the years. Remembering her face the same way it was ages ago when we first met. Her arms squeezing tightly around me. I couldn't tell her that I wouldn't wake up in the morning. She would cry. She might tell me that I'm selfish. But I can't do it anymore. I couldn't live in this dream world.
And I let her come with me anyway.
The Doctors all agreed that it was a mostly harmless fix that would get us all through our days. And they knew what was right. They had the education, the degrees. Just about one cup of coffee or strong tea would do it. And so life went on.
What they didn't tell us was that you couldn't stop. You had to have one cup at minimum a day. symptoms would quickly start to manifest after 24 hours of not having consumed any. Symptoms included irritability, fatigue, thirst. I want it came down to it, what price was that to pay. A couple day. Easy.
So, in every culture around the world it became part of our daily routines. The Doctors, they just called it your daily dose.
Three days without dosing.
Our arms intertwined, her breasts crushing against mine. And time stretched to infinity until sleep finally claimed me for the last time.
Or so I thought.
But this morning I awoke. And I cried. Their still bodies draped in the white hospital blankets lay in beds to my sides, only their faces showing. The faint color of life brushing their cheeks.
Eventually the nurses came and helped sit me up; the tears came much harder this time. The room extended into the distance, bed after bed. One comatose body after another.
My life hadn't just felt like a dream... | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | I have to go to bed like right now, but here's a quick idea, screenplay-style:
(Yada yada yada, adventuring and such)
George Soros: Yes, you see, it was all a ploy. Sure, the disease causes much pain. But it doesn't really kill you. You see, [gets eye to eye with the main character] fear motivates profit.
(Yada yada yada, George Soros and his Sheeple army are defeated and they bring down the NWO or something)
The End | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | One pill was left in the box. It was from a box of thirty, Tyler knew. They came in thirty packs on months that had thirty days, thirty-one on the others, except for a special edition for February. They always had the right amount: never more and never less. But yesterday was April, and today was May, and there was one pill left.
Tyler gripped at his shirt to make his hands stop shaking. They began to rub his chest raw. One pill left must have meant he had forgotten to take it yesterday. God, he should have stayed in. The delivery boy didn’t come yesterday, and he had been hungry. Starving more like it. So he broke his routine and went out. And forgot to take his pill.
Tyler slumped into his chair, knocking over a tower of take-out boxes. He had killed himself. Everyone had to take the pills. Take them, or the disease got them. And everyone had the disease. Oh God, why couldn’t he have just gone hungry for one day?
His chair absorbed him. He was going to die. Someone would smell him and eventually break in. Not to check on him, but just because he was dead. He couldn’t defend his home if he were dead.
What did that matter though? He would be dead. His chair and television wouldn’t die with him. They would get along just fine without him.
Tyler sat up slightly. The thought of his chair and television existing beyond his death raised his spirits.
It was best not to mope. Tyler was no moper, damn straight. He un-stuck himself from his chair. Death would find no moper in Tyler’s home. He sat on his hands to make them stop shaking. No, Tyler would be brave. Like movie hero brave.
He puffed out his chest and waited for the disease to take him.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited a little more.
Night came, and Tyler found his back aching from sitting upright for so long.
He was still alive. Nothing about him hurt. Well, he was a little hungry, but nothing else besides that.
Did he not need the pill?
Tyler shook his head so hard a muscle stiffened in his neck, and he was left gasping for air. Ridilicous, Tyler needed the pill. Everyone needed the pill.
But what if they were right? ‘They’ being the people on the channel that Tyler’s television was not supposed to receive. Through the static, they said that no one needed the pill. When he first heard that, he immediately changed the channel to something more approved. Still, he switched back to it now and again. But just for a second or two. Tyler didn’t believe them, of course. Becuase after a few days of furtive glances at the channel, it stopped broadcasting. It made sense that they had died from the disease.
But Tyler was still alive.
Were they right?
Could he still die?
His fingernails dug into his scalp and came away bloody and filled with hair.
A single loud thud resonated from his door and a package fell out of his mailslot.
He knew it was this month’s dosage of pills.
He scrambled over to the door and tore the package open. The plastic bubble containing the pill crackled as he popped it into his hand. He had to take it. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to end up like the people on the fuzzy channel who said they went weeks without taking their pills. Tyler opened his mouth and threw the pill towards it.
But he shut his mouth, and the pill ricocheted off his teeth. It snapped in two as it hit the floor.
He placed the box on his end table. He wanted food. His body may have been dumb and didn’t know what Tyler wanted half the time, but it knew he needed food. Not once had he ever craved the pill.
Puffing out his chest, Tyler picked up the box of pills and tossed it into a garbage pile. He opened his door, hands steady-much to his surprise-and stepped out into the night. The fresh air filled his lungs with vapors of burning tires and gunpowder. A burger place existed down the street, or it had when he was much younger. A greasy pile of meat and cheese between two buns called out to him. The pills were in the trash now and no longer called on him to stay home.
He could go anywhere. Do anything.
Like, buy television broadcasting equipment.
----------
[If you enjoyed this story and would like to read more, feel free to check out my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/30SecFantasy/)
| 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | I sat, staring up at the ceiling. Why wasn't I dead yet? Was I dead? The pills had always had bad side effects on me, and I could barely think. Now, it was like I was a little boy. The past... 20? years had gone by in a fog. I could think clearly again. Was the disease a lie? In the beginning, I saw tons of bodies, littering the ground. Cure was known since the beginning. The people that couldn't afford it just died. My mind reflected on clear memories, from books. I could remember them perfectly. Nothing else. Where did I work? I knew, but I just went there automatically. I could never act on the things I read, but now I can. Was this a ruse? I looked out the window. Blue skies. I then heard clumping outside my door. Two, three pairs of people? I lived alone. A knocking at the door.
"Hello, Mr. Bow? Disease Control here." came from outside it.
Yep, it was definitely all a ruse. I was different. It was foggy for everyone else, too, but less than me. They couldn't read, though. That was which I only took enjoyment in doing. No tv bills, no internet bills. Just books. I had packed a bag... for some reason. I did that, sometimes, and could never remember why. I suppose I always knew it was fake, then. I looked at my sword, on the wall. Cloudy memories of me practicing, using it. From the door, one of the people said, "Mr. Bow? Please open the door."
I was dead unless I acted. I got up, and grabbed the sword. Quietly. I heard a smashing at the door, and it moved. I hid the sword in my bedsheets, and laid back down. The door broke open. Two smiling men stepped in, wearing traditional Disease Control clothing, and sunglasses.
"Hello, Mr. Bow? It is apparent you have forgotten to take your medication. We will have to terminate you for this offense."
I just grunted. The man frowned for a second, and stepped forwards. Inbetween me and the window.
"Can you kindly sit up, so my partner can quickly administer the serum?"
I grabbed my sword, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. The other Disease Control man made a grab for me, but missed. I charge forwards, impacting the man. We went crashing through the window, and down 3 stories. The man cushioned my fall, and did not survive. I staggered to my feet, and quickly took the man's items. Car keys, wallet, and sunglasses, shattered in one frame. I ran towards their Jeep, a common sight on the road. I knew that there were only 2 people sent for me. In the haze of the last 20 years, I had read everything I could get my hands on. I noticed that the shocked bystanders were smiling and nodding at me, not doing a thing. I never remembered smiling. I jumped in the jeep, and started it up. I flattened the gas pedal, and went roaring down the street. Where could I go? Well, the desert was within 50 minutes' drive, and, in the beginning, people fled from the desert to the coast, the desert completely inhospitable to the type of moss that provided the cure. Some stayed. Some, possibly, never heard of the disease. And, the government made it a law to stay within 20 miles of the nearest drug store, so the desert was off-limits. I continued to drive, my mind surfacing the only knowledge that was beneficial to me. There was, surprisingly, a lot of it. | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | I yawn, mouth wide. The sun breaks through the blinds covering all two of the windows in my little box of a room. My computer monitor flickers on as I groan bleary eyed dropping my feet to the floor.
"Wonder how that disease is going?" I mutter to myself as I type my password into the command prompt.
The smell of coffee wafts in through my barely cracked door and I can hear my girlfriend calling from down the steps just outside, "Hey sweety, coffee's almost ready!"
Bending my knees, my bones crack and I pull away at the string that brings all that glistening yellow in over me.
"At least I live in a country with universal healthcare." I snicker. | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | Money was life, that was how it worked. If you can't pay, you won't live on. Or at least that was what we were told. My medicine had run out and according to the timer I had maybe ten minutes left to live. All my work would fade into obscurity, whether it be my activism or my personal life.
I called up my girlfriend Daniela, otherwise called Dan, I needed to talk to someone in my last minutes, though I had promised I wouldn't call her now. We had already talked this over, she had no spare Money. Neither did Max who was barely scraping by, nor Oliver, despite his lucrative Job in the drug companys R&D sector, he was already financing in parts his sister, brother and Girlfriend, my parents were dead and I had no other person I could ask.
"Hey Dan." I iniciated the conversation.
"Hey." She responded, her voice cracking. I heared sad Music in the backround.
"Sorry, I knew I said I wouldn't call now, but the strain was too much." I told her, I had spend the last hour thinking about what would happen after death.
"I didn't expect you to keep that promise." She responded, "I cannot imagene what must go on in your head right now."
"So, what are you up to?" I asked.
"Work, and sorry, I really got to get back to that now, otherwise I will go down your way." She said, I heared her crying.
"I know, love you." I said and hung up. This was the worst part about this, nobody could be aound me when it happened. I had said my farewells in the past hours, but now there was nothing. I was to face death alone.
I spend the next few minutes pondering this, staring at the cracky red of the sealing of the tent in Olivers garden into which we had moved before we completely ran out of Money.
Just a few days ago, my life had been fine, but than the techsplosion struck and all of the workers of the factory in which I worked were fired, except for the bosses son in law, because nepotism was quite prevelant.
I began singing songs I had heared often before I had sold my smartphone.
My entire being merged with these sad songs.
"May you be in heaven before the devil knows you are dead,
may these winds be always at your back!
'Cause when we are all just ghosts,
and the madness overtakes us,
we will look at the ashes,
and say 'People live here'"
My being was so merged with the songs that I didn't realise the passing of time as the clock came for me.
I was still singing when Max showed up.
"You are still alive?" His eyes went wide with exitement as I tryed to comprehend seeing him again, which I wouldn't have otherwise. He was here to get my body and sell the organs if they were of any value, something we had agreed to beforehand, so that he, Oliver and Dan could have a better life after my death.
"Seems like it." I said, still baffled by my aliveness.
"When should you have died?" He asked. I looked at my watch, the houres had floated by.
"Four hours ago." I said ecstatically. Now finally realising what this might mean.
He smiled from ear to ear, and I couldn't help but smile back like a little kid surrounded by chocolate and kittins.
When I told him of this metaphore, he started loughing like crazy and so did I, though he was far louder. Dan and Olliver found us sitting in the tent this way.
"Why are you loughing?" Dans cacking voice shouted from outside, mad at Max.
"Guess who cheated death!" He responded.
"Still alive!" I shouted.
Dan came running into the tent and fell around my neck. Oliver came slowly into the tent, looking concerned.
"What the fuck?" He asked while Dan was kissing my face from top to bottom.
"Is something wrong?" Max asked him.
"Only that I immediately need a blood sample of yours." He said, pointing at me.
"Why?" Dan asked, pissed that he wasn't happy enough that I was still alive, but Oliver was always focused o the bigger picture.
"So he might Research what keeps me alive." I said.
"Exactly, this might help me get to a cure." He added.
Maxes eyes turned wider than they had even before when he had found me alive.
"You mean there might be a chance to beat the virus here?" He asked.
"Possibly." He said, now smiling brighter than ever. We talked for quite some time and Oliver got his blood sample.
I spend the night with Dan while the others went to their own places.
"So what are we going to do now?" I asked her.
"Well, I am fairly cirtain I can provide for the both of us untill you get a Job." She said.
"I can now live on any Job." I said. The problem had never been that there were no jobs, but those empty just didn't pay for the meds and food.
The next evening, Oliver came to the tent while Dan, Max and I were sitting outside.
"So, today I did some testing on your bloodsample." He said.
"And?" I asked.
"Nothing so far, your blood reacts like any blood should when tested for the virus."
"So, I am infected?" I asked.
"As far as I can tell, yes." He responded. "But that is not all. There is nothing in your blood that destroys or clods up the virus."
"You are basicly saying he isn't immune in any known way?" Dan enquired.
"Exactly, and I really have no idea about how to explain your aliveness." Oliver responded. "I know only that it is great."
"Did you have to report anything about this?" Max asked.
"Not jet, we are in a mass blood testing phase anyway, so smuggeling in one more was no big deal." He said, we spend the rest of the evening talking and I spend the next day searching for a Job.
"Have you felt any change in the past few days?" He asked me the next day.
"Well, my fepression is gone, but otherwise. Not really." I responded, somewhat sarcasticly, not being depressed anymore was quite a huge shift.
"Have you found anything?" Dan asked.
"Well, your cells responds wierdly to the med." He said. "In the sense that they don't. See, the medicine works by getting your body to work, but this doesn't happen in you. I really don't see how this would protect you from the virus, but you effectively lived without the med all your life."
"So, I am immune and you still have no idea why." I said.
"Yes, and, on another note, do you have any living relatives?" He asked."I know your parents died and you have no ciblings, but are there any aunts or uncles?"
"I have a distant uncle in Russia, though I would not have heared if he had died or moved in the last years." I said and copied his last data onto a sheet of paper.
"Here." I handed the paper to him.
"I will call him." He said. We spend the rest of the day just talking, arguing over everything from god to anarchism.
I found a possible job for me on the next day, though I would start a few days later. When I got back to the tent, Oliver was arguing with the police, so I stayed away and went around the house, climbing over the fences.
Dan was standing next to the tent with two backpacks. As I saw over the fence.
Max was also there, handing her another backpack.
After dropping to the ground, I realised that the tent was gone.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"You are being searched for!" Dan replied, trying to keep her voice down.
"Take this, we got to go now." She handed me the backpack and we lept back over the fence, running off.
"Don't you need your meds?" I asked after we had gotten away from the sight and slowed down.
"Olli smuggled out a months worth when he heared you were searched for." She replied. "Apperantly someone didn't like you survivng."
"Now, one more time: What the fuck is going on?" I asked her.
"Well, trying to find out what is up with you Olli ran into some truble at work, after he did some unsceduled tests." She started. "So, he had to explain himself. This got all the way to the General director, who called the cops. Realising what had happened, Olli stole a months worth of meds for all he usually supplyed and called me on the way home. That is all I know." | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | I woke up to a splitting headache, the likes of which I have never experienced before. The sickness had arrived. I tried to stand up, but a tsunami of nausea immediately threw me down. Was this the end? I couldn't see much, as my vision was failing quickly, but it was certainly well past morning. The sunlight pierced straight through to my head, even as I tried to keep my eyes shut. A rumbling through my bones became more and more evident, like sitting near the railway as a freight train hurled closer and closer.
bleeehhhh
---
I woke up a splitting headache, the likes of which I have never experienced before. I couldn't see much, but it was clearly--
"Mr. Fields, please stay where you are"
A formal voice. What the hell? And my name. It sounded almost foreign to me.
"Mr. Fields, you are currently in the St. Christopher's hospital. Do you remember how you got here?"
Nope. My vision was starting to clear, and I saw that I was in a clean room, IV in arm, as a couple nurses and an ancient looking copper stared intently at my face.
"Mr. Fields, we are sorry to bother you in this state, but you are under arr... er, a valuable witness to the investigation. You were found lying unconscious in Lee park this morning suffering from severe dehydration due to excessive drinking."
Sounds about right. I had downed at least twenty beers last night and blacked out.
"You were found alongside fifty five other individuals, most of whom were declared dead at the scene from complications from the MS-06S 'Zaku' bacteria infection."
That's right... I had ran out of money to buy pills last week, and had joined a suicide party I came across on my way home. But hang on...
"You and your, uh.. mistress across the room were the only known survivors. Mr. Fields, when was the last time you've taken a dose of the daily RX78.2 antibacterial?"
Mistress? But hmmm, I last went to the pharmacy on the tenth, so... eight days ago? Huh, some luck...
I saw the cop's hands were shaking a little. The nurses were mumbling something technical to themselves. Sitting up, I saw a young slim asian girl lying in a bed just across from mine. Quite an upgrade from my wife I should say, though I didn't recognize her. Stupid booze.
Suddenly the door to my room flung open loudly, way too loudly for my headache.
"The final blood tests are back" an annoyingly loud voice squeaked, "Ms Xu's MS-06S values continue to drop, and have fallen below critical levels. As for Mr. Fields... the tests.... still show Zero. He is officially in remission" | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | [WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead. | As I laced my tattered shoes on my aching feet, I could feel my heart pulsating in my ear drums. I'd never been so afraid. Never felt so alone. It even took me a few moments to realize that I'd been fumbling hopelessly with my laces because of how much my hands were shaking. I took a deep breath and repeated the same words that had kept me going up to this point. "He'll go for it. He has to go for it." I whispered to myself. I pushed off from my bed with a loud creak and grabbed my Lucky Stop t-shirt from the hamper. I pulled it over my head and instantly the stench overwhelmed me. However I kept my composure as I started down the steps that bombarded me with more familiar creeks and groans. I passed by the washing machine in the laundry room as I walked though the living room. The rusty old thing had stopped working weeks ago. I'd been hand washing our clothes since then, with soap that just ran out yesterday. I shuffled anxiously into the kitchen where my trusted companion sat waiting patiently.
I loved my bike, it was the only thing I owned that still looked new. As I looked at it, sweet and sour memories of my mother and I soaring through the trails in the woods flooded my mind. She was so lively and carefree then. As I pulled my bike to the front door, I glanced quickly at the guest room where my mother now slept because the stairs had become too much for her. Her breathing was a little labored, but no worst than usual. I'd placed her pill bottles on the night stand next to her for when she woke. And the clear glass vial of green liquid that kept me up at night, sat right next to them. The green glow tempting me to come closer. I turned and quickly darted out the door before my mother woke and saw me, possibly for the last time, or before I did something I'd regret.
The check that my mom recieved monthly from the government should arrive by tomorrow, I thought as I pedaled madly towards Lucky Stop. That would keep her covered for a month of vials, and so on each month wity just enough let over for food. In that case however she'd need to stop taking her pills for some period of time to afford the vials. The thought alone made me shudder with fear. As I pulled to Lucky Stop I related the words to myself once more, a little louder this time. "He'll go for it. He has to go for it." I sobbed, as tears rolled down my cheeks. On the front window was a blown up picture of that same precious glass vial bubbling with bright emerald liquid. On the picture in bold lettering was Lucky's new Lyf ad. It read 'New Low Prices, Replenish Yourself With Daily Lyf Bio Supplements Today.' I wiped my tears and entered convenience store. Lucky saw me instantly, a grim look hung on his face. However, I went forward with my proposal all the same.
"So Lucky, I know things have been slow recently, but I was hoping you could give me an advance for today. J-just enough for a couple vials. My mom's leukemia has progressed a bit and the prices of the drugs she needs now are insane. So please I just need-"
Lucky cuts me off. "Get out."
I'm dumbfounded. "I work today though and I really need the hours."
He raised his voice this time. "I said get out! I know you've been stealing vials. Why do you think I moved the supply into the back? I felt sorry for your poor mother, so I kept you on, but I have mouths to feed too. I'm afraid they're more important."
After that, I don't even remember leaving the store, but I do know that I wound up in some back alley, way downtown. My prized possession sat against the wall opposite of me, taunting me with the promises of what was and what could've been. I knew I couldn't go home, my mom couldn't take it if she found me. I pressed my head against the filthy brick wall and glanced at my bike one last time. I closed my eyes, satisfied that at the very least it was the last thing I'd see.
When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see my beloved bike was gone, probably stolen in the night. I was even more shocked to find that I was not gone. I looked up at the sun and for the first time in a long time, I smiled. Then I laughed. I laughed alone in that dank alley for hours. People passed by me and stared awkwardly or scowled. It was then that I noticed how sickly they all seemed. Many were coughing or sneezing and others just seemed genuinely miserable. I began to wonder when the last time I'd seen a person smile or crack a joke. I'm sure I'd questioned it before and chalked it up to the virus, but as I looked out from that grimy alleyway, feeling the best I had in years, I wasn't so sure anymore. | 23rd April 2189
I have no money left thanks to that stupid drug of there's. "If you want to live take these, forever" and they actually meant forever. It wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't so dam expensive. I have no more money tomorrow's dose. I accept my fate and will die in peace knowing no one will miss me
24th April 2189
I have been feeling terrible through out all of this day. Vomiting. Coughing..... Bleeding. I was not expecting this to kick in so fast. I knew people died but I though I would at least have some time. This is most likely my final entry. I will now take a long deserved rest. Let's hope the cross wind don't blow rain under the bridge.
May 5 2189
Everything seems hazy. I don't know what's happened. I've slept for so long. I've asked a pass buyer what day it was and its seems it's been almost 2 weeks. How is this possible? I don't understand ! It's been on the news all the time people dyeing as soon as they take the course. I don't understand !! I NEES TO TELL EVERYONE
May 6
I've told everyone I saw. Running though town shouting to the world that the pharmacy company is lying ! It's all lies! Your body can fight this disease on its own. No need for the drugs. They only told us this to keep us hooked !
May 24
The night after my revelation, I was stormed by a team of 4 men dressed in white and blunged to an inch of my life. Woke up in a clear white room. Sterile. Silent. I was strapped down to a doctors table unable to move. I heard a door open behind me. Footsteps and the sound of wheels followed. A team of 2 people stood in front of me. Dressed in white as before but these look more like doctors unlike the space soldiers from the retro movies. The one on the left picked a syringe with a needle. Applying pressure to my arm he inserted the needle. I couldn't scream as my mouth was taped shut. The one on the right stepped forward and leaned over me to with 20 cms of my face and whispered: "what's in that syringe will kill you instantly at our will, like a kill switch. Tell anyone about the drug and you'll drop dead on the spot like anyone else". All I remember after is falling back asleep and waking up by my things again.
|
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