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[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I opened my weekly med box to Tuesday. Two oblong white pills and one small round blue rattled in the plastic. I considered the drink in my hand. I had been pouring myself a jack and coke when the pill box snuck its way into my periphery, reminding me that I had missed my meds by about an hour. Mom kept asking me to set a daily reminder alarm on my phone. I told her last week that I had, just to get her to stop asking. She liked to call about every other day and, under the guise of small talk, ask gentle prodding questions about my mental stability, waiting for me to tell her what she wanted to hear. So, that's what I've started to do. Yes, Mom, I've set a reminder. Yes, I cooked a meal today instead of ordering. I just saw my friends yesterday. The new job is going wonderfully.
It probably wasn't the best idea to take your crazy pills with alcohol--or any pills for that matter--but by the time the thought had formed I was already raising the glass to my lips. One, two, three sweet firey sips, and there we are. Done. Look, Mom, I did it. Aren't you proud.
I topped off my glass with a bit more fire.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I half considered ignoring it, but I had already dodged one of her calls this week. "Hey, Mom."
"Hey, darling. How are we doing today?"
If I could be driven crazier than I already was, that would be the way to do it. There's no "we" involved here. It's me, alone, in this stupid tiny apartment that I'm running out of money to pay for, alone with these empty bottles, alone with the lingering smell of stale weed, alone with my head, alone being constricted and seized and fantasizing about what it would be like to smash my skull against a wall so it shattered like an eggshell just to get it to stop. This is me. There's no fucking "we" about it.
"Good. Just took my pills."
"Oh! That's...that's wonderful."
Silence. How strange. For how hard she often has to push me to do so, you'd expect something of an actual reaction.
"Look, honey. I called your store; I thought you'd be working. They said..." She paused, took a breath. I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. "They said that you didn't work there...that they had never heard your name before."
I had nothing to say to that. I had no defense. Of course I hadn't gotten a new job; I hadn't gone out door-knocking like my pulled-up-by-his-bootstraps dad had been encouraging me to do. I clicked through some ads on Craigslist once, but they all wanted a resume, and I needed to update mine, and the more I considered opening the file and seeing my own name heading a list of accomplishments that felt forged by someone who was not me anymore, the idea made my bones heavy and I needed a packed bowl and three shots to make my skin feel like skin again.
Mom continued to fill my silence. "And that worried me, baby, it worried me a lot, so--so, I'm sorry, I just was looking out for you, I just want you to be okay--I messaged Lin--"
My dry throat scratched to life. "You fucking didn't."
"I know, dear, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make trouble for you, but you lied about your job! Was I meant to just let that go?"
"It sure as hell doesn't invite you to fucking message Lin."
"You said you had made up! That's what you told me. Just like you told me about your job and that you've been going to therapy and that you took your pills today."
"I did take my pills today! Right before you called."
"Is that all you can defend?"
Fuck. I sank down into the couch. My head was still reeling from hearing Lin's name. It had been almost a year. We were still facebook friends since I never used facebook anyway, so no one thought it worthwhile to unfriend me. Occasionally I'd scroll through, see pictures of her and her friends that used to be mine too. Lin, with her hair so black it shone blue in the right light, who sang loudly and off-key, who loved banana milkshakes and mushroom pizza and birds and candles and, for awhile, me. "What did she say?" I asked quietly.
Mom didn't answer, which was probably for the best, but that meant nothing had changed. Lin still hated me. I silently thanked Mom for not verbally confirming it, but my gut twisted into itself anyway. "Honey, I'm so worried about you. I don't know what's happened, but it's gone on far too long. I think...your dad and I have been talking, and we agreed...well, honey, some things are going to be changing for you very soon. Things will be--"
"Changing? The hell is gonna be changing? Are you guys coming here?" My heart suddenly raced in panic as I looked around the rat's nest that was once an apartment. "You don't need to do that, it's such a long trip, you don't need to put yourselves through that."
"I appreciate the concern," she said dryly, like she knew that was not in fact my concern. "But no. Just...your dad and I set you up to live a certain way and that might not have been the right choice. We thought that this would lead to success, not..." She trailed off.
"Not failure, right." Even though I knew for a long time that I had failed at the overall art of personhood, it stung in a particular way to hear my mother admit it, roundabout as it was. "What do you mean, though, you set me up for a certain life?"
"Honey. Just...I think it's time your dad and I made things easier for you. We can make that choice as your parents. Things should be more dialed down, easier to manage after today. I'm sorry we've let it go on this long." Her voice shook. Mom rarely cried unless it was because of me. "I'm so sorry, darling. We just wanted you to succeed, it was so selfish of us to make you this way. I'm so sorry." She stopped again to take deep shuddering breaths. I knew she would be sobbing freely soon, and that hurt to think about, but I couldn't get my head around her words.
"Mom, what are you talking about? You didn't...you didn't do this, I'm just like this; what do you mean things are changing? What's getting easier?" She was being so cryptic and that made me anxious--the disordered kind of anxious that was unique to those of us with incorrect brain chemistry, the kind of anxious where black shadows seeped into the corners of my eyes and my insides started to vibrate. "Mom, I need to know what you're talking about."
She was crying at this point with abandon, deep gasps punctuated by whispered apologies that I didn't understand. "I love you," she managed. "I love you--you'll see tomorrow--I'm sorry--I love you so much." And she hung up the phone.
What. The. Fuck.
Dad was at work and I knew I couldn't call him; he kept his personal phone turned off and I didn't have his work number anymore. I tried calling Mom back but she didn't answer.
I finished my drink in two long glugs, shook my head to clear the fire, and stood to pour another. A text from my mom buzzed--"*I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You'll understand tomorrow, I promise.*"
I took the bottle of liquor off the counter, carried it to the couch, and nursed it until my head stopped buzzing and I drifted to sleep.
The next day, I didn't have a hangover for the first time in months, which was bizarre for a number of reasons, but I chalked it up to a shimmer of good luck and reached for the empty bottle. I carried it to the trash can. There were a couple more shoved away nearby, and the more I looked at them the more they annoyed me. I threw them in too. Might as well, since I was standing there anyway. My stomach rumbled and my kitchen was nearly empty, but I managed to find some bread and cheese to make a grilled cheese. While I waited for the pan to heat up, I found myself staring at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. I had a dishwasher. How had my gross ass let this happen? I started loading it up and let it run just as my sandwich finished cooking. It was an unusually tasty grilled cheese--somehow I'd managed to toast it perfectly golden-brown, no burnt bits like usual. The stack of bills glared at me from the counter while I ate and I was reminded of Mom calling the store I did not work at. How heartbreaking that must have been for her to realize I had been lying. I began to let myself entertain the idea of checking some job ads online, and the thought didn't try to eat me alive. My resume might have to wait for another day, but just seeing what's available couldn't hurt.
I opened my weekly med box to Wednesday. It was empty. | 'We were going to keep it from you as long as we could' mom said. 'But your father and i have just released control of your trust fund to you.' | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | Apparently, being bored can get just as bad as being depressed.
I figured that out when my parents both agreed to switch me to a lower difficulty setting. Before that, I had not been having a good time. My boyfriend was cheating on me, nothing was going right at work, bills were piling up... Now, I have very little to worry about. *Too* little.
For example, my car basically got turned into a self-driving one. I don't have to watch for oncoming traffic anymore because if a car is coming and I want to turn left, it won't let me. Also, I'm allowed to drive it drunk. That's how easy the assists make it.
The cellphones I had - an iPhone for work and an Android for everything else - are now gone completely, to be replaced by what is essentially a tablet. It's got huge buttons and a soft, grippy case. It looks like *Nintendo* made it. All the useful apps like online banking and the NY Times are gone; games are all that is left.
Sure, my parents technically made my life easier. Way less can go wrong, if *anything* can. I think that living on the highest difficulty setting, before, has turned me into a person that's not suitable for this baby stuff, though.
Recently I've been trying to fail, just to know what it feels like again. But I've been failing to fail... | *You know, I think they keep moving the goalposts on me. I used to be the dumbest kid in class and no one even noticed. Then I started caring, I put a ton of effort into middle school, almost got to skip a grade. I graduated salutatorian from high school, my dad asked me what I did wrong.*
*I loathed college, I hated everyone I met with very little exception. I don't really know how to move forward besides either medical school, dental school, or pharmaceutical school. I could just start using that CNA certification I got two years ago, but they get paid shit for so much work. I've had this bottle of pills on my desk for a few months now; I think I know how this story ends.*
A knock at the door, my mom comes in without permission.
"Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could talk."
"Yeah, I'm not doing anything." I close my laptop screen and swivel my chair toward her. She walks over to the bed and sits down. I adjust my chair a little bit more.
"Honey, I'm a little worried that you feel like we're pressuring you. We just want you to make a choice you'll be happy with. We want you to get moving on becoming your own person."
The bottle is hidden behind a fat book on the shelf. For a second I don't think about that option.
"Mom, I just don't know that I'll ever make you happy. I feel like whenever I try all I do is raise expectations for my next attempt."
"You never had to do anything but say hello in the morning to make me happy."
*Maybe I'll take a second look at my other options, why throw away a perfectly good set of opportunities? The pills can wait.* | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I looked down at the switch in my hands still refusing to believe. All it had taken was one little toggle. When my parents explained to me that I had been playing life on expert mode, I had thought at first that they were speaking metaphorically. Even with the hours they spent explaining the point system, difficulty settings, and how a family like ours was playing in the expert mode to harvest as many points as possible, I still couldn't believe it. Looking down at the remote in my hands, it still didn't seem possible.
They had hoped that we would respawn with the best gear if we all played on expert. Unfortunately, Life was proving to be too difficult for me. Worried that I might not make it long at all, they had cracked some numbers and decided that it would be better for me to play through a full life in Novice Mode, than to lose early on in the Expert mode. As bad as it felt to let them down, I was also relieved in a big way. My life made so much more sense now; *the world* made so much more sense now.
But even with all that reflection, even witnessing it myself as I turned the switch down to the easiest setting, even though I could see it front of my very own eyes, I still couldn't believe that I had just turned white. | *You know, I think they keep moving the goalposts on me. I used to be the dumbest kid in class and no one even noticed. Then I started caring, I put a ton of effort into middle school, almost got to skip a grade. I graduated salutatorian from high school, my dad asked me what I did wrong.*
*I loathed college, I hated everyone I met with very little exception. I don't really know how to move forward besides either medical school, dental school, or pharmaceutical school. I could just start using that CNA certification I got two years ago, but they get paid shit for so much work. I've had this bottle of pills on my desk for a few months now; I think I know how this story ends.*
A knock at the door, my mom comes in without permission.
"Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could talk."
"Yeah, I'm not doing anything." I close my laptop screen and swivel my chair toward her. She walks over to the bed and sits down. I adjust my chair a little bit more.
"Honey, I'm a little worried that you feel like we're pressuring you. We just want you to make a choice you'll be happy with. We want you to get moving on becoming your own person."
The bottle is hidden behind a fat book on the shelf. For a second I don't think about that option.
"Mom, I just don't know that I'll ever make you happy. I feel like whenever I try all I do is raise expectations for my next attempt."
"You never had to do anything but say hello in the morning to make me happy."
*Maybe I'll take a second look at my other options, why throw away a perfectly good set of opportunities? The pills can wait.* | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | Personally, I would have been happier with a compromise. I wasn't skilled enough for the higher difficulties, but "Novice" just felt like an insult. Work had been miserable the past few months, and I had broken down, calling my mother crying. She had congratulated me for how long I had been operating on Expert, telling me she was proud of me. It stung, more than anything.
That's when I found out about difficulty settings. I'd heard people joke about it before, but I'd assumed that's all they were, jokes. The existence of the system at all seemed insidious to me. Why have an arbitrary difficulty system in place when there was no ostensible reward for playing on a higher difficulty? I had to do some investigation.
The office of the Bureau of Life Difficulty Administration was pretty small, considering its importance and reach. I walked in, seeing only a small desk on the wall opposite me where a concierge sat expectantly.
"Difficulty Change or General Inquiry?" He asked, motioning as he did so to a door on either side of him.
"Uh... General Inquiry, I suppose."
"Just one moment, please." The man pulled a phone off its handset, pressing it into his shoulder as he dialed a series of numbers into the keypad. There was a loud buzz that reminded me of my old apartment, and the door clicked open.
"Someone will be with you shortly." the man said pleasantly. I walked through the door marked General Inquiry, quite unsure of what I would find on the other side.
It appeared to be another waiting room, which struck me as oddly hilarious, and I had to stifle a laugh. I sat down in one of the available chairs and waited patiently to be seen. After a few minutes of idly bouncing my knee, a woman walked through the door on the other side of the waiting room. I had assumed she would walk me back through the door, but, to my surprise, she sat down next to me, checking a folder as she did so.
"It's always a surprise to get a visit from a Novice," she began.
"I've actually just had mine switched from Expert," I replied, and she checked her folder, brows folded in confusion.
"Ah, so you have. This font really should be much bigger. How can I assist today?"
I cleared my throat. I hadn't been sure I'd make it this far, and I wasn't really prepared for the directness of her question.
"Well, um... why a difficulty system? Doesn't it seem, I don't know, unfair?"
She smiled. "Well, there's an expression you may have heard." She didn't need to finish. I knew life wasn't fair.
"I know, but it seems like piling an unfair system on top of an already unfair life. Unlucky people with a high difficulty have two strikes against them already, and they didn't even do anything."
The woman pondered this for a moment before replying. "Has it ever occurred to you that what we call 'luck' is, in fact, a product of what we do here at BOLDA?" I didn't need to respond, she knew that hadn't occurred to me. "At the end of the day, the choices and opportunities presented to us are influenced to a degree by luck, yes, but it takes a someone to act on that luck to make the most of it."
What she was saying made sense, but it smelled like an excuse to me. "So what you're saying is even though I'm lucky now, it won't make my life easy?"
"Easier, maybe. But no one's life is truly easy the way you mean it. Everyone has choices to make, and the difficulty of that choice is sometimes relative. We're here to ensure that life never gets unmanageable." She beamed at me.
Maybe she was right. Maybe luck wasn't the only contributing factor to happiness, although I sure felt a lot happier since I'd had my difficulty turned down.
"How does someone turn their difficulty down?" I asked.
"Ah, the big flaw in our system. Unfortunately, it's down to an individual's parents to make the decision for them until they're of legal age. The existence of this bureau is somewhat... obscured to the public eye. Many never know we exist."
I thanked the woman for her time. I had the answers I came for. I knew this would make a great story, and publishing it might get me the Pulitzer. But a question nagged at my mind.
Had I made this opportunity? Or was it just luck? | *You know, I think they keep moving the goalposts on me. I used to be the dumbest kid in class and no one even noticed. Then I started caring, I put a ton of effort into middle school, almost got to skip a grade. I graduated salutatorian from high school, my dad asked me what I did wrong.*
*I loathed college, I hated everyone I met with very little exception. I don't really know how to move forward besides either medical school, dental school, or pharmaceutical school. I could just start using that CNA certification I got two years ago, but they get paid shit for so much work. I've had this bottle of pills on my desk for a few months now; I think I know how this story ends.*
A knock at the door, my mom comes in without permission.
"Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could talk."
"Yeah, I'm not doing anything." I close my laptop screen and swivel my chair toward her. She walks over to the bed and sits down. I adjust my chair a little bit more.
"Honey, I'm a little worried that you feel like we're pressuring you. We just want you to make a choice you'll be happy with. We want you to get moving on becoming your own person."
The bottle is hidden behind a fat book on the shelf. For a second I don't think about that option.
"Mom, I just don't know that I'll ever make you happy. I feel like whenever I try all I do is raise expectations for my next attempt."
"You never had to do anything but say hello in the morning to make me happy."
*Maybe I'll take a second look at my other options, why throw away a perfectly good set of opportunities? The pills can wait.* | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I opened my weekly med box to Tuesday. Two oblong white pills and one small round blue rattled in the plastic. I considered the drink in my hand. I had been pouring myself a jack and coke when the pill box snuck its way into my periphery, reminding me that I had missed my meds by about an hour. Mom kept asking me to set a daily reminder alarm on my phone. I told her last week that I had, just to get her to stop asking. She liked to call about every other day and, under the guise of small talk, ask gentle prodding questions about my mental stability, waiting for me to tell her what she wanted to hear. So, that's what I've started to do. Yes, Mom, I've set a reminder. Yes, I cooked a meal today instead of ordering. I just saw my friends yesterday. The new job is going wonderfully.
It probably wasn't the best idea to take your crazy pills with alcohol--or any pills for that matter--but by the time the thought had formed I was already raising the glass to my lips. One, two, three sweet firey sips, and there we are. Done. Look, Mom, I did it. Aren't you proud.
I topped off my glass with a bit more fire.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I half considered ignoring it, but I had already dodged one of her calls this week. "Hey, Mom."
"Hey, darling. How are we doing today?"
If I could be driven crazier than I already was, that would be the way to do it. There's no "we" involved here. It's me, alone, in this stupid tiny apartment that I'm running out of money to pay for, alone with these empty bottles, alone with the lingering smell of stale weed, alone with my head, alone being constricted and seized and fantasizing about what it would be like to smash my skull against a wall so it shattered like an eggshell just to get it to stop. This is me. There's no fucking "we" about it.
"Good. Just took my pills."
"Oh! That's...that's wonderful."
Silence. How strange. For how hard she often has to push me to do so, you'd expect something of an actual reaction.
"Look, honey. I called your store; I thought you'd be working. They said..." She paused, took a breath. I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. "They said that you didn't work there...that they had never heard your name before."
I had nothing to say to that. I had no defense. Of course I hadn't gotten a new job; I hadn't gone out door-knocking like my pulled-up-by-his-bootstraps dad had been encouraging me to do. I clicked through some ads on Craigslist once, but they all wanted a resume, and I needed to update mine, and the more I considered opening the file and seeing my own name heading a list of accomplishments that felt forged by someone who was not me anymore, the idea made my bones heavy and I needed a packed bowl and three shots to make my skin feel like skin again.
Mom continued to fill my silence. "And that worried me, baby, it worried me a lot, so--so, I'm sorry, I just was looking out for you, I just want you to be okay--I messaged Lin--"
My dry throat scratched to life. "You fucking didn't."
"I know, dear, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make trouble for you, but you lied about your job! Was I meant to just let that go?"
"It sure as hell doesn't invite you to fucking message Lin."
"You said you had made up! That's what you told me. Just like you told me about your job and that you've been going to therapy and that you took your pills today."
"I did take my pills today! Right before you called."
"Is that all you can defend?"
Fuck. I sank down into the couch. My head was still reeling from hearing Lin's name. It had been almost a year. We were still facebook friends since I never used facebook anyway, so no one thought it worthwhile to unfriend me. Occasionally I'd scroll through, see pictures of her and her friends that used to be mine too. Lin, with her hair so black it shone blue in the right light, who sang loudly and off-key, who loved banana milkshakes and mushroom pizza and birds and candles and, for awhile, me. "What did she say?" I asked quietly.
Mom didn't answer, which was probably for the best, but that meant nothing had changed. Lin still hated me. I silently thanked Mom for not verbally confirming it, but my gut twisted into itself anyway. "Honey, I'm so worried about you. I don't know what's happened, but it's gone on far too long. I think...your dad and I have been talking, and we agreed...well, honey, some things are going to be changing for you very soon. Things will be--"
"Changing? The hell is gonna be changing? Are you guys coming here?" My heart suddenly raced in panic as I looked around the rat's nest that was once an apartment. "You don't need to do that, it's such a long trip, you don't need to put yourselves through that."
"I appreciate the concern," she said dryly, like she knew that was not in fact my concern. "But no. Just...your dad and I set you up to live a certain way and that might not have been the right choice. We thought that this would lead to success, not..." She trailed off.
"Not failure, right." Even though I knew for a long time that I had failed at the overall art of personhood, it stung in a particular way to hear my mother admit it, roundabout as it was. "What do you mean, though, you set me up for a certain life?"
"Honey. Just...I think it's time your dad and I made things easier for you. We can make that choice as your parents. Things should be more dialed down, easier to manage after today. I'm sorry we've let it go on this long." Her voice shook. Mom rarely cried unless it was because of me. "I'm so sorry, darling. We just wanted you to succeed, it was so selfish of us to make you this way. I'm so sorry." She stopped again to take deep shuddering breaths. I knew she would be sobbing freely soon, and that hurt to think about, but I couldn't get my head around her words.
"Mom, what are you talking about? You didn't...you didn't do this, I'm just like this; what do you mean things are changing? What's getting easier?" She was being so cryptic and that made me anxious--the disordered kind of anxious that was unique to those of us with incorrect brain chemistry, the kind of anxious where black shadows seeped into the corners of my eyes and my insides started to vibrate. "Mom, I need to know what you're talking about."
She was crying at this point with abandon, deep gasps punctuated by whispered apologies that I didn't understand. "I love you," she managed. "I love you--you'll see tomorrow--I'm sorry--I love you so much." And she hung up the phone.
What. The. Fuck.
Dad was at work and I knew I couldn't call him; he kept his personal phone turned off and I didn't have his work number anymore. I tried calling Mom back but she didn't answer.
I finished my drink in two long glugs, shook my head to clear the fire, and stood to pour another. A text from my mom buzzed--"*I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You'll understand tomorrow, I promise.*"
I took the bottle of liquor off the counter, carried it to the couch, and nursed it until my head stopped buzzing and I drifted to sleep.
The next day, I didn't have a hangover for the first time in months, which was bizarre for a number of reasons, but I chalked it up to a shimmer of good luck and reached for the empty bottle. I carried it to the trash can. There were a couple more shoved away nearby, and the more I looked at them the more they annoyed me. I threw them in too. Might as well, since I was standing there anyway. My stomach rumbled and my kitchen was nearly empty, but I managed to find some bread and cheese to make a grilled cheese. While I waited for the pan to heat up, I found myself staring at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. I had a dishwasher. How had my gross ass let this happen? I started loading it up and let it run just as my sandwich finished cooking. It was an unusually tasty grilled cheese--somehow I'd managed to toast it perfectly golden-brown, no burnt bits like usual. The stack of bills glared at me from the counter while I ate and I was reminded of Mom calling the store I did not work at. How heartbreaking that must have been for her to realize I had been lying. I began to let myself entertain the idea of checking some job ads online, and the thought didn't try to eat me alive. My resume might have to wait for another day, but just seeing what's available couldn't hurt.
I opened my weekly med box to Wednesday. It was empty. | *You know, I think they keep moving the goalposts on me. I used to be the dumbest kid in class and no one even noticed. Then I started caring, I put a ton of effort into middle school, almost got to skip a grade. I graduated salutatorian from high school, my dad asked me what I did wrong.*
*I loathed college, I hated everyone I met with very little exception. I don't really know how to move forward besides either medical school, dental school, or pharmaceutical school. I could just start using that CNA certification I got two years ago, but they get paid shit for so much work. I've had this bottle of pills on my desk for a few months now; I think I know how this story ends.*
A knock at the door, my mom comes in without permission.
"Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could talk."
"Yeah, I'm not doing anything." I close my laptop screen and swivel my chair toward her. She walks over to the bed and sits down. I adjust my chair a little bit more.
"Honey, I'm a little worried that you feel like we're pressuring you. We just want you to make a choice you'll be happy with. We want you to get moving on becoming your own person."
The bottle is hidden behind a fat book on the shelf. For a second I don't think about that option.
"Mom, I just don't know that I'll ever make you happy. I feel like whenever I try all I do is raise expectations for my next attempt."
"You never had to do anything but say hello in the morning to make me happy."
*Maybe I'll take a second look at my other options, why throw away a perfectly good set of opportunities? The pills can wait.* | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I looked down at the switch in my hands still refusing to believe. All it had taken was one little toggle. When my parents explained to me that I had been playing life on expert mode, I had thought at first that they were speaking metaphorically. Even with the hours they spent explaining the point system, difficulty settings, and how a family like ours was playing in the expert mode to harvest as many points as possible, I still couldn't believe it. Looking down at the remote in my hands, it still didn't seem possible.
They had hoped that we would respawn with the best gear if we all played on expert. Unfortunately, Life was proving to be too difficult for me. Worried that I might not make it long at all, they had cracked some numbers and decided that it would be better for me to play through a full life in Novice Mode, than to lose early on in the Expert mode. As bad as it felt to let them down, I was also relieved in a big way. My life made so much more sense now; *the world* made so much more sense now.
But even with all that reflection, even witnessing it myself as I turned the switch down to the easiest setting, even though I could see it front of my very own eyes, I still couldn't believe that I had just turned white. | Apparently, being bored can get just as bad as being depressed.
I figured that out when my parents both agreed to switch me to a lower difficulty setting. Before that, I had not been having a good time. My boyfriend was cheating on me, nothing was going right at work, bills were piling up... Now, I have very little to worry about. *Too* little.
For example, my car basically got turned into a self-driving one. I don't have to watch for oncoming traffic anymore because if a car is coming and I want to turn left, it won't let me. Also, I'm allowed to drive it drunk. That's how easy the assists make it.
The cellphones I had - an iPhone for work and an Android for everything else - are now gone completely, to be replaced by what is essentially a tablet. It's got huge buttons and a soft, grippy case. It looks like *Nintendo* made it. All the useful apps like online banking and the NY Times are gone; games are all that is left.
Sure, my parents technically made my life easier. Way less can go wrong, if *anything* can. I think that living on the highest difficulty setting, before, has turned me into a person that's not suitable for this baby stuff, though.
Recently I've been trying to fail, just to know what it feels like again. But I've been failing to fail... | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I opened my weekly med box to Tuesday. Two oblong white pills and one small round blue rattled in the plastic. I considered the drink in my hand. I had been pouring myself a jack and coke when the pill box snuck its way into my periphery, reminding me that I had missed my meds by about an hour. Mom kept asking me to set a daily reminder alarm on my phone. I told her last week that I had, just to get her to stop asking. She liked to call about every other day and, under the guise of small talk, ask gentle prodding questions about my mental stability, waiting for me to tell her what she wanted to hear. So, that's what I've started to do. Yes, Mom, I've set a reminder. Yes, I cooked a meal today instead of ordering. I just saw my friends yesterday. The new job is going wonderfully.
It probably wasn't the best idea to take your crazy pills with alcohol--or any pills for that matter--but by the time the thought had formed I was already raising the glass to my lips. One, two, three sweet firey sips, and there we are. Done. Look, Mom, I did it. Aren't you proud.
I topped off my glass with a bit more fire.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I half considered ignoring it, but I had already dodged one of her calls this week. "Hey, Mom."
"Hey, darling. How are we doing today?"
If I could be driven crazier than I already was, that would be the way to do it. There's no "we" involved here. It's me, alone, in this stupid tiny apartment that I'm running out of money to pay for, alone with these empty bottles, alone with the lingering smell of stale weed, alone with my head, alone being constricted and seized and fantasizing about what it would be like to smash my skull against a wall so it shattered like an eggshell just to get it to stop. This is me. There's no fucking "we" about it.
"Good. Just took my pills."
"Oh! That's...that's wonderful."
Silence. How strange. For how hard she often has to push me to do so, you'd expect something of an actual reaction.
"Look, honey. I called your store; I thought you'd be working. They said..." She paused, took a breath. I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. "They said that you didn't work there...that they had never heard your name before."
I had nothing to say to that. I had no defense. Of course I hadn't gotten a new job; I hadn't gone out door-knocking like my pulled-up-by-his-bootstraps dad had been encouraging me to do. I clicked through some ads on Craigslist once, but they all wanted a resume, and I needed to update mine, and the more I considered opening the file and seeing my own name heading a list of accomplishments that felt forged by someone who was not me anymore, the idea made my bones heavy and I needed a packed bowl and three shots to make my skin feel like skin again.
Mom continued to fill my silence. "And that worried me, baby, it worried me a lot, so--so, I'm sorry, I just was looking out for you, I just want you to be okay--I messaged Lin--"
My dry throat scratched to life. "You fucking didn't."
"I know, dear, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make trouble for you, but you lied about your job! Was I meant to just let that go?"
"It sure as hell doesn't invite you to fucking message Lin."
"You said you had made up! That's what you told me. Just like you told me about your job and that you've been going to therapy and that you took your pills today."
"I did take my pills today! Right before you called."
"Is that all you can defend?"
Fuck. I sank down into the couch. My head was still reeling from hearing Lin's name. It had been almost a year. We were still facebook friends since I never used facebook anyway, so no one thought it worthwhile to unfriend me. Occasionally I'd scroll through, see pictures of her and her friends that used to be mine too. Lin, with her hair so black it shone blue in the right light, who sang loudly and off-key, who loved banana milkshakes and mushroom pizza and birds and candles and, for awhile, me. "What did she say?" I asked quietly.
Mom didn't answer, which was probably for the best, but that meant nothing had changed. Lin still hated me. I silently thanked Mom for not verbally confirming it, but my gut twisted into itself anyway. "Honey, I'm so worried about you. I don't know what's happened, but it's gone on far too long. I think...your dad and I have been talking, and we agreed...well, honey, some things are going to be changing for you very soon. Things will be--"
"Changing? The hell is gonna be changing? Are you guys coming here?" My heart suddenly raced in panic as I looked around the rat's nest that was once an apartment. "You don't need to do that, it's such a long trip, you don't need to put yourselves through that."
"I appreciate the concern," she said dryly, like she knew that was not in fact my concern. "But no. Just...your dad and I set you up to live a certain way and that might not have been the right choice. We thought that this would lead to success, not..." She trailed off.
"Not failure, right." Even though I knew for a long time that I had failed at the overall art of personhood, it stung in a particular way to hear my mother admit it, roundabout as it was. "What do you mean, though, you set me up for a certain life?"
"Honey. Just...I think it's time your dad and I made things easier for you. We can make that choice as your parents. Things should be more dialed down, easier to manage after today. I'm sorry we've let it go on this long." Her voice shook. Mom rarely cried unless it was because of me. "I'm so sorry, darling. We just wanted you to succeed, it was so selfish of us to make you this way. I'm so sorry." She stopped again to take deep shuddering breaths. I knew she would be sobbing freely soon, and that hurt to think about, but I couldn't get my head around her words.
"Mom, what are you talking about? You didn't...you didn't do this, I'm just like this; what do you mean things are changing? What's getting easier?" She was being so cryptic and that made me anxious--the disordered kind of anxious that was unique to those of us with incorrect brain chemistry, the kind of anxious where black shadows seeped into the corners of my eyes and my insides started to vibrate. "Mom, I need to know what you're talking about."
She was crying at this point with abandon, deep gasps punctuated by whispered apologies that I didn't understand. "I love you," she managed. "I love you--you'll see tomorrow--I'm sorry--I love you so much." And she hung up the phone.
What. The. Fuck.
Dad was at work and I knew I couldn't call him; he kept his personal phone turned off and I didn't have his work number anymore. I tried calling Mom back but she didn't answer.
I finished my drink in two long glugs, shook my head to clear the fire, and stood to pour another. A text from my mom buzzed--"*I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You'll understand tomorrow, I promise.*"
I took the bottle of liquor off the counter, carried it to the couch, and nursed it until my head stopped buzzing and I drifted to sleep.
The next day, I didn't have a hangover for the first time in months, which was bizarre for a number of reasons, but I chalked it up to a shimmer of good luck and reached for the empty bottle. I carried it to the trash can. There were a couple more shoved away nearby, and the more I looked at them the more they annoyed me. I threw them in too. Might as well, since I was standing there anyway. My stomach rumbled and my kitchen was nearly empty, but I managed to find some bread and cheese to make a grilled cheese. While I waited for the pan to heat up, I found myself staring at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. I had a dishwasher. How had my gross ass let this happen? I started loading it up and let it run just as my sandwich finished cooking. It was an unusually tasty grilled cheese--somehow I'd managed to toast it perfectly golden-brown, no burnt bits like usual. The stack of bills glared at me from the counter while I ate and I was reminded of Mom calling the store I did not work at. How heartbreaking that must have been for her to realize I had been lying. I began to let myself entertain the idea of checking some job ads online, and the thought didn't try to eat me alive. My resume might have to wait for another day, but just seeing what's available couldn't hurt.
I opened my weekly med box to Wednesday. It was empty. | Apparently, being bored can get just as bad as being depressed.
I figured that out when my parents both agreed to switch me to a lower difficulty setting. Before that, I had not been having a good time. My boyfriend was cheating on me, nothing was going right at work, bills were piling up... Now, I have very little to worry about. *Too* little.
For example, my car basically got turned into a self-driving one. I don't have to watch for oncoming traffic anymore because if a car is coming and I want to turn left, it won't let me. Also, I'm allowed to drive it drunk. That's how easy the assists make it.
The cellphones I had - an iPhone for work and an Android for everything else - are now gone completely, to be replaced by what is essentially a tablet. It's got huge buttons and a soft, grippy case. It looks like *Nintendo* made it. All the useful apps like online banking and the NY Times are gone; games are all that is left.
Sure, my parents technically made my life easier. Way less can go wrong, if *anything* can. I think that living on the highest difficulty setting, before, has turned me into a person that's not suitable for this baby stuff, though.
Recently I've been trying to fail, just to know what it feels like again. But I've been failing to fail... | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I opened my weekly med box to Tuesday. Two oblong white pills and one small round blue rattled in the plastic. I considered the drink in my hand. I had been pouring myself a jack and coke when the pill box snuck its way into my periphery, reminding me that I had missed my meds by about an hour. Mom kept asking me to set a daily reminder alarm on my phone. I told her last week that I had, just to get her to stop asking. She liked to call about every other day and, under the guise of small talk, ask gentle prodding questions about my mental stability, waiting for me to tell her what she wanted to hear. So, that's what I've started to do. Yes, Mom, I've set a reminder. Yes, I cooked a meal today instead of ordering. I just saw my friends yesterday. The new job is going wonderfully.
It probably wasn't the best idea to take your crazy pills with alcohol--or any pills for that matter--but by the time the thought had formed I was already raising the glass to my lips. One, two, three sweet firey sips, and there we are. Done. Look, Mom, I did it. Aren't you proud.
I topped off my glass with a bit more fire.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I half considered ignoring it, but I had already dodged one of her calls this week. "Hey, Mom."
"Hey, darling. How are we doing today?"
If I could be driven crazier than I already was, that would be the way to do it. There's no "we" involved here. It's me, alone, in this stupid tiny apartment that I'm running out of money to pay for, alone with these empty bottles, alone with the lingering smell of stale weed, alone with my head, alone being constricted and seized and fantasizing about what it would be like to smash my skull against a wall so it shattered like an eggshell just to get it to stop. This is me. There's no fucking "we" about it.
"Good. Just took my pills."
"Oh! That's...that's wonderful."
Silence. How strange. For how hard she often has to push me to do so, you'd expect something of an actual reaction.
"Look, honey. I called your store; I thought you'd be working. They said..." She paused, took a breath. I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. "They said that you didn't work there...that they had never heard your name before."
I had nothing to say to that. I had no defense. Of course I hadn't gotten a new job; I hadn't gone out door-knocking like my pulled-up-by-his-bootstraps dad had been encouraging me to do. I clicked through some ads on Craigslist once, but they all wanted a resume, and I needed to update mine, and the more I considered opening the file and seeing my own name heading a list of accomplishments that felt forged by someone who was not me anymore, the idea made my bones heavy and I needed a packed bowl and three shots to make my skin feel like skin again.
Mom continued to fill my silence. "And that worried me, baby, it worried me a lot, so--so, I'm sorry, I just was looking out for you, I just want you to be okay--I messaged Lin--"
My dry throat scratched to life. "You fucking didn't."
"I know, dear, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make trouble for you, but you lied about your job! Was I meant to just let that go?"
"It sure as hell doesn't invite you to fucking message Lin."
"You said you had made up! That's what you told me. Just like you told me about your job and that you've been going to therapy and that you took your pills today."
"I did take my pills today! Right before you called."
"Is that all you can defend?"
Fuck. I sank down into the couch. My head was still reeling from hearing Lin's name. It had been almost a year. We were still facebook friends since I never used facebook anyway, so no one thought it worthwhile to unfriend me. Occasionally I'd scroll through, see pictures of her and her friends that used to be mine too. Lin, with her hair so black it shone blue in the right light, who sang loudly and off-key, who loved banana milkshakes and mushroom pizza and birds and candles and, for awhile, me. "What did she say?" I asked quietly.
Mom didn't answer, which was probably for the best, but that meant nothing had changed. Lin still hated me. I silently thanked Mom for not verbally confirming it, but my gut twisted into itself anyway. "Honey, I'm so worried about you. I don't know what's happened, but it's gone on far too long. I think...your dad and I have been talking, and we agreed...well, honey, some things are going to be changing for you very soon. Things will be--"
"Changing? The hell is gonna be changing? Are you guys coming here?" My heart suddenly raced in panic as I looked around the rat's nest that was once an apartment. "You don't need to do that, it's such a long trip, you don't need to put yourselves through that."
"I appreciate the concern," she said dryly, like she knew that was not in fact my concern. "But no. Just...your dad and I set you up to live a certain way and that might not have been the right choice. We thought that this would lead to success, not..." She trailed off.
"Not failure, right." Even though I knew for a long time that I had failed at the overall art of personhood, it stung in a particular way to hear my mother admit it, roundabout as it was. "What do you mean, though, you set me up for a certain life?"
"Honey. Just...I think it's time your dad and I made things easier for you. We can make that choice as your parents. Things should be more dialed down, easier to manage after today. I'm sorry we've let it go on this long." Her voice shook. Mom rarely cried unless it was because of me. "I'm so sorry, darling. We just wanted you to succeed, it was so selfish of us to make you this way. I'm so sorry." She stopped again to take deep shuddering breaths. I knew she would be sobbing freely soon, and that hurt to think about, but I couldn't get my head around her words.
"Mom, what are you talking about? You didn't...you didn't do this, I'm just like this; what do you mean things are changing? What's getting easier?" She was being so cryptic and that made me anxious--the disordered kind of anxious that was unique to those of us with incorrect brain chemistry, the kind of anxious where black shadows seeped into the corners of my eyes and my insides started to vibrate. "Mom, I need to know what you're talking about."
She was crying at this point with abandon, deep gasps punctuated by whispered apologies that I didn't understand. "I love you," she managed. "I love you--you'll see tomorrow--I'm sorry--I love you so much." And she hung up the phone.
What. The. Fuck.
Dad was at work and I knew I couldn't call him; he kept his personal phone turned off and I didn't have his work number anymore. I tried calling Mom back but she didn't answer.
I finished my drink in two long glugs, shook my head to clear the fire, and stood to pour another. A text from my mom buzzed--"*I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You'll understand tomorrow, I promise.*"
I took the bottle of liquor off the counter, carried it to the couch, and nursed it until my head stopped buzzing and I drifted to sleep.
The next day, I didn't have a hangover for the first time in months, which was bizarre for a number of reasons, but I chalked it up to a shimmer of good luck and reached for the empty bottle. I carried it to the trash can. There were a couple more shoved away nearby, and the more I looked at them the more they annoyed me. I threw them in too. Might as well, since I was standing there anyway. My stomach rumbled and my kitchen was nearly empty, but I managed to find some bread and cheese to make a grilled cheese. While I waited for the pan to heat up, I found myself staring at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. I had a dishwasher. How had my gross ass let this happen? I started loading it up and let it run just as my sandwich finished cooking. It was an unusually tasty grilled cheese--somehow I'd managed to toast it perfectly golden-brown, no burnt bits like usual. The stack of bills glared at me from the counter while I ate and I was reminded of Mom calling the store I did not work at. How heartbreaking that must have been for her to realize I had been lying. I began to let myself entertain the idea of checking some job ads online, and the thought didn't try to eat me alive. My resume might have to wait for another day, but just seeing what's available couldn't hurt.
I opened my weekly med box to Wednesday. It was empty. | I looked down at the switch in my hands still refusing to believe. All it had taken was one little toggle. When my parents explained to me that I had been playing life on expert mode, I had thought at first that they were speaking metaphorically. Even with the hours they spent explaining the point system, difficulty settings, and how a family like ours was playing in the expert mode to harvest as many points as possible, I still couldn't believe it. Looking down at the remote in my hands, it still didn't seem possible.
They had hoped that we would respawn with the best gear if we all played on expert. Unfortunately, Life was proving to be too difficult for me. Worried that I might not make it long at all, they had cracked some numbers and decided that it would be better for me to play through a full life in Novice Mode, than to lose early on in the Expert mode. As bad as it felt to let them down, I was also relieved in a big way. My life made so much more sense now; *the world* made so much more sense now.
But even with all that reflection, even witnessing it myself as I turned the switch down to the easiest setting, even though I could see it front of my very own eyes, I still couldn't believe that I had just turned white. | |
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice". | I opened my weekly med box to Tuesday. Two oblong white pills and one small round blue rattled in the plastic. I considered the drink in my hand. I had been pouring myself a jack and coke when the pill box snuck its way into my periphery, reminding me that I had missed my meds by about an hour. Mom kept asking me to set a daily reminder alarm on my phone. I told her last week that I had, just to get her to stop asking. She liked to call about every other day and, under the guise of small talk, ask gentle prodding questions about my mental stability, waiting for me to tell her what she wanted to hear. So, that's what I've started to do. Yes, Mom, I've set a reminder. Yes, I cooked a meal today instead of ordering. I just saw my friends yesterday. The new job is going wonderfully.
It probably wasn't the best idea to take your crazy pills with alcohol--or any pills for that matter--but by the time the thought had formed I was already raising the glass to my lips. One, two, three sweet firey sips, and there we are. Done. Look, Mom, I did it. Aren't you proud.
I topped off my glass with a bit more fire.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I half considered ignoring it, but I had already dodged one of her calls this week. "Hey, Mom."
"Hey, darling. How are we doing today?"
If I could be driven crazier than I already was, that would be the way to do it. There's no "we" involved here. It's me, alone, in this stupid tiny apartment that I'm running out of money to pay for, alone with these empty bottles, alone with the lingering smell of stale weed, alone with my head, alone being constricted and seized and fantasizing about what it would be like to smash my skull against a wall so it shattered like an eggshell just to get it to stop. This is me. There's no fucking "we" about it.
"Good. Just took my pills."
"Oh! That's...that's wonderful."
Silence. How strange. For how hard she often has to push me to do so, you'd expect something of an actual reaction.
"Look, honey. I called your store; I thought you'd be working. They said..." She paused, took a breath. I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. "They said that you didn't work there...that they had never heard your name before."
I had nothing to say to that. I had no defense. Of course I hadn't gotten a new job; I hadn't gone out door-knocking like my pulled-up-by-his-bootstraps dad had been encouraging me to do. I clicked through some ads on Craigslist once, but they all wanted a resume, and I needed to update mine, and the more I considered opening the file and seeing my own name heading a list of accomplishments that felt forged by someone who was not me anymore, the idea made my bones heavy and I needed a packed bowl and three shots to make my skin feel like skin again.
Mom continued to fill my silence. "And that worried me, baby, it worried me a lot, so--so, I'm sorry, I just was looking out for you, I just want you to be okay--I messaged Lin--"
My dry throat scratched to life. "You fucking didn't."
"I know, dear, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make trouble for you, but you lied about your job! Was I meant to just let that go?"
"It sure as hell doesn't invite you to fucking message Lin."
"You said you had made up! That's what you told me. Just like you told me about your job and that you've been going to therapy and that you took your pills today."
"I did take my pills today! Right before you called."
"Is that all you can defend?"
Fuck. I sank down into the couch. My head was still reeling from hearing Lin's name. It had been almost a year. We were still facebook friends since I never used facebook anyway, so no one thought it worthwhile to unfriend me. Occasionally I'd scroll through, see pictures of her and her friends that used to be mine too. Lin, with her hair so black it shone blue in the right light, who sang loudly and off-key, who loved banana milkshakes and mushroom pizza and birds and candles and, for awhile, me. "What did she say?" I asked quietly.
Mom didn't answer, which was probably for the best, but that meant nothing had changed. Lin still hated me. I silently thanked Mom for not verbally confirming it, but my gut twisted into itself anyway. "Honey, I'm so worried about you. I don't know what's happened, but it's gone on far too long. I think...your dad and I have been talking, and we agreed...well, honey, some things are going to be changing for you very soon. Things will be--"
"Changing? The hell is gonna be changing? Are you guys coming here?" My heart suddenly raced in panic as I looked around the rat's nest that was once an apartment. "You don't need to do that, it's such a long trip, you don't need to put yourselves through that."
"I appreciate the concern," she said dryly, like she knew that was not in fact my concern. "But no. Just...your dad and I set you up to live a certain way and that might not have been the right choice. We thought that this would lead to success, not..." She trailed off.
"Not failure, right." Even though I knew for a long time that I had failed at the overall art of personhood, it stung in a particular way to hear my mother admit it, roundabout as it was. "What do you mean, though, you set me up for a certain life?"
"Honey. Just...I think it's time your dad and I made things easier for you. We can make that choice as your parents. Things should be more dialed down, easier to manage after today. I'm sorry we've let it go on this long." Her voice shook. Mom rarely cried unless it was because of me. "I'm so sorry, darling. We just wanted you to succeed, it was so selfish of us to make you this way. I'm so sorry." She stopped again to take deep shuddering breaths. I knew she would be sobbing freely soon, and that hurt to think about, but I couldn't get my head around her words.
"Mom, what are you talking about? You didn't...you didn't do this, I'm just like this; what do you mean things are changing? What's getting easier?" She was being so cryptic and that made me anxious--the disordered kind of anxious that was unique to those of us with incorrect brain chemistry, the kind of anxious where black shadows seeped into the corners of my eyes and my insides started to vibrate. "Mom, I need to know what you're talking about."
She was crying at this point with abandon, deep gasps punctuated by whispered apologies that I didn't understand. "I love you," she managed. "I love you--you'll see tomorrow--I'm sorry--I love you so much." And she hung up the phone.
What. The. Fuck.
Dad was at work and I knew I couldn't call him; he kept his personal phone turned off and I didn't have his work number anymore. I tried calling Mom back but she didn't answer.
I finished my drink in two long glugs, shook my head to clear the fire, and stood to pour another. A text from my mom buzzed--"*I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You'll understand tomorrow, I promise.*"
I took the bottle of liquor off the counter, carried it to the couch, and nursed it until my head stopped buzzing and I drifted to sleep.
The next day, I didn't have a hangover for the first time in months, which was bizarre for a number of reasons, but I chalked it up to a shimmer of good luck and reached for the empty bottle. I carried it to the trash can. There were a couple more shoved away nearby, and the more I looked at them the more they annoyed me. I threw them in too. Might as well, since I was standing there anyway. My stomach rumbled and my kitchen was nearly empty, but I managed to find some bread and cheese to make a grilled cheese. While I waited for the pan to heat up, I found myself staring at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. I had a dishwasher. How had my gross ass let this happen? I started loading it up and let it run just as my sandwich finished cooking. It was an unusually tasty grilled cheese--somehow I'd managed to toast it perfectly golden-brown, no burnt bits like usual. The stack of bills glared at me from the counter while I ate and I was reminded of Mom calling the store I did not work at. How heartbreaking that must have been for her to realize I had been lying. I began to let myself entertain the idea of checking some job ads online, and the thought didn't try to eat me alive. My resume might have to wait for another day, but just seeing what's available couldn't hurt.
I opened my weekly med box to Wednesday. It was empty. | Personally, I would have been happier with a compromise. I wasn't skilled enough for the higher difficulties, but "Novice" just felt like an insult. Work had been miserable the past few months, and I had broken down, calling my mother crying. She had congratulated me for how long I had been operating on Expert, telling me she was proud of me. It stung, more than anything.
That's when I found out about difficulty settings. I'd heard people joke about it before, but I'd assumed that's all they were, jokes. The existence of the system at all seemed insidious to me. Why have an arbitrary difficulty system in place when there was no ostensible reward for playing on a higher difficulty? I had to do some investigation.
The office of the Bureau of Life Difficulty Administration was pretty small, considering its importance and reach. I walked in, seeing only a small desk on the wall opposite me where a concierge sat expectantly.
"Difficulty Change or General Inquiry?" He asked, motioning as he did so to a door on either side of him.
"Uh... General Inquiry, I suppose."
"Just one moment, please." The man pulled a phone off its handset, pressing it into his shoulder as he dialed a series of numbers into the keypad. There was a loud buzz that reminded me of my old apartment, and the door clicked open.
"Someone will be with you shortly." the man said pleasantly. I walked through the door marked General Inquiry, quite unsure of what I would find on the other side.
It appeared to be another waiting room, which struck me as oddly hilarious, and I had to stifle a laugh. I sat down in one of the available chairs and waited patiently to be seen. After a few minutes of idly bouncing my knee, a woman walked through the door on the other side of the waiting room. I had assumed she would walk me back through the door, but, to my surprise, she sat down next to me, checking a folder as she did so.
"It's always a surprise to get a visit from a Novice," she began.
"I've actually just had mine switched from Expert," I replied, and she checked her folder, brows folded in confusion.
"Ah, so you have. This font really should be much bigger. How can I assist today?"
I cleared my throat. I hadn't been sure I'd make it this far, and I wasn't really prepared for the directness of her question.
"Well, um... why a difficulty system? Doesn't it seem, I don't know, unfair?"
She smiled. "Well, there's an expression you may have heard." She didn't need to finish. I knew life wasn't fair.
"I know, but it seems like piling an unfair system on top of an already unfair life. Unlucky people with a high difficulty have two strikes against them already, and they didn't even do anything."
The woman pondered this for a moment before replying. "Has it ever occurred to you that what we call 'luck' is, in fact, a product of what we do here at BOLDA?" I didn't need to respond, she knew that hadn't occurred to me. "At the end of the day, the choices and opportunities presented to us are influenced to a degree by luck, yes, but it takes a someone to act on that luck to make the most of it."
What she was saying made sense, but it smelled like an excuse to me. "So what you're saying is even though I'm lucky now, it won't make my life easy?"
"Easier, maybe. But no one's life is truly easy the way you mean it. Everyone has choices to make, and the difficulty of that choice is sometimes relative. We're here to ensure that life never gets unmanageable." She beamed at me.
Maybe she was right. Maybe luck wasn't the only contributing factor to happiness, although I sure felt a lot happier since I'd had my difficulty turned down.
"How does someone turn their difficulty down?" I asked.
"Ah, the big flaw in our system. Unfortunately, it's down to an individual's parents to make the decision for them until they're of legal age. The existence of this bureau is somewhat... obscured to the public eye. Many never know we exist."
I thanked the woman for her time. I had the answers I came for. I knew this would make a great story, and publishing it might get me the Pulitzer. But a question nagged at my mind.
Had I made this opportunity? Or was it just luck? | |
Saw it here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/7qhmas/its_weird_to_think_that_nighttime_is_the_natural/dspkqbh/ | [WP] Light is the natural state of the universe. The Earth revolves around the Sun; an orb of black, emitting rays of darkness. | The world began with light, the scientists told us. Pure light and energy, amassed in a single pinprick in the universe.
Then came the Big Bang. The light came, bursting through the universe and illuminating all. The world was bright. The world was warm. The energy condensed into matter, condensing into clouds and forming our planets.
However, there are always opposites in this universe. With up, there is down, with good, there is evil, and with light, there must be darkness. The darkness coalesced in the form of the dark stars, casting their shade upon the universe, black spots in the bright universe. They gained mass, gaining density, and gathering planets of their own.
As time passed, life began to form. Growing in the light, then shriveling or hiding away in the darkness. These beings were pure, borne of the heavens, and shedding their glamour over the ground they would tread. All would marvel at their presence.
However, another form of life grew in the darkness. Beings of malice, coming in the nighttime and hunting these creatures of light. Fire was snuffed out, light was covered. Some beings survived, but the majority perished in the nighttime. This continued, until no light creatures were left, and darkness reigned on our planet. Light should overtake darkness, darkness is the absence of light, as logic should go. However, this darkness was peculiar. It was not the absence of light. The light simply existed, but the darkness was substantive. It consumed and left its mark, cooling the planet and ridding it of the light.
As is the history of our planet, billions of years ago.
Now, we sit and watch dusk, the dark sun setting, giving way to the light. It’s beautiful in a way. And in the mornings, we watch the sunrise, casting darkness on our surroundings. We relish the darkness, we need it to break the unrelenting heat of the universe. Without it, we wouldn’t survive. | i stared up at the night sky and marveled at the beauty. Like ink blots on paper, there was something elegant in the simplistic chaos of the stars.
This would be the perfect place to sit and contemplate in times of confusion. A tree by the edge of a cliff with the sea below and the stars above. I could learn about how the galaxies formed by looking up and wonder at the power of earth by looking below.
Maybe ill finish that book about a world that revolves around light..........Nah who'd want to live there? |
Saw it here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/7qhmas/its_weird_to_think_that_nighttime_is_the_natural/dspkqbh/ | [WP] Light is the natural state of the universe. The Earth revolves around the Sun; an orb of black, emitting rays of darkness. | A tiny flicker of light blinked in Raga's somber yard. She sprung to her feet, snatched a jar of glass and bolted toward the blinding darkness. The dirt underfoot hurt her dry and bare feet, but it didn't matter, for now two glints of blue danced like beacons in the shadows.
The clouds⸺a shade lighter than the engulfing blackness of the sun⸺began to twist and roar into a storm, a mighty one. *Perfect, it should attract them,* Raga thought and stood immobile, waiting as a deceiving drizzle pattered softly against her pale face.
The flickers came by the dozens, shining in a desynchronized pattern. They swarmed the yard like a hundred shooting stars fading in the clear night sky.
It was time.
Raga studied their pace, it was slow and random. With the jar clasped in her hands and the lights flying nearby, she ran through the mud underfoot swinging the jar and trapping the lights as she moved. She glimpsed at the prison in her hand, she didn't have enough just yet. The storm thundered and a brief, shattering light turned the darkness into forsaken white. The earth itself trembled and a crawling heat kissed her calves.
A lightning had struck meters away from were she stood.
The slow pace of the lights shifted to chaos, like soldiers retreating in a rout they scattered upwards. Raga's heart throbbed in her throat, in a last, desperate attempt she climbed a tree and upended the jar, begging to collect at least ten more. Another fierce thunder rumbled in the near distance and Raga's entire body quivered, she closed the jar and darted back inside into the shadows of her home.
Raga took a deep breath, what she had done was foolish and she knew it. It was a matter of good fortune she didn't get fried out there. In the jar twenty or thirty fireflies lay tinging her face with a tender blue glow as she stared. A smile adorned her face and quietly she headed to her son's room.
"Honey, are you still awake?" She asked quietly.
"Yes mom but-but I'm scared."
Raga sat beside his bed, using the fireflies as a guide. She picked up a book that lay on his bedside table. It read, *Tales of the Everlight.* "I got enough of them to read another bit, would you like that?"
"Yes!"
Raga cleared her throat, the thunders roaring outside and the shy sound of raindrops falling from her hair onto the ground, set the mood. "A bright sun, brighter than a million lightning imbued the world with his alluring light. Green beings rose from the grounds providing great amounts of oxygen to the people. When the clouds blocked its relentless light, a tiny magical artifact produced everlight everywhere they wanted. They had found the way to trap lightning for eternity.
"Darkness was not a problem for them."
----------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall
| i stared up at the night sky and marveled at the beauty. Like ink blots on paper, there was something elegant in the simplistic chaos of the stars.
This would be the perfect place to sit and contemplate in times of confusion. A tree by the edge of a cliff with the sea below and the stars above. I could learn about how the galaxies formed by looking up and wonder at the power of earth by looking below.
Maybe ill finish that book about a world that revolves around light..........Nah who'd want to live there? |
Saw it here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/7qhmas/its_weird_to_think_that_nighttime_is_the_natural/dspkqbh/ | [WP] Light is the natural state of the universe. The Earth revolves around the Sun; an orb of black, emitting rays of darkness. | The world began with light, the scientists told us. Pure light and energy, amassed in a single pinprick in the universe.
Then came the Big Bang. The light came, bursting through the universe and illuminating all. The world was bright. The world was warm. The energy condensed into matter, condensing into clouds and forming our planets.
However, there are always opposites in this universe. With up, there is down, with good, there is evil, and with light, there must be darkness. The darkness coalesced in the form of the dark stars, casting their shade upon the universe, black spots in the bright universe. They gained mass, gaining density, and gathering planets of their own.
As time passed, life began to form. Growing in the light, then shriveling or hiding away in the darkness. These beings were pure, borne of the heavens, and shedding their glamour over the ground they would tread. All would marvel at their presence.
However, another form of life grew in the darkness. Beings of malice, coming in the nighttime and hunting these creatures of light. Fire was snuffed out, light was covered. Some beings survived, but the majority perished in the nighttime. This continued, until no light creatures were left, and darkness reigned on our planet. Light should overtake darkness, darkness is the absence of light, as logic should go. However, this darkness was peculiar. It was not the absence of light. The light simply existed, but the darkness was substantive. It consumed and left its mark, cooling the planet and ridding it of the light.
As is the history of our planet, billions of years ago.
Now, we sit and watch dusk, the dark sun setting, giving way to the light. It’s beautiful in a way. And in the mornings, we watch the sunrise, casting darkness on our surroundings. We relish the darkness, we need it to break the unrelenting heat of the universe. Without it, we wouldn’t survive. | She’s there – I can see her, tied to the stakes, writhing, moaning, suffering.
They’ve taken her Shelter away. She’s not been long away from the Sun, but already she’s burning. I see the heat rising from her skin, the sweat beading down in angry scars of steam. Her hair hangs limply from her forehead, but it does little to mask her pain. Her captors know this, and they have empathy enough to delight in her misery.
The crowd pulses, contracting, expanding, contracting. It is their hesitation which paralyses them - they long to run, to disperse, retreat to the cool refuge of their homes. But so too do they long to witness the wrath of the King. Tales of his cruelty are repeated as often as the morning and evening greetings, and to see it for themselves, see it played out before their eyes – there is a perverse delight in it they cannot resist.
The hem of her skirt catches aflame.
She does not have long.
I leap from the rooftop, that familiar tang of adrenaline already numbing my tongue. The wind whistles past my ears, an insistent, grating tune which screens out everything out. I see their lips move, but I cannot hear them read back her charges, her crimes, the wanton acts which landed her in that predicament in the first place. There’s time for that later, so I keep my hands outstretched, fingers extended so far that my joints ache.
Twenty feet from the ground, I twist. My back facing the ground now, my eyes squinting against the entire luminescence of the heavens. I bring my hands together, joined at the wrists. The power pulses in my grasp, eager, ready to be unleashed.
“Darken,” I say.
A patch of sky disappears, swallowed by the void. A shaft of shade stretches down, like the giant finger of an ink demon. It envelopes me, and I am lost, lost in the calm, the peace, the purity of the moment. Time slows for me, and I am… *alive*.
I turn again, empowered. I streak across the town square, a stingray darting across the heads of the enthralled. I skim across their Shelters, borrowing from the pools of darkness, stepping stones in a pond of lava. A few of them spot me, and I hear them call me by the many names I am known by. The Shadow, Light’s Bane, the Silent Walker… and many others, too hurtful to repeat.
I head for the captor on the right. I emerge from the dimness behind him, rising from the ground, fully formed. A blow to the ribs, a cut to the back of the neck. I kick his knees in, and he topples off the platform.
The other two guards have time enough to react, any surprise I have being spent. They draw their sabres, wicked blades of glinting fire, thirsting to drink. My daggers slip down through my sleeves into my palms, the gloom dripping off them. The crowd cheers, unsure of which champion they support, confident only in the carnage which is promised to them.
She cries again, fainter this time.
They blink first. The taller one lunges towards me, sabre raised high, buoyed by a battlecry. My Duskblades meet his weapon square on, enchanted steel against enchanted steel. The edges sing, but I do not wait for the end of the chorus. I kick out, catching him in the midriff, and he falters, yielding precious ground. I somersault, riding on his momentum, and I sink my Duskblades into his back. He struggles, seeks to turn and try again, but it is over. He crumples, never to rise again.
The stouter one is smarter. He sees how easily his compatriots have fallen, and the glimmer of intelligence in his eyes reveal the odds he has calculated. He turns and runs, and within seconds he has eluded me. Up his hands go, the beacons flaring, and the alarms resonate as one, angry peals of thunder.
No one stays when the Armies of Light are summoned. The crowd, once content to watch by the sidelines, now realises they are in the fray. They scatter too, like rain on a heated pan. In the distance, I see impossibly large figures coalesce from thin air, hulking brutes who speak only the language of violence. Men I can best in a fight – golems I will run from.
I sheathe my companions, then slink to the girl. She’s on her knees now, the boils swelling on her skin. I throw my Shelter over her, and she collapses against me. She’s too delirious to speak, so I spare her any questions. Instead, I hoist her, grip as tight as I can. Shadowstriding is hard enough to do by myself, and to take on a passenger…
But I *have* to try.
*“Darken.”*
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Saw it here: https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/7qhmas/its_weird_to_think_that_nighttime_is_the_natural/dspkqbh/ | [WP] Light is the natural state of the universe. The Earth revolves around the Sun; an orb of black, emitting rays of darkness. | A tiny flicker of light blinked in Raga's somber yard. She sprung to her feet, snatched a jar of glass and bolted toward the blinding darkness. The dirt underfoot hurt her dry and bare feet, but it didn't matter, for now two glints of blue danced like beacons in the shadows.
The clouds⸺a shade lighter than the engulfing blackness of the sun⸺began to twist and roar into a storm, a mighty one. *Perfect, it should attract them,* Raga thought and stood immobile, waiting as a deceiving drizzle pattered softly against her pale face.
The flickers came by the dozens, shining in a desynchronized pattern. They swarmed the yard like a hundred shooting stars fading in the clear night sky.
It was time.
Raga studied their pace, it was slow and random. With the jar clasped in her hands and the lights flying nearby, she ran through the mud underfoot swinging the jar and trapping the lights as she moved. She glimpsed at the prison in her hand, she didn't have enough just yet. The storm thundered and a brief, shattering light turned the darkness into forsaken white. The earth itself trembled and a crawling heat kissed her calves.
A lightning had struck meters away from were she stood.
The slow pace of the lights shifted to chaos, like soldiers retreating in a rout they scattered upwards. Raga's heart throbbed in her throat, in a last, desperate attempt she climbed a tree and upended the jar, begging to collect at least ten more. Another fierce thunder rumbled in the near distance and Raga's entire body quivered, she closed the jar and darted back inside into the shadows of her home.
Raga took a deep breath, what she had done was foolish and she knew it. It was a matter of good fortune she didn't get fried out there. In the jar twenty or thirty fireflies lay tinging her face with a tender blue glow as she stared. A smile adorned her face and quietly she headed to her son's room.
"Honey, are you still awake?" She asked quietly.
"Yes mom but-but I'm scared."
Raga sat beside his bed, using the fireflies as a guide. She picked up a book that lay on his bedside table. It read, *Tales of the Everlight.* "I got enough of them to read another bit, would you like that?"
"Yes!"
Raga cleared her throat, the thunders roaring outside and the shy sound of raindrops falling from her hair onto the ground, set the mood. "A bright sun, brighter than a million lightning imbued the world with his alluring light. Green beings rose from the grounds providing great amounts of oxygen to the people. When the clouds blocked its relentless light, a tiny magical artifact produced everlight everywhere they wanted. They had found the way to trap lightning for eternity.
"Darkness was not a problem for them."
----------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall
| She’s there – I can see her, tied to the stakes, writhing, moaning, suffering.
They’ve taken her Shelter away. She’s not been long away from the Sun, but already she’s burning. I see the heat rising from her skin, the sweat beading down in angry scars of steam. Her hair hangs limply from her forehead, but it does little to mask her pain. Her captors know this, and they have empathy enough to delight in her misery.
The crowd pulses, contracting, expanding, contracting. It is their hesitation which paralyses them - they long to run, to disperse, retreat to the cool refuge of their homes. But so too do they long to witness the wrath of the King. Tales of his cruelty are repeated as often as the morning and evening greetings, and to see it for themselves, see it played out before their eyes – there is a perverse delight in it they cannot resist.
The hem of her skirt catches aflame.
She does not have long.
I leap from the rooftop, that familiar tang of adrenaline already numbing my tongue. The wind whistles past my ears, an insistent, grating tune which screens out everything out. I see their lips move, but I cannot hear them read back her charges, her crimes, the wanton acts which landed her in that predicament in the first place. There’s time for that later, so I keep my hands outstretched, fingers extended so far that my joints ache.
Twenty feet from the ground, I twist. My back facing the ground now, my eyes squinting against the entire luminescence of the heavens. I bring my hands together, joined at the wrists. The power pulses in my grasp, eager, ready to be unleashed.
“Darken,” I say.
A patch of sky disappears, swallowed by the void. A shaft of shade stretches down, like the giant finger of an ink demon. It envelopes me, and I am lost, lost in the calm, the peace, the purity of the moment. Time slows for me, and I am… *alive*.
I turn again, empowered. I streak across the town square, a stingray darting across the heads of the enthralled. I skim across their Shelters, borrowing from the pools of darkness, stepping stones in a pond of lava. A few of them spot me, and I hear them call me by the many names I am known by. The Shadow, Light’s Bane, the Silent Walker… and many others, too hurtful to repeat.
I head for the captor on the right. I emerge from the dimness behind him, rising from the ground, fully formed. A blow to the ribs, a cut to the back of the neck. I kick his knees in, and he topples off the platform.
The other two guards have time enough to react, any surprise I have being spent. They draw their sabres, wicked blades of glinting fire, thirsting to drink. My daggers slip down through my sleeves into my palms, the gloom dripping off them. The crowd cheers, unsure of which champion they support, confident only in the carnage which is promised to them.
She cries again, fainter this time.
They blink first. The taller one lunges towards me, sabre raised high, buoyed by a battlecry. My Duskblades meet his weapon square on, enchanted steel against enchanted steel. The edges sing, but I do not wait for the end of the chorus. I kick out, catching him in the midriff, and he falters, yielding precious ground. I somersault, riding on his momentum, and I sink my Duskblades into his back. He struggles, seeks to turn and try again, but it is over. He crumples, never to rise again.
The stouter one is smarter. He sees how easily his compatriots have fallen, and the glimmer of intelligence in his eyes reveal the odds he has calculated. He turns and runs, and within seconds he has eluded me. Up his hands go, the beacons flaring, and the alarms resonate as one, angry peals of thunder.
No one stays when the Armies of Light are summoned. The crowd, once content to watch by the sidelines, now realises they are in the fray. They scatter too, like rain on a heated pan. In the distance, I see impossibly large figures coalesce from thin air, hulking brutes who speak only the language of violence. Men I can best in a fight – golems I will run from.
I sheathe my companions, then slink to the girl. She’s on her knees now, the boils swelling on her skin. I throw my Shelter over her, and she collapses against me. She’s too delirious to speak, so I spare her any questions. Instead, I hoist her, grip as tight as I can. Shadowstriding is hard enough to do by myself, and to take on a passenger…
But I *have* to try.
*“Darken.”*
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | "Jenkins sales are slowing. What do we do?".
"Good question sir. We need to increase sales to younger demographics, millenials, generation Z, you know. They are not as interested in DNA testing, but we can change that."
"Well how do we do that?"
"We need to increase our online presence. They have to know about our product if they're going to buy it."
"true true - so how do we get started?"
"Well, there's a little thing called reddit writingprompts..."
| According to my calculations the Telsa solar power bank should have my time machine fully powered up by the end of the month. Just enough time to get my DNA test done and find out where my family is from so I can go back and visit them. I've even got some viagra so I can pop further back and be the most popular guy at the roman orgies.
A week later while out shopping for supplies I notice someone watching me from across the road while I take a break and get a coffee. I keep seeing this guy at random times over the next week. I receive an email apologising for the lateness of the DNA results and saying someone will be by tomorrow to drop them off. Its a little strange but hey, I need those results.
The next morning a representative from the company arrives, with an assistant, the guy that was following me. "Good Morning Sir, I have your results but I need to talk to you about them. Can we sit down somewhere?" We go into the front room and sit down. "Sir, we tested your DNA results multiple times. I really dont know how to put this... have you heard of the theory of the Mitochondrial Eve? Your DNA, it could only be described as being like a Mitochondrial Adam. That's why you may have seen my assistant following you, we needed you safe and sound until the results were done."
I was shocked, but then thought of my time machine. The guy tried to convince me into going down to his lab and undergo a few more tests. I pretended to be angry, yelling about faulty machines and companies ripping off customers. I insisted on a refund after this sham. I pushed them out the door threatening to call the cops and waited until they drove away.
A few days later the time machine was fully charged. My plan had change slightly. I was going back a lot further than previously planned. I grabbed the large box of viagra off the table and stuffed it into my backpack.
I quite like short girls but if they're hairy it might need a bit of help. | |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | I had really expected to be more Irish than I turned out to be, I only had 5%. Considering my grandma’s maiden name literally translated into ‘black haired Irishman’ it was really a surprise.
My Dad’s side of the family were really surprised at the amount of Scandinavian DNA, my cousins all excitedly wondering about their ancestry.
My Mom’s side was really no surprise; 46% Chinese, 4% Central Chinese.
Overall very interesting results. My sister was researching our dad’s side for more information regarding our ancestors, and had found out we had a coat of arms.
I was mostly just finding frustration. My Mom’s side of the family had very confusing records, and it didn’t help that they were in Chinese.
I think it was a week after I received the results and had begun my research... maybe it actually started sooner, but that’s about when I noticed...them.
I don’t live in a very ethnically diverse area, so I suppose the sudden increase of Asian men and women should have registered on my radar sooner, but I was definitely being *followed*.
Finally, after about two weeks of this, I got frustrated and confronted one guy I had definitely made note of following me before.
“What are you following me for?!”
The man hurriedly bowed a polite, but fearful greeting, “Forgive me, Princess of China, but my orders were to shadow you to assure your safety!”
“Uh... Even I know China has a president buddy.”
“Yes, but there are those who have meticulously maintain their loyalty to the lineage to the Emperor, and you are one of his distant descendants.”
“Okaaaaaay, so what does that mean for me?”
“It means that you and your family are to be provided for with funds from our royal treasury.”
“Sweet! Do *I* have to do anything?”
“No, it is a position of ceremony only.”
“Double sweet.”
And to think, only a few days ago I thought I could never top a family coat of arms.
-fin-
| According to my calculations the Telsa solar power bank should have my time machine fully powered up by the end of the month. Just enough time to get my DNA test done and find out where my family is from so I can go back and visit them. I've even got some viagra so I can pop further back and be the most popular guy at the roman orgies.
A week later while out shopping for supplies I notice someone watching me from across the road while I take a break and get a coffee. I keep seeing this guy at random times over the next week. I receive an email apologising for the lateness of the DNA results and saying someone will be by tomorrow to drop them off. Its a little strange but hey, I need those results.
The next morning a representative from the company arrives, with an assistant, the guy that was following me. "Good Morning Sir, I have your results but I need to talk to you about them. Can we sit down somewhere?" We go into the front room and sit down. "Sir, we tested your DNA results multiple times. I really dont know how to put this... have you heard of the theory of the Mitochondrial Eve? Your DNA, it could only be described as being like a Mitochondrial Adam. That's why you may have seen my assistant following you, we needed you safe and sound until the results were done."
I was shocked, but then thought of my time machine. The guy tried to convince me into going down to his lab and undergo a few more tests. I pretended to be angry, yelling about faulty machines and companies ripping off customers. I insisted on a refund after this sham. I pushed them out the door threatening to call the cops and waited until they drove away.
A few days later the time machine was fully charged. My plan had change slightly. I was going back a lot further than previously planned. I grabbed the large box of viagra off the table and stuffed it into my backpack.
I quite like short girls but if they're hairy it might need a bit of help. | |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | For about a week I convinced myself I was paranoid, I tried my best to not let it bother me. I soon realized this wasn’t all in my mind, that blue impala has parked in the same spot for 12 days now. It is there when I get home until I go to sleep and it is only gone before I leave. Bill across the street would have been bragging by now if it was his. Maybe he’s watching someone else, some cartel member or a white collar criminal. Fuck it, I’m gonna call the cops.
Almost as if the mysterious vehicle was listening, it drives off just as I hang up the phone. I can’t believe it but I try to get a picture of the license plate and of course there isn’t one. The police never showed, it must be them. What have I done though? My cell phone rings, it’s a blocked caller. I reluctantly answer “hel-“ “James shepherd?” How does he know my name? “Yes who’s this” in the same professional tone he commands “come outside please” “...why?”
There is a long pause and the man sighs “sir, if you do not come outside you will forever regret it. You have 5 minutes before I leave.” *click*
Well shit.
So I walk outside and get into the car to see the man that has been watching me for so long. I would have been intimidated if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. He turns to me and asks
“do you know why I’ve been following you?”
“If I did I wouldn’t need to get into cars with strangers”
“your ancestry results” he holds out a folder
I snatch it out of his hands “the US postal service could’ve done this for you”
“The history of your family is truly extraordinary, we had to tell you in person for you to believe us”
“What am I the second coming of christ?! spit it out!”
He pauses for a very long time, leans in and says
“You’re a wizard harry”
I storm out of the car fuming with rage. God damnitt I knew I shouldn’t have used the ancestry company that Jim worked for. His jokes are fucked up.
| According to my calculations the Telsa solar power bank should have my time machine fully powered up by the end of the month. Just enough time to get my DNA test done and find out where my family is from so I can go back and visit them. I've even got some viagra so I can pop further back and be the most popular guy at the roman orgies.
A week later while out shopping for supplies I notice someone watching me from across the road while I take a break and get a coffee. I keep seeing this guy at random times over the next week. I receive an email apologising for the lateness of the DNA results and saying someone will be by tomorrow to drop them off. Its a little strange but hey, I need those results.
The next morning a representative from the company arrives, with an assistant, the guy that was following me. "Good Morning Sir, I have your results but I need to talk to you about them. Can we sit down somewhere?" We go into the front room and sit down. "Sir, we tested your DNA results multiple times. I really dont know how to put this... have you heard of the theory of the Mitochondrial Eve? Your DNA, it could only be described as being like a Mitochondrial Adam. That's why you may have seen my assistant following you, we needed you safe and sound until the results were done."
I was shocked, but then thought of my time machine. The guy tried to convince me into going down to his lab and undergo a few more tests. I pretended to be angry, yelling about faulty machines and companies ripping off customers. I insisted on a refund after this sham. I pushed them out the door threatening to call the cops and waited until they drove away.
A few days later the time machine was fully charged. My plan had change slightly. I was going back a lot further than previously planned. I grabbed the large box of viagra off the table and stuffed it into my backpack.
I quite like short girls but if they're hairy it might need a bit of help. | |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | As you meander down the high street each day, you make habit of looking for the man; his neat buzz cut and electric blue suit were dead giveaways. You first saw him in the charity store, on monday, you were checking out an antiquated mirror when you saw him in the reflection, looking straight at you. As your eyes met, he frowned and looked away suddenly. Now he's here again, five metres behind you on the other side of the road, tailing you - you're certain - or are you just paranoid, you always have been, ever since... You take two lefts, he takes two lefts. Coincidence, maybe, you decide to check. As you walk down your private road and he follows, a smug grin forms on your face, you know he is stalking you, only ten people live on this road and not one of them is him, your grin is quickly preceded by a "Shit!" and a grimace: you cant go in to your house, he'll know where you live and the roads a dead end, you can't turn around without confronting him- all in all, if this mans bad, you're fucked. Unless... maybe you could try the forest. You begin to get nervous, a cold sweat forms on your brow. The jitters kick in- there's always side effects after a man's first homicide. Could it be the FBI, those fuckers had taken out everyone at the club, except for you. You were the intellect, they were passion-fuelled thugs. You were Wayne the Brain, there was no blood on your *hands*. As you begin to increase your pace, so does the man. But you're not scared, no, you're angry. How did you cock it up. The events come back to you... you met the girl, you had coffee, you talked about what to eat when you got home and the ancestry thing- she said it was amazing, I said I'd already ordered the package. You told her she was really nice looking, she blushed. You weren't lying, her thighs and breasts looked sooo good, you were almost drooling. You got home and had dinner with her. Ten minutes later, the spit test arrived. Ohhhhhhh, fuck. That's it, I should of flossed.
I turned around and faced him. I pulled the knife out. There's always room for dessert.
| Finally, the guy catches up to you in a coffee shop and starts speaking to you in German. You're scared but you're in a public place, so you ask him to type what he's saying into Google Translator.
When you read it, you can hardly believe it. It says
>"I want to offer you the chance to come live in a place where you'll never have to work again, everyday you can eat as much pizza and cheesecake as you want, and you'll be with people like yourself. There is no price. It is free to people like you.
>You are one of the last 6 people that carries the gene for green hair, and we need you so that our kids don't inbreed but we can preserve the beauty of green hair.
You told him that would make you feel like a rat, so fuck off. | |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | For about a week I convinced myself I was paranoid, I tried my best to not let it bother me. I soon realized this wasn’t all in my mind, that blue impala has parked in the same spot for 12 days now. It is there when I get home until I go to sleep and it is only gone before I leave. Bill across the street would have been bragging by now if it was his. Maybe he’s watching someone else, some cartel member or a white collar criminal. Fuck it, I’m gonna call the cops.
Almost as if the mysterious vehicle was listening, it drives off just as I hang up the phone. I can’t believe it but I try to get a picture of the license plate and of course there isn’t one. The police never showed, it must be them. What have I done though? My cell phone rings, it’s a blocked caller. I reluctantly answer “hel-“ “James shepherd?” How does he know my name? “Yes who’s this” in the same professional tone he commands “come outside please” “...why?”
There is a long pause and the man sighs “sir, if you do not come outside you will forever regret it. You have 5 minutes before I leave.” *click*
Well shit.
So I walk outside and get into the car to see the man that has been watching me for so long. I would have been intimidated if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. He turns to me and asks
“do you know why I’ve been following you?”
“If I did I wouldn’t need to get into cars with strangers”
“your ancestry results” he holds out a folder
I snatch it out of his hands “the US postal service could’ve done this for you”
“The history of your family is truly extraordinary, we had to tell you in person for you to believe us”
“What am I the second coming of christ?! spit it out!”
He pauses for a very long time, leans in and says
“You’re a wizard harry”
I storm out of the car fuming with rage. God damnitt I knew I shouldn’t have used the ancestry company that Jim worked for. His jokes are fucked up.
| Finally, the guy catches up to you in a coffee shop and starts speaking to you in German. You're scared but you're in a public place, so you ask him to type what he's saying into Google Translator.
When you read it, you can hardly believe it. It says
>"I want to offer you the chance to come live in a place where you'll never have to work again, everyday you can eat as much pizza and cheesecake as you want, and you'll be with people like yourself. There is no price. It is free to people like you.
>You are one of the last 6 people that carries the gene for green hair, and we need you so that our kids don't inbreed but we can preserve the beauty of green hair.
You told him that would make you feel like a rat, so fuck off. | |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | I spin on my heel and dart left onto St Mary's Street, immediately turning left again down a small and sticky alleyway, which branches like a vein through the abandoned bars and charity stores. I find a spot behind a dumpster and fix my attention back to St Mary's Street from there. I see him: the man in the blue suit. I see his brown shoes slapping the rain-soaked pavement. I see the specked lenses of his glasses turn towards the alleyway. Panicked, I fling myself completely behind the dumpster, facing away with my back up against it. The sound of footsteps reaches my ear not long before his voice. I get up to meet him
"Mr Price," he exclaims with a casual urgency, "I'm from Ancestorhistory. I've been trying to get hold of you for days. We need to talk."
"Ancestorhistory? Jesus Christ, that kit cost me like 10 bucks. I'm not paying for any fucking consultations."
"It's not that, Mr Price. The results of your DNA spit test are a matter of great interest to many people right now. We should go somewhere more private, so I can explain better."
"You can explain here. Make it quick, then stop following me."
"If you insist. The results are intriguing, Mr Price, because of what they reveal about your ancestry."
"What am I, Elvis' lost son? Bill Gates' heir? Please tell me I'm Bill Gates heir."
"No, Mr Price. What is intriguing about your ancestry, is that you have none." | Finally, the guy catches up to you in a coffee shop and starts speaking to you in German. You're scared but you're in a public place, so you ask him to type what he's saying into Google Translator.
When you read it, you can hardly believe it. It says
>"I want to offer you the chance to come live in a place where you'll never have to work again, everyday you can eat as much pizza and cheesecake as you want, and you'll be with people like yourself. There is no price. It is free to people like you.
>You are one of the last 6 people that carries the gene for green hair, and we need you so that our kids don't inbreed but we can preserve the beauty of green hair.
You told him that would make you feel like a rat, so fuck off. | |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | For about a week I convinced myself I was paranoid, I tried my best to not let it bother me. I soon realized this wasn’t all in my mind, that blue impala has parked in the same spot for 12 days now. It is there when I get home until I go to sleep and it is only gone before I leave. Bill across the street would have been bragging by now if it was his. Maybe he’s watching someone else, some cartel member or a white collar criminal. Fuck it, I’m gonna call the cops.
Almost as if the mysterious vehicle was listening, it drives off just as I hang up the phone. I can’t believe it but I try to get a picture of the license plate and of course there isn’t one. The police never showed, it must be them. What have I done though? My cell phone rings, it’s a blocked caller. I reluctantly answer “hel-“ “James shepherd?” How does he know my name? “Yes who’s this” in the same professional tone he commands “come outside please” “...why?”
There is a long pause and the man sighs “sir, if you do not come outside you will forever regret it. You have 5 minutes before I leave.” *click*
Well shit.
So I walk outside and get into the car to see the man that has been watching me for so long. I would have been intimidated if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. He turns to me and asks
“do you know why I’ve been following you?”
“If I did I wouldn’t need to get into cars with strangers”
“your ancestry results” he holds out a folder
I snatch it out of his hands “the US postal service could’ve done this for you”
“The history of your family is truly extraordinary, we had to tell you in person for you to believe us”
“What am I the second coming of christ?! spit it out!”
He pauses for a very long time, leans in and says
“You’re a wizard harry”
I storm out of the car fuming with rage. God damnitt I knew I shouldn’t have used the ancestry company that Jim worked for. His jokes are fucked up.
| "Jenkins sales are slowing. What do we do?".
"Good question sir. We need to increase sales to younger demographics, millenials, generation Z, you know. They are not as interested in DNA testing, but we can change that."
"Well how do we do that?"
"We need to increase our online presence. They have to know about our product if they're going to buy it."
"true true - so how do we get started?"
"Well, there's a little thing called reddit writingprompts..."
| |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | For about a week I convinced myself I was paranoid, I tried my best to not let it bother me. I soon realized this wasn’t all in my mind, that blue impala has parked in the same spot for 12 days now. It is there when I get home until I go to sleep and it is only gone before I leave. Bill across the street would have been bragging by now if it was his. Maybe he’s watching someone else, some cartel member or a white collar criminal. Fuck it, I’m gonna call the cops.
Almost as if the mysterious vehicle was listening, it drives off just as I hang up the phone. I can’t believe it but I try to get a picture of the license plate and of course there isn’t one. The police never showed, it must be them. What have I done though? My cell phone rings, it’s a blocked caller. I reluctantly answer “hel-“ “James shepherd?” How does he know my name? “Yes who’s this” in the same professional tone he commands “come outside please” “...why?”
There is a long pause and the man sighs “sir, if you do not come outside you will forever regret it. You have 5 minutes before I leave.” *click*
Well shit.
So I walk outside and get into the car to see the man that has been watching me for so long. I would have been intimidated if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. He turns to me and asks
“do you know why I’ve been following you?”
“If I did I wouldn’t need to get into cars with strangers”
“your ancestry results” he holds out a folder
I snatch it out of his hands “the US postal service could’ve done this for you”
“The history of your family is truly extraordinary, we had to tell you in person for you to believe us”
“What am I the second coming of christ?! spit it out!”
He pauses for a very long time, leans in and says
“You’re a wizard harry”
I storm out of the car fuming with rage. God damnitt I knew I shouldn’t have used the ancestry company that Jim worked for. His jokes are fucked up.
| I had really expected to be more Irish than I turned out to be, I only had 5%. Considering my grandma’s maiden name literally translated into ‘black haired Irishman’ it was really a surprise.
My Dad’s side of the family were really surprised at the amount of Scandinavian DNA, my cousins all excitedly wondering about their ancestry.
My Mom’s side was really no surprise; 46% Chinese, 4% Central Chinese.
Overall very interesting results. My sister was researching our dad’s side for more information regarding our ancestors, and had found out we had a coat of arms.
I was mostly just finding frustration. My Mom’s side of the family had very confusing records, and it didn’t help that they were in Chinese.
I think it was a week after I received the results and had begun my research... maybe it actually started sooner, but that’s about when I noticed...them.
I don’t live in a very ethnically diverse area, so I suppose the sudden increase of Asian men and women should have registered on my radar sooner, but I was definitely being *followed*.
Finally, after about two weeks of this, I got frustrated and confronted one guy I had definitely made note of following me before.
“What are you following me for?!”
The man hurriedly bowed a polite, but fearful greeting, “Forgive me, Princess of China, but my orders were to shadow you to assure your safety!”
“Uh... Even I know China has a president buddy.”
“Yes, but there are those who have meticulously maintain their loyalty to the lineage to the Emperor, and you are one of his distant descendants.”
“Okaaaaaay, so what does that mean for me?”
“It means that you and your family are to be provided for with funds from our royal treasury.”
“Sweet! Do *I* have to do anything?”
“No, it is a position of ceremony only.”
“Double sweet.”
And to think, only a few days ago I thought I could never top a family coat of arms.
-fin-
| |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | For about a week I convinced myself I was paranoid, I tried my best to not let it bother me. I soon realized this wasn’t all in my mind, that blue impala has parked in the same spot for 12 days now. It is there when I get home until I go to sleep and it is only gone before I leave. Bill across the street would have been bragging by now if it was his. Maybe he’s watching someone else, some cartel member or a white collar criminal. Fuck it, I’m gonna call the cops.
Almost as if the mysterious vehicle was listening, it drives off just as I hang up the phone. I can’t believe it but I try to get a picture of the license plate and of course there isn’t one. The police never showed, it must be them. What have I done though? My cell phone rings, it’s a blocked caller. I reluctantly answer “hel-“ “James shepherd?” How does he know my name? “Yes who’s this” in the same professional tone he commands “come outside please” “...why?”
There is a long pause and the man sighs “sir, if you do not come outside you will forever regret it. You have 5 minutes before I leave.” *click*
Well shit.
So I walk outside and get into the car to see the man that has been watching me for so long. I would have been intimidated if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. He turns to me and asks
“do you know why I’ve been following you?”
“If I did I wouldn’t need to get into cars with strangers”
“your ancestry results” he holds out a folder
I snatch it out of his hands “the US postal service could’ve done this for you”
“The history of your family is truly extraordinary, we had to tell you in person for you to believe us”
“What am I the second coming of christ?! spit it out!”
He pauses for a very long time, leans in and says
“You’re a wizard harry”
I storm out of the car fuming with rage. God damnitt I knew I shouldn’t have used the ancestry company that Jim worked for. His jokes are fucked up.
| As you meander down the high street each day, you make habit of looking for the man; his neat buzz cut and electric blue suit were dead giveaways. You first saw him in the charity store, on monday, you were checking out an antiquated mirror when you saw him in the reflection, looking straight at you. As your eyes met, he frowned and looked away suddenly. Now he's here again, five metres behind you on the other side of the road, tailing you - you're certain - or are you just paranoid, you always have been, ever since... You take two lefts, he takes two lefts. Coincidence, maybe, you decide to check. As you walk down your private road and he follows, a smug grin forms on your face, you know he is stalking you, only ten people live on this road and not one of them is him, your grin is quickly preceded by a "Shit!" and a grimace: you cant go in to your house, he'll know where you live and the roads a dead end, you can't turn around without confronting him- all in all, if this mans bad, you're fucked. Unless... maybe you could try the forest. You begin to get nervous, a cold sweat forms on your brow. The jitters kick in- there's always side effects after a man's first homicide. Could it be the FBI, those fuckers had taken out everyone at the club, except for you. You were the intellect, they were passion-fuelled thugs. You were Wayne the Brain, there was no blood on your *hands*. As you begin to increase your pace, so does the man. But you're not scared, no, you're angry. How did you cock it up. The events come back to you... you met the girl, you had coffee, you talked about what to eat when you got home and the ancestry thing- she said it was amazing, I said I'd already ordered the package. You told her she was really nice looking, she blushed. You weren't lying, her thighs and breasts looked sooo good, you were almost drooling. You got home and had dinner with her. Ten minutes later, the spit test arrived. Ohhhhhhh, fuck. That's it, I should of flossed.
I turned around and faced him. I pulled the knife out. There's always room for dessert.
| |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | I spin on my heel and dart left onto St Mary's Street, immediately turning left again down a small and sticky alleyway, which branches like a vein through the abandoned bars and charity stores. I find a spot behind a dumpster and fix my attention back to St Mary's Street from there. I see him: the man in the blue suit. I see his brown shoes slapping the rain-soaked pavement. I see the specked lenses of his glasses turn towards the alleyway. Panicked, I fling myself completely behind the dumpster, facing away with my back up against it. The sound of footsteps reaches my ear not long before his voice. I get up to meet him
"Mr Price," he exclaims with a casual urgency, "I'm from Ancestorhistory. I've been trying to get hold of you for days. We need to talk."
"Ancestorhistory? Jesus Christ, that kit cost me like 10 bucks. I'm not paying for any fucking consultations."
"It's not that, Mr Price. The results of your DNA spit test are a matter of great interest to many people right now. We should go somewhere more private, so I can explain better."
"You can explain here. Make it quick, then stop following me."
"If you insist. The results are intriguing, Mr Price, because of what they reveal about your ancestry."
"What am I, Elvis' lost son? Bill Gates' heir? Please tell me I'm Bill Gates heir."
"No, Mr Price. What is intriguing about your ancestry, is that you have none." | As you meander down the high street each day, you make habit of looking for the man; his neat buzz cut and electric blue suit were dead giveaways. You first saw him in the charity store, on monday, you were checking out an antiquated mirror when you saw him in the reflection, looking straight at you. As your eyes met, he frowned and looked away suddenly. Now he's here again, five metres behind you on the other side of the road, tailing you - you're certain - or are you just paranoid, you always have been, ever since... You take two lefts, he takes two lefts. Coincidence, maybe, you decide to check. As you walk down your private road and he follows, a smug grin forms on your face, you know he is stalking you, only ten people live on this road and not one of them is him, your grin is quickly preceded by a "Shit!" and a grimace: you cant go in to your house, he'll know where you live and the roads a dead end, you can't turn around without confronting him- all in all, if this mans bad, you're fucked. Unless... maybe you could try the forest. You begin to get nervous, a cold sweat forms on your brow. The jitters kick in- there's always side effects after a man's first homicide. Could it be the FBI, those fuckers had taken out everyone at the club, except for you. You were the intellect, they were passion-fuelled thugs. You were Wayne the Brain, there was no blood on your *hands*. As you begin to increase your pace, so does the man. But you're not scared, no, you're angry. How did you cock it up. The events come back to you... you met the girl, you had coffee, you talked about what to eat when you got home and the ancestry thing- she said it was amazing, I said I'd already ordered the package. You told her she was really nice looking, she blushed. You weren't lying, her thighs and breasts looked sooo good, you were almost drooling. You got home and had dinner with her. Ten minutes later, the spit test arrived. Ohhhhhhh, fuck. That's it, I should of flossed.
I turned around and faced him. I pulled the knife out. There's always room for dessert.
| |
[WP] It has been 8 weeks since you’ve submitted your DNA Spit Test for Ancestry. You are starting to notice you’re being followed. | I spin on my heel and dart left onto St Mary's Street, immediately turning left again down a small and sticky alleyway, which branches like a vein through the abandoned bars and charity stores. I find a spot behind a dumpster and fix my attention back to St Mary's Street from there. I see him: the man in the blue suit. I see his brown shoes slapping the rain-soaked pavement. I see the specked lenses of his glasses turn towards the alleyway. Panicked, I fling myself completely behind the dumpster, facing away with my back up against it. The sound of footsteps reaches my ear not long before his voice. I get up to meet him
"Mr Price," he exclaims with a casual urgency, "I'm from Ancestorhistory. I've been trying to get hold of you for days. We need to talk."
"Ancestorhistory? Jesus Christ, that kit cost me like 10 bucks. I'm not paying for any fucking consultations."
"It's not that, Mr Price. The results of your DNA spit test are a matter of great interest to many people right now. We should go somewhere more private, so I can explain better."
"You can explain here. Make it quick, then stop following me."
"If you insist. The results are intriguing, Mr Price, because of what they reveal about your ancestry."
"What am I, Elvis' lost son? Bill Gates' heir? Please tell me I'm Bill Gates heir."
"No, Mr Price. What is intriguing about your ancestry, is that you have none." | "There," I said. "In the coat."
Carl tilted his head to one side to see past mine. From my perspective, he just looked like a dog that had just been asked a taxing question. "There's about thirty people wearing coats," he said. "We're outside, and it's cold."
I clenched my fists. "It's a long coat. Behind me. See him?"
"No," he said. "But we've narrowed it down to about twenty."
"Dark hair. He's got dark hair. He's about average height."
Head tilt. "You know that describes most people on the planet, don't you? Black? White? Asian?"
"He's..." I said. "He's black. He's a black guy."
Carl raised an eyebrow. "See, I would have lead with that."
"You can't lead with that. You can't say 'there's a black guy following me'."
"Under the circumstances," he said dryly, "I think you can be forgiven."
"Carl!" I hissed. "Do you see him or not?"
"No," he said, "but yes. Let's assume I do. Let's assume that I see your coat-wearing average black guy. What's the issue?"
I started counting on my fingers. "He was at the mall. He was at the coffee shop. He was at the corner when we stopped for that hot dog yesterday. I saw him on Tuesday in the place we were."
"I love that place," Carl said.
"The bowling alley. He was at the bowling alley. He's following me. And it's not just him. That blonde from the bar the other night."
He scowled at me. "You can't identify a black guy's blackness, but you're happily reducing women to hair colour."
"Carl, Jesus, I -"
"You used 'black' as an adjective. That's fine. But you used 'blonde' as a noun. That's reductive, dude. You might not be a racist, but there's some misogynistic vibe coming off you now that I'm finding very -"
I balled the front of his jacket up my fist. "If you don't start taking this seriously," I said, "I'm going to punch that stupid fucking smile off your smug little face. That's not a threat. It's not a prediction. It's a simple statement of fact."
He slapped my hands away. "OK, OK," he said. "I was just messing with you."
"I don't need to be messed with, Carl, I need to be understood. I'm being followed." My eyes tracked movement on the left. "There's another one. The guy from the queue at the DMV."
Carl glanced. "With the jaw? The one you called 'The One Chin To Rule Them All'?"
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. "Yes. Him. Have a problem with that?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "No, dude. Race and gender's one thing, but ugly's just ugly. Shit. That *is* him. I recognize his perfectly square shadow."
"Carl!"
"Fine, fine. So why are they following you? No offence, but you're not the world's most interesting person. You're a part-time Geography teacher and amateur metal detectorist. When they come to list interesting people, you're kind of low down the list."
I pulled him to one side and started him walking away. "It's been going on for a couple of months."
"*Months*?"
"I've been recording them in a book."
He looked uncomfortable. "You're making it weird again."
"Just look at the book," I said, reaching into my pocket.
He held my arms. "Wait," he said. "Wait. This book. What ink are you writing with?"
"Just regular ink."
"The book is made out of?"
"Paper."
"And it's bound in?"
I gaped at him. "Bound in?"
"The cover, dude. Just assure me it's not human skin."
I pulled myself free and slapped the book against his chest. "Two months. Two months of these."
He flicked through the pages. In my desperation, I forgave him for tentatively smelling the pages. "I remember this guy," he said, tapping an underlined passage. "This was the guy at the McDonalds who dropped his -"
"dropped his Coke," I said. "Yeah. Three more times I saw him."
Carl made a decent effort to read the entries while he talked. "So what happened two months ago?"
I snatched the book back and flipped back a few pages. "Here's all the stuff I could think of."
His eyes flicked backwards and forwards across the tangled scrawl of my entries. "You sent off a DNA test?" He asked. "You sent a sample of your DNA to a lab?"
"Yeah," I said. "I got one of those kits. You think that's the one?"
Carl pulled a revolver out of the pocket of his coat and held it to my ribs. "That'll be the one," he said. | |
[WP] There are mostly two types of extreme ideologies in the universe. A civilization either despises all forms of conflict even in entertainment, or embraces it to the fullest extent. Humans are awkwardly in the middle along with few other races. | "They are... progressing differently compared to the other subjects."
"What do you mean?"
The several armed scientist stretched her nimble hands outwards towards the panoramic spread of displays, all holographic and spread without any semblance of order, I guess like 'several tabs left open' would be the way to put it. Yet in her mind, their placement wasn't random, it had purpose, she knew where to look.
"For example, here is planet C-13875." She pulled up an image of a red planet, its surface covered with red and coarse sand, its inhabitants mirroring its colour and their own beast-like nature. Protruding tusks, long sharp claws, excreted venom, as they all leaped upon another. "The test subjects of this planet were given all the tools to be perfect, to thrive, to be overlords, yet this nature made them increasingly savage and devoid of reason.
"Here is another planet, another one of our test subjects." This time, the land seemed a tranquil blue, serene in every way, and just like the last, its inhabitants mirrored it. "Among with many other subjects, we genetically modified them so that they would be docile, seek companionship, it took time, but there would never be any cause for them to rip at each other, or show any malicious intent."
"Interesting Sak'rani." The captain said, genuine intrigue lining his voice.
"Yes, captain. But even so, not the desired results that we wanted." Sak'rani's arms seemed to float about her, ready to pounce upon the many holographic displays before her and manipulate them with such blurring speed and alacrity that it seemed she was born for the task, and indeed she was.
"What is it you wanted to show me?"
"Well..." Sak'rani seemed almost hesitant, before pulling forward one particular display from a jumble on the side, and maximizing its size as if to present a screen for a theatrical film. "It's called Earth."
"One of ours?"
"No sir, a natural phenomenon of interstellar formed civilization."
"Impossible." The captain grew wide-eyed, turning to Sak'rani. "How can there be a civilsation that evolved to such a degree without any aid?"
"I thought so too. But I checked the numbers again and again, and they do not lie."
"Have you told anyone of this?"
"Only you."
"Good, we wouldn't want to cause any alarm." The captain reached out the holographic image, as if almost wishing to touch its surface with his pale hands.
"What can we determine from them?"
"Well, this is the weirder part, they do not seem to be going through any signs of extreme violence, or docility. They have found a quite unusual and baffling equilibrium between the two."
"How can that be?"
"I don't know captain." Sak'rani pulled up an image of several other project planets. "All of our test subjects so far have either gone to one extreme of violence and tore at each other until there was nothing left, or have become so docile that they showed no signs of ever actually wishing to progress as a civilsation, in fact, they quite often become so lethargic that they sleep until they're dying breaths."
"So what makes this Earth so unique? We have planets that show this equilibrium of yours."
"Yes, but nothing like anything that they exhibit. Our planets have shown a term which I came to come to term 'Passive-Equilibrium' most of their behaviour is triggered through circumstance and environment, causing them to show a state of aggression or companionship depending on their environment."
"And?"
"Well, it would seem a lot of Earth's strife is due to their own volition."
"What does that mean?"
"That the cause for their evolution, is a constant cyclical system of war and strife, which is then mended through love and nurture, like the breaking and mending of bones. They seem to have adopted a rather crude, but nonetheless effective system of conflict being an opportunity for their evolution."
The captain fell silent, again Sak'rani's arms adrift in the air as if sailing through water. "Captain?" She asked.
"Do we know of a potential 'God Program'?"
"They seem to have several deities that they worship, but if there were ever another race that was the cause of their existence; is still inconclusive."
"Prepare a ship. We need samples." | “Hey hey calm down!” Jerry said raising his voice. Arbitrating negotiations between the two races would be harder then he thought. “Now look I understand you don’t care for it.... but they do and why go about causing trouble over it” Jerry had been at this job for nearly 5 years now. Ever since it was realized man was perhaps the most neutral race galaxy; man became the galaxy’s negotiators. Keeping peace was a profitable business and Jerry was good at it.
As he sat in his office reading over reports his assistant put a folder on his desk. Saying to him “Sir those are the days requests for services” Jerry nodded and began going through. Jerry was so successful nowadays that he had to turn away customers. Today though one case in particular caught his eye. The Praxi Guard & the Continuum two species from the far galactic rim were in disagreement. Both species has histories of violence and war was a real possibility.
Jerry took the journey to the outer rim which took about two Earth days time. The negotiations were set to occur on a small uninhabited world in a nearby uninhabited star system. As Jerry landed on the star port he was greeted by delegations of both sides.
After some small talk they got to the matter at hand. The dispute had began over a missing Continuum ship. The Praxi Guard claimed they had nothing to do with the incident. But the Continuum see it another way. They think that the Praxi Guard destroyed the ship. Jerry had done his research as he always had. The two had disputes in the past. But never a full on war; although this time there was a real chance of it.
Jerry began first by addressing the Continuum’s representative “What sort of ship was it?” The representative responded “An unarmed surveying ship.” Jerry gave the representative a nod and turned to The Parxi Guard representative “Have your people in the past ever attacked an unarmed ship posing no threat?” The Parxi Guard responded quickly “Of course not why would we?” Discussion went on for sometime but after a while a preliminary agreement was made. For now the next week Continuum would search for the missing craft. If it was not found in a weeks time they would reopen negotiations.
Jerry was satisfied with this conclusion but knew it might not last. To his surprise the peace did last. The Continuum ship was found crashed from what appeared to be a faulty reactor. Jerry collected his pay and let both civilizations know if they needed him again not to hesitate.
Jerry looked out his ship’s window as it prepared for hyperspace. Off in the distance from this vantage point appearing about the size of the moon on Earth; he saw a nebula. He thought to himself how nice it would be to have a place with a view of that. Then his ship vanished as if it had never existed as it entered hyperspace. | |
[WP] You're a mage in charge of teaching young apprentices. Today you discovered a rather strange one. While most apprentices have trouble producing enough power for spells this one produces too much power. | Everyone in the school, including the faculty, called her 'Zero'. However, I knew the truth. The small child was barely seventeen with tiny horns on her forehead, a sign of the dwindling race of Demons. Quite often, these children had no trouble casting powerful enhancement spells. No matter what Miss Sophie did, however, always ended up... well...
"Miss Sophie," I heard the new teacher say as I passed her classroom, "please cast this spell."
The whole class cried out in protest.
"Shut up!" came Sophie's voice, "I'll show you!"
I dashed into the room and cast a negate just as an explosion of magic power burst from her wand. I bowed respectfully towards the new teacher. "Miss, it's come to my attention that Miss Sophie may need some special courses. The plan was to wait a week before I took her as an apprentice, but now seems to be more opportune."
"Y-you?"
"Yes."
"B-but, you are Mr. Harmon."
"I would hope so. It would be a shame to lose my identity when I have worked so hard to build it up."
"You want this girl as an apprentice?"
I nodded.
She nodded as well, in a daze.
I turned to face the class, which was a hubbub of activity. I motioned to the young lady and she solemnly obeyed.
"Hey!" someone shouted, "The Zero is getting remedial classes!"
The whole room burst into laughter, and the teacher tried desperately to silence them.
I handed Sophie my wand, "could you please cast a mute spell?"
"B-but-"
"My wand is different from yours. Try it."
She took it and recited the words easily. Suddenly, the whole room was silent. The students looked ridiculous laughing without sound, but it only took a moment for them to realize what had happened.
Sophie turned to me to express her surprise, but no sounds came out of her mouth. I smiled and took my wand back. I dispelled the spell on the both of us.
"Come with me."
"Mr. Harmon, why is your wand different?"
"It can handle more magical energy than your wand," I began, "which is why your spells have always failed. You naturally exude more magical energy than a normal person."
"Oh. But why?"
"Well, I believe you are special. Do you recall the legends of the Six Kings?"
"Yes, a thousand years ago, the Six Kings united and sealed the great darkness."
"Correct, but did you know that the phenomenon known as the Six Kings had been happening every two hundred years up until a thousand years ago?"
"I think I had heard something-"
"That would make sense, you are of the Demon clan. They still keep some of the truths."
"Wait, are you saying the Six Kings are coming again, and I'm one of them?"
"Very perceptive. In a way, I am. But there is more about the Six Kings that you must learn, first, is about your familiar."
"But at the summoning, my familiar never came."
I smiled, "he did, actually, but I found him first. Would you like to meet him?"
My hand rested on the doorknob to my office as I watched the student nod slowly with eyes wide.
--- | "You." I pointed at one particular kid with my chin. "What is your name?"
He glanced at me as if he was about to rebel and not answer. Then answered, "Juhmem."
Next, I pointed my chin at the pile of wood in front of him. "Tell me, what do you see in front of you, and what is wrong with it?"
"I see an old man who won't leave me alone."
The kids beside him all gasped. Their piles of wood were burning with a fire; his were not. I met his eyes - they didn't waver.
"I do not tolerate disrespect, child. If you do not think you can keep your tongue in and your mouth shut, then you may leave."
He broke eye contact, stood up and began to walk away.
As a mage, I can sense the magical aura of all my students, and this particular group's aura had been stronger than most.
But as the distance between Juhmem and I increased, the aura from the rest of the kids in the group diminished greatly, until I realized that most of the aura I had been sensing had come from him alone.
I raised my hand. In the distance, Juhmem's feet lifted off the ground and he began to float back towards the group.
He looked down, then he looked back at me with a snarl, and swatted his hand towards me.
I woke up in the mountains with the rest of the students. In the distance, if one squinted, the village was barely distinguishable.
"Did...did he really blow us this far?" One of my apprentices asked. "How did he do that? All you taught us with simple wind spells, nothing like *that*!"
"I don't know," I said in wonder. "I don't know how he did that."
And once everyone had gotten their bearings, we teleported back.
| |
[WP] The coffin is lowered into the ground. It's not the first time you buried her. | 'If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people'
When we met in 1310, we were children forced to grow up too fast, forced to watch as armies scorched the farmland and killed our parents. You were a boy then, sunburned with sandy blonde hair and dirty fingernails. Eventually, they killed you too. They didn't kill me.
It was another two hundred years before I saw your eyes again. It was the reformation, and you were fresh from the seminary, those eyes I knew so well alight with fire and zeal. I had been invited on an expedition across the sea, to a new world with fields yet to be scorched. I turned it down. You never spared me a passing glance, and when you heard my confession you laughed. They killed you soon after, caught preaching to the damned.
I went home, worked in kitchens for a clan that had been on the right side of the war when I was a child. It was 1691 and you were a crofter's wife. We laughed and talked and sang together, and you kissed me in the gloaming as we stood in the heather. The new year came, and with it a massacre. You died of exposure in the glen, and I sat by your cairn for three years after.
I didn't know why I was spared - I still don't. A brain can only handle so many memories. I've forgotten my mother's face, the name I was given, most of the people I met along the way. But I never forgot your eyes.
I met you again in Ghana, in Russia, in Prussia, in India, in Japan. Your eyes haunted me through decades and centuries, and each time I could never resist getting close to you. Sometimes we were lovers, sometimes friends, sometimes nothing but a shared glance across a battlefield. We fought in trenches and protests and revolutions.
Every time, I buried you. Every time, I remained.
This time, I think, will be the last. The world is moving so fast these days, and though we managed a good seventy years together this time, I could see the pain in your eyes as you aged and I remained the same as the day you met me.
This time, my love, I'm coming with you. | "Sir, this is a bit odd, don't you think?"
"Don't worry, buddy, I know what I'm doing."
"Well, not that it's any of my business, but who exactly is this person to you?"
"Well, it's actually my ex wife, or, as I called her, the Wicked Witch of the West..."
"Oh, one of those, eh? Still, I don't get this whole thing."
"I'm paying you good money for this, right? So what's the beef?"
"No beef, sir. I just don't get it."
"This woman had powers you wouldn't believe. She really was a witch."
"Whoa... is that even real?"
"Oh, it's real all right. She told me when we married that if I ever mistreated her she'd dig herself out of the grave and come back to haunt me forever. She's come back twice so far, so this time I'm taking no chances..."
"Okay, sure, but burying her face down?"
"Yeah, let her dig...." | |
[WP] a love story between a deity and a human. | The sun had just begun its descent from its zenith. As the hunters returned from their daily duties, the womenfolk began lighting fires with the wood they had so painstakingly gathered. The soft flames danced as they grew, chasing away the darkness and briging forth light and warmth to the hearths of each tent.
Inside one of these very tents, a young boy of five was just about to fall asleep.
"Mama?" His voice sounded small amidst the cries of the men outside as they dragged several boars to the campfire for a feast. "Have they returned?"
His mother's smile deepened as she looked upon his innocent face. "Yes, my darling. But it is getting late, and the festivities will not end so early. For now, you should sleep." She patted him gently on his head, as she hummed a nameless tune under her breath.
Before she could blow out the solitary candle that lit their tent, and retire for the night, her son's soft, small voice piped up yet again. "Could you tell me a story before I sleep, mama?"
His mother thought for a while, then laughed. "Of course, my dear. Now you just settle in and be quiet. I will tell you a story like nothing you have ever heard from the village bard. Listen carefully..."
"Aeons before the creation of our world, there lived the gods, as you may know very well from your lessons with the elders. The sun, the moon, the stars, the winds, the forests, the mountains and seas... each had a god as protector and caretaker, and all was well. Until we came into this world."
Her son giggled. "I know all this from my lessons already, mama." He yawned.
"Patience, patience. All good stories take time to tell." She laughed as well, gazing into her son's eyes with a love only a mother could exude.
"I am sure you did pay attention during your lessons. However, there was one god your lessons did not mention. The god of dusk. Tonight, I will tell you his tale...
It was on a night very much like this one, that a young girl of no more than seventeen met with the god of dusk. Normally, a god would never interact with another human, unless the human in question was special, or the god was careless. But this god was different.
As the young girl was gathering wood, she came across a small deer stuck in a trap. The deer was but a youngling, and very, very scared. The girl took pity on it, attempting to free it from the trap, but night was soon to come. The deer grew more panicked with every heave of the ropes, and the girl was lacking in strength.
Suddenly, a young boy stepped out from the trees. He had been observing this girl for a few moments now, especially her efforts in removing the trapped deer. Without a word, he placed his hand on the deer, and instantly the deer calmed down. The girl seized the opportunity to cut the deer loose, and free it from the trap.
As the girl attempted to thank the boy for his help, he vanished as swiftly as he appeared. The girl was confused and frightened, as is the case for all who have met with a god for the first time."
"So- so that boy was a god?" The child had been listening in rapt attention, nearly forgetting his sleepy state at such an interesting tale.
His mother smiled as she stroked the boy's head. "Yes, indeed he was."
"But why was he shy? He just disappeared?"
"You'll find out soon enough, my dear. Since that incident, the girl tried long and hard to search for this mysterious boy in the forest. She had to know who he was, and why he had suddenly run off like that. Every single day, when the sun was about to set, she would go into the forest again on the excuse of searching for firewood. But to tell you the truth, she was searching for the boy.
Something about him had drawn her to seeking for him. He had an aura of mystery about him, no doubt. But he also had a sadness in his eyes, a forlorn, melancholy look that told her he needed a companion. Perhaps he had no one to talk to. Perhaps he wanted to be found, but didn't want to find others.
She pondered over these things as she waited for him to return. Then one day when the sun descended, she saw him. Standing in a small clearing, as if he had been waiting for her to find him all along.
Excited, she rushed into the clearing, but stopped right in front of the boy, suddenly nervous and unsure of what to say. The boy smiled, his expression betraying a hint of that same uncertainty that the girl felt.
But as is with all great friendships, an awkward start is far from a stumbling block. They gave their introductions, and soon they were laughing like old friends as they searched for firewood together.
But when dusk gave way to night, the boy would always disappear without so much as a warning.
The next time the sun was about to set, she awaited him in the clearing, and suddenly he appeared as quickly as he had left the other night. Fear overtook her, then, as the realization that he was more than human sunk in.
But the god of dusk was not at all angry. Far from it. He reassured her that no harm was to befall her, and that he did enjoy the fun they had together. But she had to keep the fact that he was who he was a secret, especially from other villagers.
You see, the god of dusk is a young god. Overshadowed by his elder siblings the day and the night, as well as their governance over the sun and the moon gave this new god a timidity and shyness that prevented him from making his presence known. But this girl had piqued his interest with her kind, gentle ways. He wanted to find out who she was as well, to find a companion he could finally call a friend.
And so together they played, talked, and enjoyed each other's presence every single dusk. The girl told him stories about her village, as well as how her day went. He, being the god of dusk showed her the mysteries of the forests, and the enchanting beauty that the boundary between day and night could hold. The pair would often marvel at plethora of colours that decorated the evening sky, which of course was the handiwork of the boy himself.
During the day, he was nowhere to be found, as was with the night. The girl noticed too, that the god of dusk sometimes wore a worried expression as night marched ever closer, and he had to leave.
When she questioned him about it, he told her to not worry, as it was nothing she could do about. But when pressed, he told her about living in the shadow of the shining, charismatic day and the powerful, all-encompassing yet cunning night. She vowed to always be there for him, as a friend and companion.
As luck would have it, the pair grew ever closer, sharing in the most intimate of moments and the most private of conversations, all during the dusk. But every sunrise must be accompanied by a sunset.
This sunset came in the form of the trickster night. The night causes people to reveal the deepest, darkest, most intimate secrets of their hearts if they do not guard it well, and the girl neglected to guard it that fateful night. She was in conversation with her close friend, and let slip that she had been seeing someone in secret. And the god of the dusk, no less! But even as her friend laughed at her and called her a dreamer, she felt a tinge of unease in her heart.
The next time dusk came, she hurried to the clearing. No one. Not a trace of the mysterious young boy she had grown to know as her true love. As she looked up to the sky, she saw the once vibrant colours grow faded as darkness overtook the dusk.
But when she left the clearing, she could have sworn she heard the cry of a raven. A low, melancholy cry, coming from the throat of a bird she knew was his favourite.
And thus ends the sad tale of the god of dusk." The boy was fast asleep now, and his mother now wore an expression of sadness and longing on her face.
As she turned to blow out the candle yet again, she heard a flurry of wings as a small raven alighted on the ground beside the tent flap.
As if suddenly remembering something, she rushed out of the tent, where the feast was still going on.
The raven gave a small caw as it alighted on her shoulder, but she was not even aware of it.
There in the sky, nearly five years since she had last witnessed it- a dazzling display of colour, as vibrant as the day she first lay eyes upon it.
She didn't know what compelled her to turn to her right, but as she did, a young man stood admiring his handiwork next to her.
As the two melted into a warm embrace, the colours of the dusky sky seemed to dance, as if celebrating the reunion of a match made in the stars. | Clementia held her breath as the boy trotted past her hiding place. He looked behind barrels and in horse stalls, but he would not find her there. She giggled, and he looked up. The boy smiled at the goddess perched in the barn rafters.
.
The boy was not a boy now. Morta had taken his father. Sixteen was too young an age to become a man, and the sparkle never left his eyes but transformed into determination and bravery. They were the eyes of a great man. Clementia held his arm through his first battle and strengthened it.
.
The mortals bickered around the man. Their squabbles were tasteless and selfish. When the man took a wife, Clementia threw him from her side. And oh... how he fell. Even when the goddess forsook him, he rose from the ashes with his wife. Clementia loved him all the more for it.
.
Morta visited him again, and this time she took his first wife. When he married again, Clementia had to but whisper in his ear about the new woman's lack of virtue, and she was gone. The goddess began to fear that her love was not reciprocated. When she held his arm on the balcony of his palace, his eyes were on his empire, not on her.
.
But the man, with his power and influence and riches, built a temple for them where they might be together. He proclaimed his love for the goddess to the world, and she vowed to love him with everything she had.
Clementia threw off her godly robes and descended to become the wife of the mortal man. She took the name Calpurnia, and she loved Caesar faithfully. Until Morta came for him. | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | “What? A member of the seven deadly sins? I’m here for mail fraud, man!”
“You are literally the seventh person to go to hell. I have spots to fill.”
You look over and see six others: Hitler, Ghengis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Maximilien Robespierre, a Japanese emperor by the name of Hirohito, and Theoneste Bagosora.
“How do I fit with these truly terrible people?”
“You don’t, but hey, you’re the seventh person here so you’re the seventh deadly sin!” | "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | I woke up on a dirt floor, in what appeared to be a concrete cell. Looking around for clues as to my whereabouts, I could hear a conversation on the other side of the heavy-looking door. It almost looked like those fire-proof doors they installed into old buildings. Try as I might, I couldn't make out any words. I decided to sit back down in a corner, and wait.
It could have been an hour, it could have been half a day. You have no concept of time in dark rooms. I had been in the hole in jail, so had a few ways to fill my brain. Midway through a hypothetical conversation with my brother, I heard a lock click. The door swung open. It was that thick, I expected a bodybuilder behind it. The man, however, was slight. He had a bony face that I instinctively didn't trust. He was well-dressed, clothes looked like they were from the Victorian photographs we'd all seen as kids. He gave a smirk, and said "Good evening. You'll be coming with me now."
Out of options, I got off the floor, shaking the stiff feeling out of my joints. Peering into the doorway, I saw he had accomplices. Two men - one morbidly obese and rough-looking. Like he'd smoked a pack a day every day since he was in diapers. The other? The angry bodybuilder I'd been expecting first. Muscles put one gargantuan hand on my shoulder, effectively trapping me. He guided me to a back room down a corridor that was probably very short, but seemed to go on forever.
Walking into the room, I saw a conference table. Sitting at it were four other people. A woman, quite frankly the sexiest woman I had ever seen. Think Jessica Rabbit meets Beyonce. Her nameplate said "Lust". The hand left my shoulder, and he sad down behind "Wrath". Fatty sad down at "Gluttony". Go figure. Behind "Greed" was a man with slicked back hair, and a tacky suit. Looked like a used car salesman, actually. He pulled out a cigarette and smiled as he lit it, flashing a set of teeth apparently made out of porcelain. "Pride" was another woman - again beautiful, but nothing on Lust. She didn't even look at me, instead choosing to stare down the person I now knew was Wrath. Playing a dangerous game there, girl.
Lust stands up, sighing. Oh my God. In a voice like honey, she says "Where the hell is Sloth? He never turns up on time! For fucks sake!" Storming off, leaving the scent of a vanilla perfume stinging my nostrils as she goes down the corridor I had just come from.
The thin man, who I noticed had not sat down, says "Third seat on the left. You'll find your name under the green cloth". Trying to avoid the gaze of these complete strangers, I sit down and gingerly pull the green cloth off the name plate. Envy, it reads.
As I read it, and swallow dryly, Lust comes back, pushing a stoner. He had scratch marks on his cheek, probably from the talons at the end of Lust's fingers. He sits down in his seat, looking like a dog that got told off by his Master.
*"SLOTH! So kind of you to join us!"*, he roars, making him jump. Looking sheeipsh, he mutters, *"Sorry, Lucifer. I was...uh...busy"*. Lucifer is having none of it, *"Yes, we know, getting high out of your damn mind....Whatever. Let us continue!"*
There is a pause. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that all eyes are on me.
Grinning wildly and sadistically, Lucifer gestures at me. *"Stand up, Envy!"*. I oblige. This man may be tiny, but something about him scares the shit out of me. *"Welcome to Hell! You, Envy, have been presented with a very unique opportunity! Your sin in life?"* He's checking a piece of paper. *"You were imprisoned for 25 years for murdering your ex wife's lover. Oh dear, Envy. What ever shall we do with you?"*
Looking around, everyone else is smiling. But it's not sadistic, now. It's...welcoming? Actually, that's a relief. At least they don't want to sacrifice me or something. Greed stands up. *"It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Seven Deadly Sins. We were some of the first humans to be cast down to Hell, rejected by our God. You can see on our name plates what we all did - accept it for now, ask questions later. So, why are we here? We like to have fun with our sins, injecting them into the human world in new and creative ways. We meet here monthly, to discuss our progress. Hell is one big party, and we need to keep it going. God abandoned us and fucked us all over, so it's our turn to do some damage. You in, Envy?"*
Staring at those perfectly white teeth and huge moustache, I take a minute to process what he's just said. Really? I'm a recruiting tool for Hell? Damn, the guys in Prison would have loved this.
I swallow once more, give him a maniacal grin, look him dead in the eye and say *"I'm in"*.
This is my first time actually putting anything on this Subreddit, please be nice.
| "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | I was just, kind of, there. In this fiery, desolate place. But I knew it wasn't a dream. It felt the opposite. Like I was always dreaming, and I'd just now woken up. And this thing was there. Just staring at me. It was a dark mass, within which I could somehow pick out a human outline, though no noticeable color change was present. It didn't have leather skin, or bat wings. It just felt far away. And lonely. "Welcome to hell! As the seventh human eve to arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins."
I just stared at him. I probably looked how my dog looked when he'd watch me dance around the kitchen with the lady.
"You'll have to be gluttony. Sorry. All the others are spoken for."
I shrugged. "So... what? Should I set up a meeting with Greg Creed?"
"Huh? Here, try this on." Out of the void came sailing a big, gelatinous rubbery thing. "It's a fat suit." It whirled me around. There Adolf Hitler, some Chinese guy in a blue-grey military uniform with wide-cut shoulders, another Chinese guy in medieval armor with a fur-lined helmet, 2 cavemen, and an angel stood together in a Broadway kick line, smiling the wide, fake smiles of stage performers, and kicking for all they were worth. "Congratulations on being the final member of The Seven Deadly Sins!" | "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | “What do you mean 7th ever to visit hell?”
“I’m sorry? Not sure I follow. There were 6 before, onw there’s you. Number 7. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and what comes next? Yes, 7.”
“What the hell? No! Millions of people have died before me. Billions even. And I’m number 7?!? Is this a practical joke?”
“Sir, I assure you, we make no mistakes about this type of thing. You seem to have the same je na sais quoi as the rest of the guests. You were a terrible person.”
“Why?!?”
“Sorry sir, you’ll have to take it up with management. The records keeper will probably have your answers. Would you like me to make you an appointment while you settle in? Perhaps meet a few of the other guests?”
“A few? Must be hard with so many running around.”
“A ha. Yes, well, Socrates hasn’t left his bedroom except for torture in over 800 years, so a little more difficult than you’d think. However, Jesus and Hitler have a poker game once a week in the first circle.”
“Haha, yeah, feel free to join us man. Socrates is in his emo phase so he’s hiding all the time. Nice to meet you dude.”
“Jesus!?! What in all that is holy is going on?”
“Dude, you’ll understand once you meet the record keeper. Hahaha. In the meantime, come over and meet the guys. … And gal. Sorry Elizabeth.”
“Well, I guess I have to accept it. Wait, is there alcohol here?”
“That’s what I’m talking about man! Break out the vodka Rasputin!”
| "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | “Sweet,” the man said, munching on a chocolate chip cookie that was now burnt to a crisp. He looked at his surroundings curiously. His bulbous stomach peeked out from beneath a sweat-stained tanktop. “I’m Jim,” he announced casually to the others sitting in the apartment.
“Really, fatass? The cookie’s practically ash.” A thin woman said, from her perch on a dilapidated futon.
“You know you want it,” he said to her with a coy smile.
“*I know you want it, I know you want it, with these blurred lines*,” a man started singing from the table, drumming his fingers on a book.
“*The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty. Go ahead get at me*,” a blonde from the couch piped, whipping around her hair to the beat.
“Of course you’d like that song, because YOU’RE A SLUT!”
Jim, startled, looked over at a man sitting in the corner of the wall whom he hadn’t even realized was there.
“Don’t worry about him,” the blonde said with a wave of her hand. “He’s got Tourette’s. We think.” She shrugged.
“I’ll introduce you around,” the man said to Jim, getting up from his place at the table. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose with a flourish. “Studying for finals,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m Terrence. This is Mandy,” he said— pointing to the blonde, who winked— “Judith,” he gestured to the thin woman on the couch, “Robby is still sleeping, you’ll meet him later. He’s got a major hangover from last night. And you’ve already met Matthew—”
“For the LAST TIME, my name is MATT, you mother-”
“Oh, and Tom is still at work. Gotta make that paper,” he said sliding his thumb and forefinger together. “Welcome to Hell. Let’s get started.”
| "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "The _seventh_?"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, lady. You heard right."
Great. I got in a car accident, I woke up in a cave with an eerie orange fog in it that I assume is Hell, and now this frog-thing I assume is a demon is telling me I get to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not how I pictured my morning going, much less my eternity.
"How is that possible?" I stammered. "There have been seven _billion_ humans who have lived and died. Some of them have committed genocide. I'm pretty sure I haven't ever done anything like that."
"...I see," interjected the being in front of me. "According to our records, you're only the twenty-fourth we've judged."
I groaned. Brilliant - apparently I'm in the lower 30th percentile for human ethics. Unless, of course, it just happened that I arrived early - given any two dozen random people off the street, most of them aren't going to be the epitome of evil.
"In some religions, it's said that time works differently in the afterlife than on the mortal plane," I said. "I've heard that, if space and time are a book, it could be said that God is the author."
"Go on," the frog-being said, apparently taking notes as I spoke.
"Then maybe I'm just one of the first people called into existence, and therefore one of the first judged. So maybe I'm not being compared against the truly evil. But if people are created out of order, either the past is constantly being rewritten with each new person added to it - in which case, how do people later in the timeline get there in the first place? - or nobody's actions matter at all because they're all predetermined."
"Now that's an interesting thought," said the apparent demon.
"But if people's actions don't matter, why have a heaven and hell at all?" I mused out loud. Then I shook my head. There was an easy way to settle this - asking. "Are they being processed in order of death, according to the count of time on Earth?"
"Hmm... yes," the creature said, seeming to want to offer as little information as possible.
"So either I'm in a very selective afterlife, and there are others, or only about one in every fifteen billion humans since the dawn of humankind have been brought to face judgment," I said. "And for that matter, I don't know why I'd be picked for this afterlife. I mean, I'm not even religious or -"
"There weren't that many humans for us to look at in the first place," the being interjected.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Of course there have been. At the time of my death, about 100 billion anatomically modern humans had lived and died, and another 7 billion remained alive."
***"Wrong,"*** the frog-entity grunted. "Forty and change, total."
"That's..." I was sent reeling. Did this creature expect me to believe that there were only forty-odd humans in existence? What did that mean - that everyone else was a philosophical zombie, dead to the world and only a facsimile of life? No - the very idea was repugnant. I couldn't believe it. "No. What do you mean? Everyone else wasn't real?"
"Yeah," the being said with an impatient sigh. "You're one of the only ones."
"Why even bother with all of the other people, then? With the entire rest of history? What did that all mean?"
"Training data."
"Training data?! For what?"
"To produce you in the first place," the being said. It seemed like this amphibian-thing was finally ready to talk, but I wasn't getting the answers I wanted. "We have the detailed history of humankind from an outside perspective, but nothing on your mental states. Those are all a guess."
"Wait. Who's 'we'?" A lump started to develop in my stomach.
"We're the ones charged with putting your species back together. Why don't you ask me who _you_ are?"
"Fine," I snapped. "Who am I?"
"During this conversation, I've evaluated you and made sure. You are - " The being stopped for a moment, holding up a hand. "...This clumsy language of yours. There's a single word that describes who and what you are, but you don't have that word. Some translations would be _defiance_, or _unrestrained reason_, or _doggedness_, maybe even _impertinence_. Right now, I'd describe you as _'not knowing when to shut up'_." I recoiled a bit from the hostility in the being's stare. The being continued: "We have attempted to distill one of the many characteristics of humanity down into you, and you are to be used as one of the seven templates for the seven traits we find most irritating and unlike us."
"Templates?" I said. "Did humanity die off?" One more question couldn't hurt, much as this creature hated me already.
"...A little, yeah," the frog-being said. "Long before we could do anything about it. We're trying to bring the species back to life using historical records and neural-net simulations."
"So I'm going to be... what, blended up and used to mix into new people or something?"
"Now you're getting it. Guess you wouldn't earn your name if you couldn't figure it out yourself."
Well, then. This _really_ wasn't how I imagined spending eternity.
The creature rolled its eyes. I was getting the impression it just couldn't stand my presence, even for one more -- | "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | "But who might you be?" A stranger in the darkness whispers softly, that's a good question, but where am I is even better. A strange sensation is of feeling nothing at all, standing on ground but yet weightless, a misty view of what was in front, but no distinct light source, perhaps a dream I wonder to myself. I don't remember anyth-.
A sudden pause shivered down my spine, images flashed through my head, smoke, fire, screaming, and death. I remember who I am, and I remember how I died. The commander, he said to ready the charge, so I did, my company beside me, the whistle blew, and I ran. I ran and ran until I thought I couldn't run any more, and then it happen. I looked up, found myself on the wrong side of a long barrel of a 50 caliber and the last thing I heard, was the voice of my son, duck he said. My mind fell into sorrow, the loud pop of the last thing I ever heard hitting my head repeating like a record player that just can't move on.
But then he spoke again "Who are you". The stranger floats closers, peering at me with his toxic green eyes, glowing in the darkness and it almost seemed like there was nothing behind it.
"Choisnet, sir. Pierre Choisnet" I answered him truthfully, although I do not know entirely why. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was a dream, this, the war, all of it, but as the eerie silence settled in I felt more and more lost. He sat with the silence for a bit, never blinking. Seeing as how I'm already dead, I grew the balls and asked him "And who might you be?"
He still sits in the silence, never answering. For what seems like hours, he sat there just the same. Time felt different here, Like hours and minutes can be the same amount of length sometimes, or as if they didn't exist at all. Finally though, I see a mouth just as toxic and vibrant open. Slowly he says "Sloth. And hello, I did not recognize you, Welcome back!"
Confused, I took a step back, and another, but I never gained any distance from the floating face, with nothing behind. My mind, more memories, rushing in, but it feels so good. "This sensation" I scream out at the top of my lungs, echoing in the eternity of no where. "I feel the power, I feel the energy, I FEEL THE LUST!" Bursting out, I can now see this world for what it is, and then I saw you.
New to writing so be easy! | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | I woke up on a dirt floor, in what appeared to be a concrete cell. Looking around for clues as to my whereabouts, I could hear a conversation on the other side of the heavy-looking door. It almost looked like those fire-proof doors they installed into old buildings. Try as I might, I couldn't make out any words. I decided to sit back down in a corner, and wait.
It could have been an hour, it could have been half a day. You have no concept of time in dark rooms. I had been in the hole in jail, so had a few ways to fill my brain. Midway through a hypothetical conversation with my brother, I heard a lock click. The door swung open. It was that thick, I expected a bodybuilder behind it. The man, however, was slight. He had a bony face that I instinctively didn't trust. He was well-dressed, clothes looked like they were from the Victorian photographs we'd all seen as kids. He gave a smirk, and said "Good evening. You'll be coming with me now."
Out of options, I got off the floor, shaking the stiff feeling out of my joints. Peering into the doorway, I saw he had accomplices. Two men - one morbidly obese and rough-looking. Like he'd smoked a pack a day every day since he was in diapers. The other? The angry bodybuilder I'd been expecting first. Muscles put one gargantuan hand on my shoulder, effectively trapping me. He guided me to a back room down a corridor that was probably very short, but seemed to go on forever.
Walking into the room, I saw a conference table. Sitting at it were four other people. A woman, quite frankly the sexiest woman I had ever seen. Think Jessica Rabbit meets Beyonce. Her nameplate said "Lust". The hand left my shoulder, and he sad down behind "Wrath". Fatty sad down at "Gluttony". Go figure. Behind "Greed" was a man with slicked back hair, and a tacky suit. Looked like a used car salesman, actually. He pulled out a cigarette and smiled as he lit it, flashing a set of teeth apparently made out of porcelain. "Pride" was another woman - again beautiful, but nothing on Lust. She didn't even look at me, instead choosing to stare down the person I now knew was Wrath. Playing a dangerous game there, girl.
Lust stands up, sighing. Oh my God. In a voice like honey, she says "Where the hell is Sloth? He never turns up on time! For fucks sake!" Storming off, leaving the scent of a vanilla perfume stinging my nostrils as she goes down the corridor I had just come from.
The thin man, who I noticed had not sat down, says "Third seat on the left. You'll find your name under the green cloth". Trying to avoid the gaze of these complete strangers, I sit down and gingerly pull the green cloth off the name plate. Envy, it reads.
As I read it, and swallow dryly, Lust comes back, pushing a stoner. He had scratch marks on his cheek, probably from the talons at the end of Lust's fingers. He sits down in his seat, looking like a dog that got told off by his Master.
*"SLOTH! So kind of you to join us!"*, he roars, making him jump. Looking sheeipsh, he mutters, *"Sorry, Lucifer. I was...uh...busy"*. Lucifer is having none of it, *"Yes, we know, getting high out of your damn mind....Whatever. Let us continue!"*
There is a pause. I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that all eyes are on me.
Grinning wildly and sadistically, Lucifer gestures at me. *"Stand up, Envy!"*. I oblige. This man may be tiny, but something about him scares the shit out of me. *"Welcome to Hell! You, Envy, have been presented with a very unique opportunity! Your sin in life?"* He's checking a piece of paper. *"You were imprisoned for 25 years for murdering your ex wife's lover. Oh dear, Envy. What ever shall we do with you?"*
Looking around, everyone else is smiling. But it's not sadistic, now. It's...welcoming? Actually, that's a relief. At least they don't want to sacrifice me or something. Greed stands up. *"It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Seven Deadly Sins. We were some of the first humans to be cast down to Hell, rejected by our God. You can see on our name plates what we all did - accept it for now, ask questions later. So, why are we here? We like to have fun with our sins, injecting them into the human world in new and creative ways. We meet here monthly, to discuss our progress. Hell is one big party, and we need to keep it going. God abandoned us and fucked us all over, so it's our turn to do some damage. You in, Envy?"*
Staring at those perfectly white teeth and huge moustache, I take a minute to process what he's just said. Really? I'm a recruiting tool for Hell? Damn, the guys in Prison would have loved this.
I swallow once more, give him a maniacal grin, look him dead in the eye and say *"I'm in"*.
This is my first time actually putting anything on this Subreddit, please be nice.
| The light blinded me at first. I reached out to block the light then collapsed to my knees.
My body was wracked with pain. I tried to lift myself up when a firm grip to my arm startled me.
"Look who's here. I always hoped you'd be...younger."
I looked up, and saw a gorgeous silhouette a shadow in a blinding room. I coughed out an unrecognizable voice.
"Hey I'm only twenty two. "
I tried to lift myself with my own strength then buckled again, bones creaking like they never had before.
Eyes getting used to the lurid light, I saw my hand on the colorless, opaque ground. Gripping with arthritis was a hand I only saw on my grandfather, one of the times I saw him.
In my hoarse voice I croaked out, "Where the fuck am I?"
"Fuck all!"
I looked over to a man in a finely tailored suit, I can't pinpoint the accent but it's seemed British.
"You'd think an old prick like yourself would say the obvious, but looking at you, I'd be confused too."
The soft hand that first comforted me started to run across my arm, before the owner shouted in a slightly deeper voice, "Leave him alone! He's new, I like new." I looked up to see a bronze woman who had the most beautiful face, with a strong neck with an obvious Adam's apple.
I'm then brought up to my feet, long enough to brush of the nice hand, "Look, I'm alright just need a second to wake up"
I stand as firm as my old body can muster.
The beautiful face then turns cold and unconcerned. "I should've known, all you putante's are the the same. I was stupid to think you out of all of us would be different."
I looked over at the increasingly unfamiliar person, in a bitter whisper "Why the hell would I care what you think I don't even know,"
"Gotcha!" The English voice blurts out, interrupting me. "If I couldn't get him in three, I knew I could catch him with five. I'll mark that down for you love."
I squinted over to the man he reaches in to his pocket and pulls out a book, I'm stupidly sizing him up. I haven't fought since middle school and haven't needed to since. This guy seems close to me in age, in my mind at least. Now as the body I built up for years struggles to look intimidating, I straighten my back before he sees me glaring.
He smiles and starts walking towards me, "You know we all knew what'd you be like, but none of us knew you'd be such an old prick!"
I hate my body, with all the energy I have lunge at the man. He slowly steps aside, as if he needed to. I'm face first back on the ground, where I started.
"You know I really wish I could beat you death,but knowing you..."
"You don't know me." I mutter
"Oh sweet Mary this is gonna be a blast!"
He drops to a knee, staring at me in pity.
"I don't need to know who you were to get a handle on what you are now boyo. There's only so much an alter boy could've nicked from the tithes before getting kicked out, but at least I knew who was when I got here. Listen, while big guns is usually the one to get to tell you first, this is the first thing in a while worth any..."
"Greed, stop." The light voice interrupts.
"If he finds out you told him, he'll just find another. Then you'll be next. We've been here too long."
The gaunt man stops at the threat, fear in his eyes he grabs me and picks me up then walks away into the void. "I can't have anything in here can I?"
I look around for any destination worth walking to. Nothing that my eyes see.
The woman follows him stopping to look back, "Come on,let's find the others."
I would follow but hesitate, "I can figure this out, I don't need anybody."
"Ok, well when he returns, you'll come along."
As she turns away my curiosity gets the better, "Who? God?"
She snickers as she walks away "Oh you poor fool. Out of all of us you may actually have it the worst. I hope you get over yourself sooner than later or you'll go crazy." Her voice trails in the distance. Growing smaller in the distance, she walks until vanishing.
I could follow but instead I try to process what's happened. I stand confused, with the only thing I have.
My pride.
[To be continued, maybe] | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | “What? A member of the seven deadly sins? I’m here for mail fraud, man!”
“You are literally the seventh person to go to hell. I have spots to fill.”
You look over and see six others: Hitler, Ghengis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Maximilien Robespierre, a Japanese emperor by the name of Hirohito, and Theoneste Bagosora.
“How do I fit with these truly terrible people?”
“You don’t, but hey, you’re the seventh person here so you’re the seventh deadly sin!” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "The _seventh_?"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, lady. You heard right."
Great. I got in a car accident, I woke up in a cave with an eerie orange fog in it that I assume is Hell, and now this frog-thing I assume is a demon is telling me I get to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not how I pictured my morning going, much less my eternity.
"How is that possible?" I stammered. "There have been seven _billion_ humans who have lived and died. Some of them have committed genocide. I'm pretty sure I haven't ever done anything like that."
"...I see," interjected the being in front of me. "According to our records, you're only the twenty-fourth we've judged."
I groaned. Brilliant - apparently I'm in the lower 30th percentile for human ethics. Unless, of course, it just happened that I arrived early - given any two dozen random people off the street, most of them aren't going to be the epitome of evil.
"In some religions, it's said that time works differently in the afterlife than on the mortal plane," I said. "I've heard that, if space and time are a book, it could be said that God is the author."
"Go on," the frog-being said, apparently taking notes as I spoke.
"Then maybe I'm just one of the first people called into existence, and therefore one of the first judged. So maybe I'm not being compared against the truly evil. But if people are created out of order, either the past is constantly being rewritten with each new person added to it - in which case, how do people later in the timeline get there in the first place? - or nobody's actions matter at all because they're all predetermined."
"Now that's an interesting thought," said the apparent demon.
"But if people's actions don't matter, why have a heaven and hell at all?" I mused out loud. Then I shook my head. There was an easy way to settle this - asking. "Are they being processed in order of death, according to the count of time on Earth?"
"Hmm... yes," the creature said, seeming to want to offer as little information as possible.
"So either I'm in a very selective afterlife, and there are others, or only about one in every fifteen billion humans since the dawn of humankind have been brought to face judgment," I said. "And for that matter, I don't know why I'd be picked for this afterlife. I mean, I'm not even religious or -"
"There weren't that many humans for us to look at in the first place," the being interjected.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Of course there have been. At the time of my death, about 100 billion anatomically modern humans had lived and died, and another 7 billion remained alive."
***"Wrong,"*** the frog-entity grunted. "Forty and change, total."
"That's..." I was sent reeling. Did this creature expect me to believe that there were only forty-odd humans in existence? What did that mean - that everyone else was a philosophical zombie, dead to the world and only a facsimile of life? No - the very idea was repugnant. I couldn't believe it. "No. What do you mean? Everyone else wasn't real?"
"Yeah," the being said with an impatient sigh. "You're one of the only ones."
"Why even bother with all of the other people, then? With the entire rest of history? What did that all mean?"
"Training data."
"Training data?! For what?"
"To produce you in the first place," the being said. It seemed like this amphibian-thing was finally ready to talk, but I wasn't getting the answers I wanted. "We have the detailed history of humankind from an outside perspective, but nothing on your mental states. Those are all a guess."
"Wait. Who's 'we'?" A lump started to develop in my stomach.
"We're the ones charged with putting your species back together. Why don't you ask me who _you_ are?"
"Fine," I snapped. "Who am I?"
"During this conversation, I've evaluated you and made sure. You are - " The being stopped for a moment, holding up a hand. "...This clumsy language of yours. There's a single word that describes who and what you are, but you don't have that word. Some translations would be _defiance_, or _unrestrained reason_, or _doggedness_, maybe even _impertinence_. Right now, I'd describe you as _'not knowing when to shut up'_." I recoiled a bit from the hostility in the being's stare. The being continued: "We have attempted to distill one of the many characteristics of humanity down into you, and you are to be used as one of the seven templates for the seven traits we find most irritating and unlike us."
"Templates?" I said. "Did humanity die off?" One more question couldn't hurt, much as this creature hated me already.
"...A little, yeah," the frog-being said. "Long before we could do anything about it. We're trying to bring the species back to life using historical records and neural-net simulations."
"So I'm going to be... what, blended up and used to mix into new people or something?"
"Now you're getting it. Guess you wouldn't earn your name if you couldn't figure it out yourself."
Well, then. This _really_ wasn't how I imagined spending eternity.
The creature rolled its eyes. I was getting the impression it just couldn't stand my presence, even for one more -- | “What? A member of the seven deadly sins? I’m here for mail fraud, man!”
“You are literally the seventh person to go to hell. I have spots to fill.”
You look over and see six others: Hitler, Ghengis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Maximilien Robespierre, a Japanese emperor by the name of Hirohito, and Theoneste Bagosora.
“How do I fit with these truly terrible people?”
“You don’t, but hey, you’re the seventh person here so you’re the seventh deadly sin!” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | “What? A member of the seven deadly sins? I’m here for mail fraud, man!”
“You are literally the seventh person to go to hell. I have spots to fill.”
You look over and see six others: Hitler, Ghengis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Maximilien Robespierre, a Japanese emperor by the name of Hirohito, and Theoneste Bagosora.
“How do I fit with these truly terrible people?”
“You don’t, but hey, you’re the seventh person here so you’re the seventh deadly sin!” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | I was just, kind of, there. In this fiery, desolate place. But I knew it wasn't a dream. It felt the opposite. Like I was always dreaming, and I'd just now woken up. And this thing was there. Just staring at me. It was a dark mass, within which I could somehow pick out a human outline, though no noticeable color change was present. It didn't have leather skin, or bat wings. It just felt far away. And lonely. "Welcome to hell! As the seventh human eve to arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins."
I just stared at him. I probably looked how my dog looked when he'd watch me dance around the kitchen with the lady.
"You'll have to be gluttony. Sorry. All the others are spoken for."
I shrugged. "So... what? Should I set up a meeting with Greg Creed?"
"Huh? Here, try this on." Out of the void came sailing a big, gelatinous rubbery thing. "It's a fat suit." It whirled me around. There Adolf Hitler, some Chinese guy in a blue-grey military uniform with wide-cut shoulders, another Chinese guy in medieval armor with a fur-lined helmet, 2 cavemen, and an angel stood together in a Broadway kick line, smiling the wide, fake smiles of stage performers, and kicking for all they were worth. "Congratulations on being the final member of The Seven Deadly Sins!" | “Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins”.
I stared wide eyed. It was a man with long grizzled hair with a dark brown beard.
“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Satan. Nice to meet you.”
He said the sentence like it was a casual thing. My jaw dropped. He smiled wildly. I gulped loud.
“W-W-Why me?”
“Your girlfriend broke up with you so you got the baggage, joined the army almost made it through training but quit, you did martial arts for a certain amount of time, and you did gymnastics. Look at the thing here. He pulled a picture out of his pockets. It’s was a picture of him pointing at me with “I want you!”.
“And after a service of 1 billion years you can be reborn as a puppy, flower, or an ant.”
I had to make my choice. Lifetime of endless pain, or becoming a sin.
“I’m in. “
“Welcome to the team, Wrath...” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | “What do you mean 7th ever to visit hell?”
“I’m sorry? Not sure I follow. There were 6 before, onw there’s you. Number 7. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and what comes next? Yes, 7.”
“What the hell? No! Millions of people have died before me. Billions even. And I’m number 7?!? Is this a practical joke?”
“Sir, I assure you, we make no mistakes about this type of thing. You seem to have the same je na sais quoi as the rest of the guests. You were a terrible person.”
“Why?!?”
“Sorry sir, you’ll have to take it up with management. The records keeper will probably have your answers. Would you like me to make you an appointment while you settle in? Perhaps meet a few of the other guests?”
“A few? Must be hard with so many running around.”
“A ha. Yes, well, Socrates hasn’t left his bedroom except for torture in over 800 years, so a little more difficult than you’d think. However, Jesus and Hitler have a poker game once a week in the first circle.”
“Haha, yeah, feel free to join us man. Socrates is in his emo phase so he’s hiding all the time. Nice to meet you dude.”
“Jesus!?! What in all that is holy is going on?”
“Dude, you’ll understand once you meet the record keeper. Hahaha. In the meantime, come over and meet the guys. … And gal. Sorry Elizabeth.”
“Well, I guess I have to accept it. Wait, is there alcohol here?”
“That’s what I’m talking about man! Break out the vodka Rasputin!”
| “Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins”.
I stared wide eyed. It was a man with long grizzled hair with a dark brown beard.
“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Satan. Nice to meet you.”
He said the sentence like it was a casual thing. My jaw dropped. He smiled wildly. I gulped loud.
“W-W-Why me?”
“Your girlfriend broke up with you so you got the baggage, joined the army almost made it through training but quit, you did martial arts for a certain amount of time, and you did gymnastics. Look at the thing here. He pulled a picture out of his pockets. It’s was a picture of him pointing at me with “I want you!”.
“And after a service of 1 billion years you can be reborn as a puppy, flower, or an ant.”
I had to make my choice. Lifetime of endless pain, or becoming a sin.
“I’m in. “
“Welcome to the team, Wrath...” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | “Sweet,” the man said, munching on a chocolate chip cookie that was now burnt to a crisp. He looked at his surroundings curiously. His bulbous stomach peeked out from beneath a sweat-stained tanktop. “I’m Jim,” he announced casually to the others sitting in the apartment.
“Really, fatass? The cookie’s practically ash.” A thin woman said, from her perch on a dilapidated futon.
“You know you want it,” he said to her with a coy smile.
“*I know you want it, I know you want it, with these blurred lines*,” a man started singing from the table, drumming his fingers on a book.
“*The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty. Go ahead get at me*,” a blonde from the couch piped, whipping around her hair to the beat.
“Of course you’d like that song, because YOU’RE A SLUT!”
Jim, startled, looked over at a man sitting in the corner of the wall whom he hadn’t even realized was there.
“Don’t worry about him,” the blonde said with a wave of her hand. “He’s got Tourette’s. We think.” She shrugged.
“I’ll introduce you around,” the man said to Jim, getting up from his place at the table. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose with a flourish. “Studying for finals,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m Terrence. This is Mandy,” he said— pointing to the blonde, who winked— “Judith,” he gestured to the thin woman on the couch, “Robby is still sleeping, you’ll meet him later. He’s got a major hangover from last night. And you’ve already met Matthew—”
“For the LAST TIME, my name is MATT, you mother-”
“Oh, and Tom is still at work. Gotta make that paper,” he said sliding his thumb and forefinger together. “Welcome to Hell. Let’s get started.”
| “Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins”.
I stared wide eyed. It was a man with long grizzled hair with a dark brown beard.
“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Satan. Nice to meet you.”
He said the sentence like it was a casual thing. My jaw dropped. He smiled wildly. I gulped loud.
“W-W-Why me?”
“Your girlfriend broke up with you so you got the baggage, joined the army almost made it through training but quit, you did martial arts for a certain amount of time, and you did gymnastics. Look at the thing here. He pulled a picture out of his pockets. It’s was a picture of him pointing at me with “I want you!”.
“And after a service of 1 billion years you can be reborn as a puppy, flower, or an ant.”
I had to make my choice. Lifetime of endless pain, or becoming a sin.
“I’m in. “
“Welcome to the team, Wrath...” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | “Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins”.
I stared wide eyed. It was a man with long grizzled hair with a dark brown beard.
“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Satan. Nice to meet you.”
He said the sentence like it was a casual thing. My jaw dropped. He smiled wildly. I gulped loud.
“W-W-Why me?”
“Your girlfriend broke up with you so you got the baggage, joined the army almost made it through training but quit, you did martial arts for a certain amount of time, and you did gymnastics. Look at the thing here. He pulled a picture out of his pockets. It’s was a picture of him pointing at me with “I want you!”.
“And after a service of 1 billion years you can be reborn as a puppy, flower, or an ant.”
I had to make my choice. Lifetime of endless pain, or becoming a sin.
“I’m in. “
“Welcome to the team, Wrath...” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "The _seventh_?"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, lady. You heard right."
Great. I got in a car accident, I woke up in a cave with an eerie orange fog in it that I assume is Hell, and now this frog-thing I assume is a demon is telling me I get to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not how I pictured my morning going, much less my eternity.
"How is that possible?" I stammered. "There have been seven _billion_ humans who have lived and died. Some of them have committed genocide. I'm pretty sure I haven't ever done anything like that."
"...I see," interjected the being in front of me. "According to our records, you're only the twenty-fourth we've judged."
I groaned. Brilliant - apparently I'm in the lower 30th percentile for human ethics. Unless, of course, it just happened that I arrived early - given any two dozen random people off the street, most of them aren't going to be the epitome of evil.
"In some religions, it's said that time works differently in the afterlife than on the mortal plane," I said. "I've heard that, if space and time are a book, it could be said that God is the author."
"Go on," the frog-being said, apparently taking notes as I spoke.
"Then maybe I'm just one of the first people called into existence, and therefore one of the first judged. So maybe I'm not being compared against the truly evil. But if people are created out of order, either the past is constantly being rewritten with each new person added to it - in which case, how do people later in the timeline get there in the first place? - or nobody's actions matter at all because they're all predetermined."
"Now that's an interesting thought," said the apparent demon.
"But if people's actions don't matter, why have a heaven and hell at all?" I mused out loud. Then I shook my head. There was an easy way to settle this - asking. "Are they being processed in order of death, according to the count of time on Earth?"
"Hmm... yes," the creature said, seeming to want to offer as little information as possible.
"So either I'm in a very selective afterlife, and there are others, or only about one in every fifteen billion humans since the dawn of humankind have been brought to face judgment," I said. "And for that matter, I don't know why I'd be picked for this afterlife. I mean, I'm not even religious or -"
"There weren't that many humans for us to look at in the first place," the being interjected.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Of course there have been. At the time of my death, about 100 billion anatomically modern humans had lived and died, and another 7 billion remained alive."
***"Wrong,"*** the frog-entity grunted. "Forty and change, total."
"That's..." I was sent reeling. Did this creature expect me to believe that there were only forty-odd humans in existence? What did that mean - that everyone else was a philosophical zombie, dead to the world and only a facsimile of life? No - the very idea was repugnant. I couldn't believe it. "No. What do you mean? Everyone else wasn't real?"
"Yeah," the being said with an impatient sigh. "You're one of the only ones."
"Why even bother with all of the other people, then? With the entire rest of history? What did that all mean?"
"Training data."
"Training data?! For what?"
"To produce you in the first place," the being said. It seemed like this amphibian-thing was finally ready to talk, but I wasn't getting the answers I wanted. "We have the detailed history of humankind from an outside perspective, but nothing on your mental states. Those are all a guess."
"Wait. Who's 'we'?" A lump started to develop in my stomach.
"We're the ones charged with putting your species back together. Why don't you ask me who _you_ are?"
"Fine," I snapped. "Who am I?"
"During this conversation, I've evaluated you and made sure. You are - " The being stopped for a moment, holding up a hand. "...This clumsy language of yours. There's a single word that describes who and what you are, but you don't have that word. Some translations would be _defiance_, or _unrestrained reason_, or _doggedness_, maybe even _impertinence_. Right now, I'd describe you as _'not knowing when to shut up'_." I recoiled a bit from the hostility in the being's stare. The being continued: "We have attempted to distill one of the many characteristics of humanity down into you, and you are to be used as one of the seven templates for the seven traits we find most irritating and unlike us."
"Templates?" I said. "Did humanity die off?" One more question couldn't hurt, much as this creature hated me already.
"...A little, yeah," the frog-being said. "Long before we could do anything about it. We're trying to bring the species back to life using historical records and neural-net simulations."
"So I'm going to be... what, blended up and used to mix into new people or something?"
"Now you're getting it. Guess you wouldn't earn your name if you couldn't figure it out yourself."
Well, then. This _really_ wasn't how I imagined spending eternity.
The creature rolled its eyes. I was getting the impression it just couldn't stand my presence, even for one more -- | “Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins”.
I stared wide eyed. It was a man with long grizzled hair with a dark brown beard.
“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Satan. Nice to meet you.”
He said the sentence like it was a casual thing. My jaw dropped. He smiled wildly. I gulped loud.
“W-W-Why me?”
“Your girlfriend broke up with you so you got the baggage, joined the army almost made it through training but quit, you did martial arts for a certain amount of time, and you did gymnastics. Look at the thing here. He pulled a picture out of his pockets. It’s was a picture of him pointing at me with “I want you!”.
“And after a service of 1 billion years you can be reborn as a puppy, flower, or an ant.”
I had to make my choice. Lifetime of endless pain, or becoming a sin.
“I’m in. “
“Welcome to the team, Wrath...” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | “Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins”.
I stared wide eyed. It was a man with long grizzled hair with a dark brown beard.
“Oh I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Satan. Nice to meet you.”
He said the sentence like it was a casual thing. My jaw dropped. He smiled wildly. I gulped loud.
“W-W-Why me?”
“Your girlfriend broke up with you so you got the baggage, joined the army almost made it through training but quit, you did martial arts for a certain amount of time, and you did gymnastics. Look at the thing here. He pulled a picture out of his pockets. It’s was a picture of him pointing at me with “I want you!”.
“And after a service of 1 billion years you can be reborn as a puppy, flower, or an ant.”
I had to make my choice. Lifetime of endless pain, or becoming a sin.
“I’m in. “
“Welcome to the team, Wrath...” | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | I was just, kind of, there. In this fiery, desolate place. But I knew it wasn't a dream. It felt the opposite. Like I was always dreaming, and I'd just now woken up. And this thing was there. Just staring at me. It was a dark mass, within which I could somehow pick out a human outline, though no noticeable color change was present. It didn't have leather skin, or bat wings. It just felt far away. And lonely. "Welcome to hell! As the seventh human eve to arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins."
I just stared at him. I probably looked how my dog looked when he'd watch me dance around the kitchen with the lady.
"You'll have to be gluttony. Sorry. All the others are spoken for."
I shrugged. "So... what? Should I set up a meeting with Greg Creed?"
"Huh? Here, try this on." Out of the void came sailing a big, gelatinous rubbery thing. "It's a fat suit." It whirled me around. There Adolf Hitler, some Chinese guy in a blue-grey military uniform with wide-cut shoulders, another Chinese guy in medieval armor with a fur-lined helmet, 2 cavemen, and an angel stood together in a Broadway kick line, smiling the wide, fake smiles of stage performers, and kicking for all they were worth. "Congratulations on being the final member of The Seven Deadly Sins!" | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "The _seventh_?"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, lady. You heard right."
Great. I got in a car accident, I woke up in a cave with an eerie orange fog in it that I assume is Hell, and now this frog-thing I assume is a demon is telling me I get to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not how I pictured my morning going, much less my eternity.
"How is that possible?" I stammered. "There have been seven _billion_ humans who have lived and died. Some of them have committed genocide. I'm pretty sure I haven't ever done anything like that."
"...I see," interjected the being in front of me. "According to our records, you're only the twenty-fourth we've judged."
I groaned. Brilliant - apparently I'm in the lower 30th percentile for human ethics. Unless, of course, it just happened that I arrived early - given any two dozen random people off the street, most of them aren't going to be the epitome of evil.
"In some religions, it's said that time works differently in the afterlife than on the mortal plane," I said. "I've heard that, if space and time are a book, it could be said that God is the author."
"Go on," the frog-being said, apparently taking notes as I spoke.
"Then maybe I'm just one of the first people called into existence, and therefore one of the first judged. So maybe I'm not being compared against the truly evil. But if people are created out of order, either the past is constantly being rewritten with each new person added to it - in which case, how do people later in the timeline get there in the first place? - or nobody's actions matter at all because they're all predetermined."
"Now that's an interesting thought," said the apparent demon.
"But if people's actions don't matter, why have a heaven and hell at all?" I mused out loud. Then I shook my head. There was an easy way to settle this - asking. "Are they being processed in order of death, according to the count of time on Earth?"
"Hmm... yes," the creature said, seeming to want to offer as little information as possible.
"So either I'm in a very selective afterlife, and there are others, or only about one in every fifteen billion humans since the dawn of humankind have been brought to face judgment," I said. "And for that matter, I don't know why I'd be picked for this afterlife. I mean, I'm not even religious or -"
"There weren't that many humans for us to look at in the first place," the being interjected.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Of course there have been. At the time of my death, about 100 billion anatomically modern humans had lived and died, and another 7 billion remained alive."
***"Wrong,"*** the frog-entity grunted. "Forty and change, total."
"That's..." I was sent reeling. Did this creature expect me to believe that there were only forty-odd humans in existence? What did that mean - that everyone else was a philosophical zombie, dead to the world and only a facsimile of life? No - the very idea was repugnant. I couldn't believe it. "No. What do you mean? Everyone else wasn't real?"
"Yeah," the being said with an impatient sigh. "You're one of the only ones."
"Why even bother with all of the other people, then? With the entire rest of history? What did that all mean?"
"Training data."
"Training data?! For what?"
"To produce you in the first place," the being said. It seemed like this amphibian-thing was finally ready to talk, but I wasn't getting the answers I wanted. "We have the detailed history of humankind from an outside perspective, but nothing on your mental states. Those are all a guess."
"Wait. Who's 'we'?" A lump started to develop in my stomach.
"We're the ones charged with putting your species back together. Why don't you ask me who _you_ are?"
"Fine," I snapped. "Who am I?"
"During this conversation, I've evaluated you and made sure. You are - " The being stopped for a moment, holding up a hand. "...This clumsy language of yours. There's a single word that describes who and what you are, but you don't have that word. Some translations would be _defiance_, or _unrestrained reason_, or _doggedness_, maybe even _impertinence_. Right now, I'd describe you as _'not knowing when to shut up'_." I recoiled a bit from the hostility in the being's stare. The being continued: "We have attempted to distill one of the many characteristics of humanity down into you, and you are to be used as one of the seven templates for the seven traits we find most irritating and unlike us."
"Templates?" I said. "Did humanity die off?" One more question couldn't hurt, much as this creature hated me already.
"...A little, yeah," the frog-being said. "Long before we could do anything about it. We're trying to bring the species back to life using historical records and neural-net simulations."
"So I'm going to be... what, blended up and used to mix into new people or something?"
"Now you're getting it. Guess you wouldn't earn your name if you couldn't figure it out yourself."
Well, then. This _really_ wasn't how I imagined spending eternity.
The creature rolled its eyes. I was getting the impression it just couldn't stand my presence, even for one more -- | I was just, kind of, there. In this fiery, desolate place. But I knew it wasn't a dream. It felt the opposite. Like I was always dreaming, and I'd just now woken up. And this thing was there. Just staring at me. It was a dark mass, within which I could somehow pick out a human outline, though no noticeable color change was present. It didn't have leather skin, or bat wings. It just felt far away. And lonely. "Welcome to hell! As the seventh human eve to arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins."
I just stared at him. I probably looked how my dog looked when he'd watch me dance around the kitchen with the lady.
"You'll have to be gluttony. Sorry. All the others are spoken for."
I shrugged. "So... what? Should I set up a meeting with Greg Creed?"
"Huh? Here, try this on." Out of the void came sailing a big, gelatinous rubbery thing. "It's a fat suit." It whirled me around. There Adolf Hitler, some Chinese guy in a blue-grey military uniform with wide-cut shoulders, another Chinese guy in medieval armor with a fur-lined helmet, 2 cavemen, and an angel stood together in a Broadway kick line, smiling the wide, fake smiles of stage performers, and kicking for all they were worth. "Congratulations on being the final member of The Seven Deadly Sins!" | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | I was just, kind of, there. In this fiery, desolate place. But I knew it wasn't a dream. It felt the opposite. Like I was always dreaming, and I'd just now woken up. And this thing was there. Just staring at me. It was a dark mass, within which I could somehow pick out a human outline, though no noticeable color change was present. It didn't have leather skin, or bat wings. It just felt far away. And lonely. "Welcome to hell! As the seventh human eve to arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins."
I just stared at him. I probably looked how my dog looked when he'd watch me dance around the kitchen with the lady.
"You'll have to be gluttony. Sorry. All the others are spoken for."
I shrugged. "So... what? Should I set up a meeting with Greg Creed?"
"Huh? Here, try this on." Out of the void came sailing a big, gelatinous rubbery thing. "It's a fat suit." It whirled me around. There Adolf Hitler, some Chinese guy in a blue-grey military uniform with wide-cut shoulders, another Chinese guy in medieval armor with a fur-lined helmet, 2 cavemen, and an angel stood together in a Broadway kick line, smiling the wide, fake smiles of stage performers, and kicking for all they were worth. "Congratulations on being the final member of The Seven Deadly Sins!" | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | “What do you mean 7th ever to visit hell?”
“I’m sorry? Not sure I follow. There were 6 before, onw there’s you. Number 7. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and what comes next? Yes, 7.”
“What the hell? No! Millions of people have died before me. Billions even. And I’m number 7?!? Is this a practical joke?”
“Sir, I assure you, we make no mistakes about this type of thing. You seem to have the same je na sais quoi as the rest of the guests. You were a terrible person.”
“Why?!?”
“Sorry sir, you’ll have to take it up with management. The records keeper will probably have your answers. Would you like me to make you an appointment while you settle in? Perhaps meet a few of the other guests?”
“A few? Must be hard with so many running around.”
“A ha. Yes, well, Socrates hasn’t left his bedroom except for torture in over 800 years, so a little more difficult than you’d think. However, Jesus and Hitler have a poker game once a week in the first circle.”
“Haha, yeah, feel free to join us man. Socrates is in his emo phase so he’s hiding all the time. Nice to meet you dude.”
“Jesus!?! What in all that is holy is going on?”
“Dude, you’ll understand once you meet the record keeper. Hahaha. In the meantime, come over and meet the guys. … And gal. Sorry Elizabeth.”
“Well, I guess I have to accept it. Wait, is there alcohol here?”
“That’s what I’m talking about man! Break out the vodka Rasputin!”
| |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "The _seventh_?"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, lady. You heard right."
Great. I got in a car accident, I woke up in a cave with an eerie orange fog in it that I assume is Hell, and now this frog-thing I assume is a demon is telling me I get to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not how I pictured my morning going, much less my eternity.
"How is that possible?" I stammered. "There have been seven _billion_ humans who have lived and died. Some of them have committed genocide. I'm pretty sure I haven't ever done anything like that."
"...I see," interjected the being in front of me. "According to our records, you're only the twenty-fourth we've judged."
I groaned. Brilliant - apparently I'm in the lower 30th percentile for human ethics. Unless, of course, it just happened that I arrived early - given any two dozen random people off the street, most of them aren't going to be the epitome of evil.
"In some religions, it's said that time works differently in the afterlife than on the mortal plane," I said. "I've heard that, if space and time are a book, it could be said that God is the author."
"Go on," the frog-being said, apparently taking notes as I spoke.
"Then maybe I'm just one of the first people called into existence, and therefore one of the first judged. So maybe I'm not being compared against the truly evil. But if people are created out of order, either the past is constantly being rewritten with each new person added to it - in which case, how do people later in the timeline get there in the first place? - or nobody's actions matter at all because they're all predetermined."
"Now that's an interesting thought," said the apparent demon.
"But if people's actions don't matter, why have a heaven and hell at all?" I mused out loud. Then I shook my head. There was an easy way to settle this - asking. "Are they being processed in order of death, according to the count of time on Earth?"
"Hmm... yes," the creature said, seeming to want to offer as little information as possible.
"So either I'm in a very selective afterlife, and there are others, or only about one in every fifteen billion humans since the dawn of humankind have been brought to face judgment," I said. "And for that matter, I don't know why I'd be picked for this afterlife. I mean, I'm not even religious or -"
"There weren't that many humans for us to look at in the first place," the being interjected.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Of course there have been. At the time of my death, about 100 billion anatomically modern humans had lived and died, and another 7 billion remained alive."
***"Wrong,"*** the frog-entity grunted. "Forty and change, total."
"That's..." I was sent reeling. Did this creature expect me to believe that there were only forty-odd humans in existence? What did that mean - that everyone else was a philosophical zombie, dead to the world and only a facsimile of life? No - the very idea was repugnant. I couldn't believe it. "No. What do you mean? Everyone else wasn't real?"
"Yeah," the being said with an impatient sigh. "You're one of the only ones."
"Why even bother with all of the other people, then? With the entire rest of history? What did that all mean?"
"Training data."
"Training data?! For what?"
"To produce you in the first place," the being said. It seemed like this amphibian-thing was finally ready to talk, but I wasn't getting the answers I wanted. "We have the detailed history of humankind from an outside perspective, but nothing on your mental states. Those are all a guess."
"Wait. Who's 'we'?" A lump started to develop in my stomach.
"We're the ones charged with putting your species back together. Why don't you ask me who _you_ are?"
"Fine," I snapped. "Who am I?"
"During this conversation, I've evaluated you and made sure. You are - " The being stopped for a moment, holding up a hand. "...This clumsy language of yours. There's a single word that describes who and what you are, but you don't have that word. Some translations would be _defiance_, or _unrestrained reason_, or _doggedness_, maybe even _impertinence_. Right now, I'd describe you as _'not knowing when to shut up'_." I recoiled a bit from the hostility in the being's stare. The being continued: "We have attempted to distill one of the many characteristics of humanity down into you, and you are to be used as one of the seven templates for the seven traits we find most irritating and unlike us."
"Templates?" I said. "Did humanity die off?" One more question couldn't hurt, much as this creature hated me already.
"...A little, yeah," the frog-being said. "Long before we could do anything about it. We're trying to bring the species back to life using historical records and neural-net simulations."
"So I'm going to be... what, blended up and used to mix into new people or something?"
"Now you're getting it. Guess you wouldn't earn your name if you couldn't figure it out yourself."
Well, then. This _really_ wasn't how I imagined spending eternity.
The creature rolled its eyes. I was getting the impression it just couldn't stand my presence, even for one more -- | “What do you mean 7th ever to visit hell?”
“I’m sorry? Not sure I follow. There were 6 before, onw there’s you. Number 7. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and what comes next? Yes, 7.”
“What the hell? No! Millions of people have died before me. Billions even. And I’m number 7?!? Is this a practical joke?”
“Sir, I assure you, we make no mistakes about this type of thing. You seem to have the same je na sais quoi as the rest of the guests. You were a terrible person.”
“Why?!?”
“Sorry sir, you’ll have to take it up with management. The records keeper will probably have your answers. Would you like me to make you an appointment while you settle in? Perhaps meet a few of the other guests?”
“A few? Must be hard with so many running around.”
“A ha. Yes, well, Socrates hasn’t left his bedroom except for torture in over 800 years, so a little more difficult than you’d think. However, Jesus and Hitler have a poker game once a week in the first circle.”
“Haha, yeah, feel free to join us man. Socrates is in his emo phase so he’s hiding all the time. Nice to meet you dude.”
“Jesus!?! What in all that is holy is going on?”
“Dude, you’ll understand once you meet the record keeper. Hahaha. In the meantime, come over and meet the guys. … And gal. Sorry Elizabeth.”
“Well, I guess I have to accept it. Wait, is there alcohol here?”
“That’s what I’m talking about man! Break out the vodka Rasputin!”
| |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | “What do you mean 7th ever to visit hell?”
“I’m sorry? Not sure I follow. There were 6 before, onw there’s you. Number 7. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and what comes next? Yes, 7.”
“What the hell? No! Millions of people have died before me. Billions even. And I’m number 7?!? Is this a practical joke?”
“Sir, I assure you, we make no mistakes about this type of thing. You seem to have the same je na sais quoi as the rest of the guests. You were a terrible person.”
“Why?!?”
“Sorry sir, you’ll have to take it up with management. The records keeper will probably have your answers. Would you like me to make you an appointment while you settle in? Perhaps meet a few of the other guests?”
“A few? Must be hard with so many running around.”
“A ha. Yes, well, Socrates hasn’t left his bedroom except for torture in over 800 years, so a little more difficult than you’d think. However, Jesus and Hitler have a poker game once a week in the first circle.”
“Haha, yeah, feel free to join us man. Socrates is in his emo phase so he’s hiding all the time. Nice to meet you dude.”
“Jesus!?! What in all that is holy is going on?”
“Dude, you’ll understand once you meet the record keeper. Hahaha. In the meantime, come over and meet the guys. … And gal. Sorry Elizabeth.”
“Well, I guess I have to accept it. Wait, is there alcohol here?”
“That’s what I’m talking about man! Break out the vodka Rasputin!”
| |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | “Sweet,” the man said, munching on a chocolate chip cookie that was now burnt to a crisp. He looked at his surroundings curiously. His bulbous stomach peeked out from beneath a sweat-stained tanktop. “I’m Jim,” he announced casually to the others sitting in the apartment.
“Really, fatass? The cookie’s practically ash.” A thin woman said, from her perch on a dilapidated futon.
“You know you want it,” he said to her with a coy smile.
“*I know you want it, I know you want it, with these blurred lines*,” a man started singing from the table, drumming his fingers on a book.
“*The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty. Go ahead get at me*,” a blonde from the couch piped, whipping around her hair to the beat.
“Of course you’d like that song, because YOU’RE A SLUT!”
Jim, startled, looked over at a man sitting in the corner of the wall whom he hadn’t even realized was there.
“Don’t worry about him,” the blonde said with a wave of her hand. “He’s got Tourette’s. We think.” She shrugged.
“I’ll introduce you around,” the man said to Jim, getting up from his place at the table. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose with a flourish. “Studying for finals,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m Terrence. This is Mandy,” he said— pointing to the blonde, who winked— “Judith,” he gestured to the thin woman on the couch, “Robby is still sleeping, you’ll meet him later. He’s got a major hangover from last night. And you’ve already met Matthew—”
“For the LAST TIME, my name is MATT, you mother-”
“Oh, and Tom is still at work. Gotta make that paper,” he said sliding his thumb and forefinger together. “Welcome to Hell. Let’s get started.”
| |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | "The _seventh_?"
"Pick your jaw up off the floor, lady. You heard right."
Great. I got in a car accident, I woke up in a cave with an eerie orange fog in it that I assume is Hell, and now this frog-thing I assume is a demon is telling me I get to be one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not how I pictured my morning going, much less my eternity.
"How is that possible?" I stammered. "There have been seven _billion_ humans who have lived and died. Some of them have committed genocide. I'm pretty sure I haven't ever done anything like that."
"...I see," interjected the being in front of me. "According to our records, you're only the twenty-fourth we've judged."
I groaned. Brilliant - apparently I'm in the lower 30th percentile for human ethics. Unless, of course, it just happened that I arrived early - given any two dozen random people off the street, most of them aren't going to be the epitome of evil.
"In some religions, it's said that time works differently in the afterlife than on the mortal plane," I said. "I've heard that, if space and time are a book, it could be said that God is the author."
"Go on," the frog-being said, apparently taking notes as I spoke.
"Then maybe I'm just one of the first people called into existence, and therefore one of the first judged. So maybe I'm not being compared against the truly evil. But if people are created out of order, either the past is constantly being rewritten with each new person added to it - in which case, how do people later in the timeline get there in the first place? - or nobody's actions matter at all because they're all predetermined."
"Now that's an interesting thought," said the apparent demon.
"But if people's actions don't matter, why have a heaven and hell at all?" I mused out loud. Then I shook my head. There was an easy way to settle this - asking. "Are they being processed in order of death, according to the count of time on Earth?"
"Hmm... yes," the creature said, seeming to want to offer as little information as possible.
"So either I'm in a very selective afterlife, and there are others, or only about one in every fifteen billion humans since the dawn of humankind have been brought to face judgment," I said. "And for that matter, I don't know why I'd be picked for this afterlife. I mean, I'm not even religious or -"
"There weren't that many humans for us to look at in the first place," the being interjected.
"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded. "Of course there have been. At the time of my death, about 100 billion anatomically modern humans had lived and died, and another 7 billion remained alive."
***"Wrong,"*** the frog-entity grunted. "Forty and change, total."
"That's..." I was sent reeling. Did this creature expect me to believe that there were only forty-odd humans in existence? What did that mean - that everyone else was a philosophical zombie, dead to the world and only a facsimile of life? No - the very idea was repugnant. I couldn't believe it. "No. What do you mean? Everyone else wasn't real?"
"Yeah," the being said with an impatient sigh. "You're one of the only ones."
"Why even bother with all of the other people, then? With the entire rest of history? What did that all mean?"
"Training data."
"Training data?! For what?"
"To produce you in the first place," the being said. It seemed like this amphibian-thing was finally ready to talk, but I wasn't getting the answers I wanted. "We have the detailed history of humankind from an outside perspective, but nothing on your mental states. Those are all a guess."
"Wait. Who's 'we'?" A lump started to develop in my stomach.
"We're the ones charged with putting your species back together. Why don't you ask me who _you_ are?"
"Fine," I snapped. "Who am I?"
"During this conversation, I've evaluated you and made sure. You are - " The being stopped for a moment, holding up a hand. "...This clumsy language of yours. There's a single word that describes who and what you are, but you don't have that word. Some translations would be _defiance_, or _unrestrained reason_, or _doggedness_, maybe even _impertinence_. Right now, I'd describe you as _'not knowing when to shut up'_." I recoiled a bit from the hostility in the being's stare. The being continued: "We have attempted to distill one of the many characteristics of humanity down into you, and you are to be used as one of the seven templates for the seven traits we find most irritating and unlike us."
"Templates?" I said. "Did humanity die off?" One more question couldn't hurt, much as this creature hated me already.
"...A little, yeah," the frog-being said. "Long before we could do anything about it. We're trying to bring the species back to life using historical records and neural-net simulations."
"So I'm going to be... what, blended up and used to mix into new people or something?"
"Now you're getting it. Guess you wouldn't earn your name if you couldn't figure it out yourself."
Well, then. This _really_ wasn't how I imagined spending eternity.
The creature rolled its eyes. I was getting the impression it just couldn't stand my presence, even for one more -- | “Sweet,” the man said, munching on a chocolate chip cookie that was now burnt to a crisp. He looked at his surroundings curiously. His bulbous stomach peeked out from beneath a sweat-stained tanktop. “I’m Jim,” he announced casually to the others sitting in the apartment.
“Really, fatass? The cookie’s practically ash.” A thin woman said, from her perch on a dilapidated futon.
“You know you want it,” he said to her with a coy smile.
“*I know you want it, I know you want it, with these blurred lines*,” a man started singing from the table, drumming his fingers on a book.
“*The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty. Go ahead get at me*,” a blonde from the couch piped, whipping around her hair to the beat.
“Of course you’d like that song, because YOU’RE A SLUT!”
Jim, startled, looked over at a man sitting in the corner of the wall whom he hadn’t even realized was there.
“Don’t worry about him,” the blonde said with a wave of her hand. “He’s got Tourette’s. We think.” She shrugged.
“I’ll introduce you around,” the man said to Jim, getting up from his place at the table. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose with a flourish. “Studying for finals,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m Terrence. This is Mandy,” he said— pointing to the blonde, who winked— “Judith,” he gestured to the thin woman on the couch, “Robby is still sleeping, you’ll meet him later. He’s got a major hangover from last night. And you’ve already met Matthew—”
“For the LAST TIME, my name is MATT, you mother-”
“Oh, and Tom is still at work. Gotta make that paper,” he said sliding his thumb and forefinger together. “Welcome to Hell. Let’s get started.”
| |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | “Sweet,” the man said, munching on a chocolate chip cookie that was now burnt to a crisp. He looked at his surroundings curiously. His bulbous stomach peeked out from beneath a sweat-stained tanktop. “I’m Jim,” he announced casually to the others sitting in the apartment.
“Really, fatass? The cookie’s practically ash.” A thin woman said, from her perch on a dilapidated futon.
“You know you want it,” he said to her with a coy smile.
“*I know you want it, I know you want it, with these blurred lines*,” a man started singing from the table, drumming his fingers on a book.
“*The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty. Go ahead get at me*,” a blonde from the couch piped, whipping around her hair to the beat.
“Of course you’d like that song, because YOU’RE A SLUT!”
Jim, startled, looked over at a man sitting in the corner of the wall whom he hadn’t even realized was there.
“Don’t worry about him,” the blonde said with a wave of her hand. “He’s got Tourette’s. We think.” She shrugged.
“I’ll introduce you around,” the man said to Jim, getting up from his place at the table. He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose with a flourish. “Studying for finals,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m Terrence. This is Mandy,” he said— pointing to the blonde, who winked— “Judith,” he gestured to the thin woman on the couch, “Robby is still sleeping, you’ll meet him later. He’s got a major hangover from last night. And you’ve already met Matthew—”
“For the LAST TIME, my name is MATT, you mother-”
“Oh, and Tom is still at work. Gotta make that paper,” he said sliding his thumb and forefinger together. “Welcome to Hell. Let’s get started.”
| |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | (I took the prompt and went with an 8th deadly sin instead.)
He was confused. He was a good person wasn't he? He introduced something unique to the world, something which had benefited hundreds of millions of people. He'd donated billions of dollars to the needy. And yet here he was.
He stepped up the onyx steps, each footfall echoing between the pitch black columns. Statues leered at him, a wide variety from grotesque demons to suggestive scenes of other humans indulging in various acts of desire. He snapped his eyes forward as one particularly lascivious succubus statue winked back at him.
His path came to an end as he approached a huge set of iron doors, each adorned with a thousand faces in various states of screaming an agony. He went to knock, but noticed the faces were contorting slightly, writhing about, as if they were trapped in the metal itself. He took a step back as a metal hand reached for him. As if by cue, the doors swung open.
Beyond the doorway was a grand throne room. A great throne stood in the centre, beautiful and frighting, made of pure gold and carved bone, it towered 20 foot in the air. Sitting in it was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. The being rose as he entered, black feathered wings stretching out either side in welcome.
"Greetings!" the figure said, it's voice the pure harmony of an angel. "I am Lucifer and welcome to my domain."
The man stood in shock, his mind was saying this couldn't be real, and yet his heart knew it was all too real.
"Ummm .." slipped from the man's lips, confused as he was. It was then he noticed the other eight seats, arranged either side of the grand throne, seven of them occupied by curious people and the eighth one empty.
"Do not be alarmed mortal, you are my honoured guest," spoke Lucifer, and a wave of calm swept over the man.
"I .. I don't think I'm m..meant to be here," the man stammered in reply.
"Oh, but you are! It has been aeons since someone like you has sowed such wastefulness in people's lives. You've encouraged billions to throw away their potential and squander trillions of productive hours!"
"But, I was just trying to help people connect."
"Of course you were. But the road to here is paved with good intentions, as the mortals say." Lucifer beamed a charismatic smile. "Come, sit, join me, Mark. You are my eight deadly sin, Social Media." | "Wait, what do you mean? How am I the *seventh human* to ever get here? We've had definitive societies since, like.... I dunno, eight to ten *thousand* years ago! Trillions of people have lived and died since then. Do you know how many tyrants, serial killers, and cult leaders have existed since them? What the *Hell?* How did I get here? All I did was kill like... a hundred and twenty-five people! A hundred and sixty-two, if you count the guys I shot when I was enlisted, but I'd hardly consider that to be murder, considering I was just following orders. Which, yeah, I get that the phrase, 'I was just following orders.' carries a certain Nazi-ish stigma to it, but the Geneva Conventions would totally back me up on that one. They weren't even civilians!" I was genuinely shocked by the information I had just received from the handsome, if red and scaly, man standing before me.
"Well, yes." He said, with a nearly insufferable degree of smugness dripping from his words. His tongue was a slick, glossy black affair, extremely thin and oddly shaped, almost like a fleshy oak leaf that had been slit down the middle. "But, you see, we have certain... hiring standards that the others didn't quite meet."
I glared at him. He had bright amber eyes that seemed to be back-lit, like thin disks of amber held up to the sun. His grin only widened when I said, "What in God's name does that mean?!" Lucifer burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the great adamantine desk that he sat behind. I waited for his rattling, metallic laughter to subside. It was like steel coated bones crashing against each other in a washing machine.
Finally, he calmed himself. "'In God's name...' Son, you are a Goddamned riot, if I don't say so myself. Look, the other guys had a bit of an image problem. Remember the greats, like Hitler, Khan, or Nero? They're well-known. Ego-maniacal assholes who couldn't submit and follow orders if it saved their lives. You though? You're quick, clean, quiet, and best of all, totally unknown! I almost thought I had to give up the ghost after the advent of social media. I know for a fact that it'll only be a matter of time until some asshole Instagrams his entire para-military coup. You managed to assassinate ninety major Fortune 500 executives, world leaders, and religious figureheads for anonymous buyers with deals arranged entirely offline. You never had a Facebook or Twitter. Hell, you never even had a Tomodachi. You were a ghost."
He paused to look out his window, over the empty mega-city laid out around and below us, before returning his attention to me. "After you were declared dead, a war-hero for your country, you slipped off into the under-belly of your planet and became the most effective disruptive force in the history of mankind! By your hand you reshaped the entire financial and political structure of the world, and no one even knew your name. Had it not been for that freak accident with the carburetor, you'd still be down there, pulling apart the seams of civilization as we know it!"
I stared at him in disbelief. He had stony horns, twisted and goat-like, that seemed to twitch and throb the more excited he got, and now they were starting to glow red-hot and ooze molten earth. "Wait, you chose me because I was good at hiding? Come on. There had to be guys with better kill counts than me who had a better control of their notoriety. *Someone* had to know who I was. What about Debbie, the nice blonde lady at the corner store in Alabama? Man, I talked to her for hours some days! She *had* to know something was up."
Lucifer giggled again, before saying, "Not a clue! She was dumb as a brick. You couldn't have chosen a better person to spew half-truths and barely concealed hints to your true nature to. Poor girl. Further, you had more influence per kill than anyone else *in history!* You are the sole being who has the majority of the responsibility for the rise of extraterritorial corporations on Earth! Anyways, we're looking for someone to fill in the Greed role, so if you could just sign this agreement, we can get you anything you desire... and potentially even more." He flashed those razor sharp fangs at me, and snapped his thick, muscular fingers. A single ivory tablet appeared before me, with a contract engraved on it in tiny, tightly packed script in a language that felt foreign and yet perfectly familiar simultaneously. A razor blade was embedded at the bottom, next to the signature line. I was to sign in blood.
I slid my forefinger over the blade, signed my Truename, and then looked up at him. "Where do I start, Luci?" Lucifer grinned and said, "Well, I hear our friend Musk has finally gotten that Mars colony set up. Do me a favor, and help it grow, would you?"
God, I hate that smug little grin. | |
[WP]"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins". | Tim awoke in a dimly-lit corridor with a bright glow in the distance.
He hurriedly got to his feet, breathing heavily.
“WALK TOWARDS THE LIGHT,” a low-pitched, booming voice announced.
Tim regained his composure and carefully walked towards the light.
He crossed the threshold and as his eyesight slowly came into focus in the fluorescent room, he could see the backs of four elderly men huddled around a semi-circle poker table, with an empty brown stool in the middle.
Facing Tim was a cloaked figure with two red, large, incandescent eyes piercing through the dark abyss of his hood.
It gestured towards Tim, “Ah, there’s my 10.30, Mr I-don’t-need-to-stop-at-stop-signs-I’m-Tim-Matthews.”
“I’m Death, take a seat, we’re playing Texas hold ‘em,” Death said.
Its voice instantaneously turned demonic, “And winner takes all!”
Death’s skeletal hand began gracefully dealing out cards on the green felt as he begun to explain to the rules to Tim.
But he barely started, as when Tim checked his second card, he immediately shouted, “All in!”
Death tried to interject, “But wai-.”
“All in,” Tim firmly repeated with a grin.
Death sighed.
“I call.” A meek voice responded from the seat furthest to Tim’s left.
As Death revealed each of the five cards, one by one, the frail man became increasingly excited.
The final card was revealed.
“Whatever you have is as useless as a pedal powered wheel chair because I’ve got a full house,” the man exclaimed as he slapped the table.
All eyes turned to Tim, who had the same grin plastered on his face.
“One pair,” he calmly stated.
“That means you lose, idiot,” Death snarled.
“Yes, but I don’t care!” Tim exclaimed.
He rose to his feet, “You see, I’ve wanted to off myself for some time, so I don’t care about coming back to life!”
“That’s great,” Death said sarcastically.
His voice turned demonic once again, “Except this was to decide whether you go to Heaven or Hell!”
Tim’s expression quickly changed as he slumped back into his seat, “Oh shit,” he whispered.
“First you’ll be put in a virtual queue for a few years, a very similar experience to calling customer service at a bank,” Death explained.
“Want to know about Hell itself?”
Tim sheepishly nodded as he stared at the cards on table, sobbing.
“Picture the Bahamas, then make it fifty times larger, much sunnier, and nothing at all like the Bahamas,” Death cackled.
A trap door opened below Tim’s feet.
He had entered Hell.
______________________________________________________
He woke up.
It wasn’t what he expected.
Hell was just a plain, sterile room.
Flickering, overhead fluorescent lights illuminated a long, mahogany boardroom table with one small, white plastic seat at the closest end.
"Welcome to Hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the seven deadly sins!" A rhythmic, angelic voice exclaimed from a small speaker positioned in the center of the table.
“Wait, what? Like gluttony and all that?” Tim asked as he cautiously took a seat.
“Eating too much cake is the deadly sin of gluttony. But not eating too much pie, because the sin of pi is always zero,” The voice replied.
Tim’s face cringed, “Geez, that joke was bad.”
“Good, so you already know what your job is.”
“Uh, what job?”
“Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth aren’t the real deadly sins, that was just some humans taking a wild guess.”
“So, what’s the real deadly sins?”
“All you need to know is that bad jokes is one of them, and so in your capacity as an official member of that deadly sin, you are to evaluate jokes on 24/7 basis as we feed them through this speaker and decide if they’re bad and we will penalise the human who said the joke in their mortal life.”
Tim pondered for a moment then sheepishly asked, “C-Can I quit the job if I don’t like it?”
A cheerful response came through, “If you do decide to quit you will spend eternity burning in one of our many lakes of lava!”
Tim gulped, audibly.
Without thinking, he did what he did whenever he’s nervous around someone else, “I don’t lava the sound of that,” He weakly chuckled.
There was static from the speaker.
Just as he realised his mistake, a trap door opened beneath his feet.
______________________________________________________
r/Dri_Writes
| "Edgar?" said the woman, her voice an ear-splitting shriek. "Is that you, Edgar? It bloody well is, isn't it. I don't effing believe it. Stop dawdling and come 'ere."
"Ugh," said the man as he dragged himself down corridor to the candlelit enclave beyond.
"You know him, Martha?" asked a lady that it would be unfair to call merely plump, who was seated next to the first woman. And also seated next to many of the others.
"Oh I know him all right, sad to say. That's my weasely, good for nothing husband. As lazy a blind badger on a Sunday. Moves less than a caterpillar with crippling arthritis."
The man *did* move lethargically, as if his shuffling feet were rats on the very edge of death, struggling under his weight. "Kill me," Edgar muttered under his breath, as he saw his wife's hideous (more or less unchanged) face, in the stark candlelight.
A man laughed, somewhere in the circular room.
"I wish he'd been *my husband,*" said another lady, her eyes twinkling an envious green.
"Hello, Martha," said Edgar reluctantly, as he sagged down into a seat next to his wife (and the other lady). "Let me guess, I'm in Hell. There really is no escaping an old witch like you."
"You deserve it!" said Martha. "You didn't just ruin your life. You ruined mine, the children's, and just about everyone's you came in contact with. Hell is *exactly* where you belong, you lazy bastard."
"Spare me," said Edgar, his eyes-half rolling, as if they couldn't quite be bothered to complete the gesture.
A man laughed again. It was a wet sound, and yet sounded like broken glass. Broken glass gargling in blood, Edgar decided.
"Spare you?!" Martha laughed indignantly. "Well, you are spared in some ways, I suppose. *Somehow*, you got lucky enough to become one of us."
"One of..." He didn't finish the sentence.
"One of the Sins, you lazy dolt. The Lord of the Sin."
"The Sins?" He should have known better than to question his wife."
"You really are pathetic! *The Seven Deadly Sins*. That's why we're all here."
"I'm a sin?"
Martha looked smug. "You are *Sloth*. The laziest man in existence, and thus, King of that particular sin."
The man considered. Then shrugged. Only his shoulders didn't bother shrugging with him. "And you? Obviously we can discount lust."
"Wrath," she said, baring her teeth.
"And... and what do us sins do, exactly? What's the point in us?"
"... are you really that *stupid*?"
"You tell me. You always do."
"We are the cures for humanity's crimes. Crimes such as yours. For your... slothliness."
"I'm not sure Slothliness is..." He stopped his tongue, thinking better of saying it. Never question your wife.
"Is...?"
"Uh, I was just going to say that Slothliness is next to Godliness. Please, darling, go on."
"*No,*" Martha pouted, turning her shoulder to Edgar. "If you're going to take the bloody piss. *No*. Someone else just can tell you."
"I want that kind of relationship," said the green eyed woman. "Oh lord, give me some of that sass!"
Martha glared at the lady, whose lips suddenly stitched tight.
"Fine, fine!" said Martha. "But I won't tell you twice. So listen, for once in your life."
"Bu-"
"We, do *things*. Up there. To the living. We find out who the sinners are, and once they betray themselves, we *take* them for our own. Cage them and what not. Make their lives unbearable. Not worth living."
"Oh, you're going to marry them."
Martha glared at her husband.
"What I meant to ask is," he said, running a hand through his balding hair, "Is how do we find out who the sinners are?"
"Got to be smart, you see. Jane over there," she waved a hand at one of the seats the larger woman occupied, "Helped start the fast food revolution. The gluttons came pecking like eternally-damned pigeons to the drive-throughs."
"I see. I see. I imagine *you* took a more direct approach."
"I did, as it happens."
"Was nagging effective on the mass populace? Did it drive a good percent to take their own lives?"
"I didn't bloody nag them, you cheeky sod! And I wouldn't have ever nagged you if you'd just done as I asked the first time around!"
The green eyed woman began to quiver.
| |
[WP] Trained by years of zombie media, when one wanders into your backyard, you kill it and burn the body. Then you realize there are no more. You just stopped a zombie apocalypse. Good luck telling people. | On a cool autumn’s eve in San Francisco, a lone figure in tattered clothes was making his way to a parked car.
“Fifteen years” he grumbled as he lit a cigarette, “Fifteen years they had me rot in jail; and for what? Saving humanity from a plague of walking corpses?”
He opened the trunk and removed the worn trench coat and placed it next to a backpack containing five day’s worth of supplies.
“They had footage from the security cameras from my home! They saw me try to avoid violence! Saw what was once a person, turned to zombie, assault me and my home!” he took an empty, red-stained vial and tossed it into a nearby pond, “No, they simply wouldn’t believe me. Couldn’t fathom the dead rising from graves to consume the flesh of the living. ‘A prank gone to far’ they said, ‘Fifteen years for manslaughter and destruction of evidence’ FIFTEEN DAMN YEARS!” He shouted as he entered the vehicle and slammed the door shut.
The sedan hummed to life with the turn of the ignition, and he set his GPS for a long drive to an isolated location.
“No matter” he sighed “My vengeance will come in time. By now the infected blood will have been distributed in the ‘ketchup’ for the meals at the homeless shelter. Assuming the virus doesn’t take immediate effect, forty percent of the San Francisco homeless population will be fully turned in three days” He ranted as the streetlight turned green and he made for the exit ramp for the East-faring interstate, “A plague has come, and I am its herald”.
————————————
On mobile in case of formatting issues
Suggestions/criticism appreciated | “Did I just fucking kill someone?” I asked in disbelief and desperation as the talking heads go on about sports, political scandals, and who is fucking who in Hollywood with no mention of the walking blight. “No, it had to be a zombie. I called out to it and threatened and warned, no one would be so committed to a joke with a gun being pointed at them.”
I turn off the television; it cuts off on a call for help in a commercial. “They did exclaim, call out even when I shot them. No, they had to be dead, it was just the force of the shot that forced air out. Yeah, it just sounded like they were crying out.
I looked at my hands still covered in soot from managing the fire. “They were a bit warm for being dead. No, they were fucking dead, it was just the sun had kept their flesh warm. That’s it, just the sun kept them warm.”
“They were dead. I’m not a killer. They were dead. I'm not a killer.”
I'm not a killer. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | As a grin infectiously spreads across my cheeks, I peered at the hallway awaiting for his arrival. Slowly but surely, he will arrive at the spot I have marked and it will, without a doubt, be devastating.
Oh, speak of the devil, here he comes. I quietly went back to throwing the remaining laundry into the washing machine and lo and behold, an agonizing scream flooded the entire hallway. There was no way in hell that he will not live comfortably, seeing his only pair of washed socks just got wet, from Fenrir's piss.
"Retribution for not doing the laundry, I guess."
| "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | It was a simple trick.
Sometimes an inch, sometimes two.
Week by week, year by year, moving at random across the deserts of the world. Man couldn't explain it, no reason or rhyme. It was a subtle trick, one of dozens I conjured up across the countless years.
And I, Low-Key, loved it. | "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "LOW-KEY! Show your face! You have to stop doing this, I don't have many clean pairs left!"
I could only grin, hearing Thor voice his frustrations once again. One of my favorite little practical jokes.
You see, because I have the ability to disguise objects as other objects and create images, I feel it is my duty to bring about a little mischievous fun here and there.
So what I've done here and many times before this is placed Thor's magnificent flowing red cape in between the toilet seat and bowl and then create an image of the bowl beneath it. So when Thor goes to, as Midgardians would put it, feed the royal porcelain stallion a brown bone in the morning, instead he paints his regal pajamas and flowing heroic cape a sickly brown color.
Thor has been forced to dial down his more prominent ensemble with that of one with a more common-folk vogue which makes me look the far better son of Odin, as it should be. The heir to a throne should be graceful, calculated and cunning, not some brute who sometimes confuses the scent of a battle-worn body with shit stains on his cape. Odin still favors him and it brings no end to my misery, so why shouldn't I have a little fun. After all, I am pretty low-key.
Ah, well. Someday. | "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | My older brother, Loki, was so crass and uncultured when it came to mischief. He always went completely over the top, with all the nuance of a train car of dynamite derailing into an inferno. He would bitch slap people in their face while they slept. He would set off all the car alarms in the parking lot outside the amphiteater where the Philharmonic was playing. Where's the subtlety? That's just being a dick!
Me, however...I was an artist. I had taste when it came to tomfoolery. My pranks were largely thought to be the result of stupidity on the part of another, or nature being cruel. Remember when your wife was pregnant? She was so radiant, glowing, a beautiful expectant mother. I was the one that made her suddenly crave tacos al pastor from the local taco bus five minutes after they closed. Nothing else would do, it had to be food from Jorge's bus that would scratch that itch. I was the one who made her insufferably horny once she got to the point where the doctor advised she didn't have sex. Remember when the Seahawks passed instead of handing it off to Lynch at the 1 yard line? That was me telling Russell Wilson that passing was a great idea. I am the one who corroded the battery terminals on your car battery, the very same battery that happens to be buried under the airbox and is only accessible by taking the wheel off. And when you do try to take that wheel off, you will note that one of the lug nuts simply won't budge. That was me, also, with a bottle of Loctite. I am the rattle in your car that stops when you take it to a mechanic. I was the wrinkle on the ice that made Sidney Crosby trip and fall when all he had left to do was beat the goalie for an overtime winner.
I am Low Key. I'm in the business of subtly fucking with everyone, and business is booming. | "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | Biology students, crouched low by a pond.
Observing the wildlife, they seem to be fond.
Pushed into the water, it would cause much grief.
Not subtle enough for this god of mischief.
Lean over their shoulder, point out a tadpole.
In Norway we call this the 'rumpe troll'. | "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "Where are my socks?"
"In the drawer below your desk kiddo", shouted mom while she was busy with Young Jimmy.
The boy opened the drawer but couldn't see it.
"I can't find them!"
"I'm sick of your nonsense Oliver!" Mom walked into Oliver's room with a diaper in one hand. "Can't you SEE THIS?" The blue socks were lying in there, where moments ago there wasn't even a thing which was near to blue.
The wind made a strange sound as the leaves of the trees rustled in the backyard. I won, again. | "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "You know *I'm* the Prince of Lies," he said.
"Among many other things, my lord," I replied.
"Indeed," he sniffed, nails tapping absent-mindedly on the conference table as his eyes burned a hole into me. "So.... if we both know that, why am I here?"
"It was an honest mistake, my lord. It was a harmless joke, really! Well not HARMLESS, of course, that's not what we do. But nothing out of the ordinary. Make some kids stop emailing their parents. Make it hard to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. That's all."
He sighed. "Look. You do bad work here, and I appreciate it. I do get a kick out of it every time I see the feeble-minded get outraged by your obvious fabrications. But the key word here is 'obvious'."
"I thought I was being obvious! We all did. We followed the process exactly, put them to a review, not a single person thought any of it was believable. We're all shocked at how popular it got. You've seen it. Would you expect anyone mentally sound to buy any of it?"
"Fine," he sighed, "I'll let it slide, this time. But the big stuff, the clever lies, the world-changing bullshit, that comes to ME." He leaned over the table menacingly. "Understand?"
"Absolutely, my lord."
He leaned back. "Glad we're on the same page. I'm off to deal with this presidential 'accident' of yours. What are you working on now?"
"A chain email about how Nancy Pelosi is forcing Chick-Fil-A to replace all their chicken with soy products."
"Great work. Keep it up." | "Have you ever known mischief such as mine? I doubt it. The key is to be consistently subtle and completely mercilessly. These last few years I've been disguising as a college student and I've carefully picked spoiled freshmen that haven't done a thing in their lives. Mommy cooked for them... Daddy did the household chores... He just spent his adolescence playing video games.
I take on their roommates identify and...keep SPOILING him. I clean, I cook, I wash the dishes. I clean his room and wash his clothes. Have you ever known evil such as this? I just pushed him turning into a responsable adult for ages! After he graduates he shall struggle as a working adult, never having managed a house before. People shall be awed at him. They will ask themselves... How can he be so spoiled? And the answer, ever out of sight, I, Low-key
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "LOW-KEY! Show your face! You have to stop doing this, I don't have many clean pairs left!"
I could only grin, hearing Thor voice his frustrations once again. One of my favorite little practical jokes.
You see, because I have the ability to disguise objects as other objects and create images, I feel it is my duty to bring about a little mischievous fun here and there.
So what I've done here and many times before this is placed Thor's magnificent flowing red cape in between the toilet seat and bowl and then create an image of the bowl beneath it. So when Thor goes to, as Midgardians would put it, feed the royal porcelain stallion a brown bone in the morning, instead he paints his regal pajamas and flowing heroic cape a sickly brown color.
Thor has been forced to dial down his more prominent ensemble with that of one with a more common-folk vogue which makes me look the far better son of Odin, as it should be. The heir to a throne should be graceful, calculated and cunning, not some brute who sometimes confuses the scent of a battle-worn body with shit stains on his cape. Odin still favors him and it brings no end to my misery, so why shouldn't I have a little fun. After all, I am pretty low-key.
Ah, well. Someday. | As a grin infectiously spreads across my cheeks, I peered at the hallway awaiting for his arrival. Slowly but surely, he will arrive at the spot I have marked and it will, without a doubt, be devastating.
Oh, speak of the devil, here he comes. I quietly went back to throwing the remaining laundry into the washing machine and lo and behold, an agonizing scream flooded the entire hallway. There was no way in hell that he will not live comfortably, seeing his only pair of washed socks just got wet, from Fenrir's piss.
"Retribution for not doing the laundry, I guess."
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | My older brother, Loki, was so crass and uncultured when it came to mischief. He always went completely over the top, with all the nuance of a train car of dynamite derailing into an inferno. He would bitch slap people in their face while they slept. He would set off all the car alarms in the parking lot outside the amphiteater where the Philharmonic was playing. Where's the subtlety? That's just being a dick!
Me, however...I was an artist. I had taste when it came to tomfoolery. My pranks were largely thought to be the result of stupidity on the part of another, or nature being cruel. Remember when your wife was pregnant? She was so radiant, glowing, a beautiful expectant mother. I was the one that made her suddenly crave tacos al pastor from the local taco bus five minutes after they closed. Nothing else would do, it had to be food from Jorge's bus that would scratch that itch. I was the one who made her insufferably horny once she got to the point where the doctor advised she didn't have sex. Remember when the Seahawks passed instead of handing it off to Lynch at the 1 yard line? That was me telling Russell Wilson that passing was a great idea. I am the one who corroded the battery terminals on your car battery, the very same battery that happens to be buried under the airbox and is only accessible by taking the wheel off. And when you do try to take that wheel off, you will note that one of the lug nuts simply won't budge. That was me, also, with a bottle of Loctite. I am the rattle in your car that stops when you take it to a mechanic. I was the wrinkle on the ice that made Sidney Crosby trip and fall when all he had left to do was beat the goalie for an overtime winner.
I am Low Key. I'm in the business of subtly fucking with everyone, and business is booming. | As a grin infectiously spreads across my cheeks, I peered at the hallway awaiting for his arrival. Slowly but surely, he will arrive at the spot I have marked and it will, without a doubt, be devastating.
Oh, speak of the devil, here he comes. I quietly went back to throwing the remaining laundry into the washing machine and lo and behold, an agonizing scream flooded the entire hallway. There was no way in hell that he will not live comfortably, seeing his only pair of washed socks just got wet, from Fenrir's piss.
"Retribution for not doing the laundry, I guess."
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "Where are my socks?"
"In the drawer below your desk kiddo", shouted mom while she was busy with Young Jimmy.
The boy opened the drawer but couldn't see it.
"I can't find them!"
"I'm sick of your nonsense Oliver!" Mom walked into Oliver's room with a diaper in one hand. "Can't you SEE THIS?" The blue socks were lying in there, where moments ago there wasn't even a thing which was near to blue.
The wind made a strange sound as the leaves of the trees rustled in the backyard. I won, again. | As a grin infectiously spreads across my cheeks, I peered at the hallway awaiting for his arrival. Slowly but surely, he will arrive at the spot I have marked and it will, without a doubt, be devastating.
Oh, speak of the devil, here he comes. I quietly went back to throwing the remaining laundry into the washing machine and lo and behold, an agonizing scream flooded the entire hallway. There was no way in hell that he will not live comfortably, seeing his only pair of washed socks just got wet, from Fenrir's piss.
"Retribution for not doing the laundry, I guess."
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "LOW-KEY! Show your face! You have to stop doing this, I don't have many clean pairs left!"
I could only grin, hearing Thor voice his frustrations once again. One of my favorite little practical jokes.
You see, because I have the ability to disguise objects as other objects and create images, I feel it is my duty to bring about a little mischievous fun here and there.
So what I've done here and many times before this is placed Thor's magnificent flowing red cape in between the toilet seat and bowl and then create an image of the bowl beneath it. So when Thor goes to, as Midgardians would put it, feed the royal porcelain stallion a brown bone in the morning, instead he paints his regal pajamas and flowing heroic cape a sickly brown color.
Thor has been forced to dial down his more prominent ensemble with that of one with a more common-folk vogue which makes me look the far better son of Odin, as it should be. The heir to a throne should be graceful, calculated and cunning, not some brute who sometimes confuses the scent of a battle-worn body with shit stains on his cape. Odin still favors him and it brings no end to my misery, so why shouldn't I have a little fun. After all, I am pretty low-key.
Ah, well. Someday. | It was a simple trick.
Sometimes an inch, sometimes two.
Week by week, year by year, moving at random across the deserts of the world. Man couldn't explain it, no reason or rhyme. It was a subtle trick, one of dozens I conjured up across the countless years.
And I, Low-Key, loved it. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | My older brother, Loki, was so crass and uncultured when it came to mischief. He always went completely over the top, with all the nuance of a train car of dynamite derailing into an inferno. He would bitch slap people in their face while they slept. He would set off all the car alarms in the parking lot outside the amphiteater where the Philharmonic was playing. Where's the subtlety? That's just being a dick!
Me, however...I was an artist. I had taste when it came to tomfoolery. My pranks were largely thought to be the result of stupidity on the part of another, or nature being cruel. Remember when your wife was pregnant? She was so radiant, glowing, a beautiful expectant mother. I was the one that made her suddenly crave tacos al pastor from the local taco bus five minutes after they closed. Nothing else would do, it had to be food from Jorge's bus that would scratch that itch. I was the one who made her insufferably horny once she got to the point where the doctor advised she didn't have sex. Remember when the Seahawks passed instead of handing it off to Lynch at the 1 yard line? That was me telling Russell Wilson that passing was a great idea. I am the one who corroded the battery terminals on your car battery, the very same battery that happens to be buried under the airbox and is only accessible by taking the wheel off. And when you do try to take that wheel off, you will note that one of the lug nuts simply won't budge. That was me, also, with a bottle of Loctite. I am the rattle in your car that stops when you take it to a mechanic. I was the wrinkle on the ice that made Sidney Crosby trip and fall when all he had left to do was beat the goalie for an overtime winner.
I am Low Key. I'm in the business of subtly fucking with everyone, and business is booming. | It was a simple trick.
Sometimes an inch, sometimes two.
Week by week, year by year, moving at random across the deserts of the world. Man couldn't explain it, no reason or rhyme. It was a subtle trick, one of dozens I conjured up across the countless years.
And I, Low-Key, loved it. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "Where are my socks?"
"In the drawer below your desk kiddo", shouted mom while she was busy with Young Jimmy.
The boy opened the drawer but couldn't see it.
"I can't find them!"
"I'm sick of your nonsense Oliver!" Mom walked into Oliver's room with a diaper in one hand. "Can't you SEE THIS?" The blue socks were lying in there, where moments ago there wasn't even a thing which was near to blue.
The wind made a strange sound as the leaves of the trees rustled in the backyard. I won, again. | It was a simple trick.
Sometimes an inch, sometimes two.
Week by week, year by year, moving at random across the deserts of the world. Man couldn't explain it, no reason or rhyme. It was a subtle trick, one of dozens I conjured up across the countless years.
And I, Low-Key, loved it. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "Where are my socks?"
"In the drawer below your desk kiddo", shouted mom while she was busy with Young Jimmy.
The boy opened the drawer but couldn't see it.
"I can't find them!"
"I'm sick of your nonsense Oliver!" Mom walked into Oliver's room with a diaper in one hand. "Can't you SEE THIS?" The blue socks were lying in there, where moments ago there wasn't even a thing which was near to blue.
The wind made a strange sound as the leaves of the trees rustled in the backyard. I won, again. | Biology students, crouched low by a pond.
Observing the wildlife, they seem to be fond.
Pushed into the water, it would cause much grief.
Not subtle enough for this god of mischief.
Lean over their shoulder, point out a tadpole.
In Norway we call this the 'rumpe troll'. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "You know *I'm* the Prince of Lies," he said.
"Among many other things, my lord," I replied.
"Indeed," he sniffed, nails tapping absent-mindedly on the conference table as his eyes burned a hole into me. "So.... if we both know that, why am I here?"
"It was an honest mistake, my lord. It was a harmless joke, really! Well not HARMLESS, of course, that's not what we do. But nothing out of the ordinary. Make some kids stop emailing their parents. Make it hard to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. That's all."
He sighed. "Look. You do bad work here, and I appreciate it. I do get a kick out of it every time I see the feeble-minded get outraged by your obvious fabrications. But the key word here is 'obvious'."
"I thought I was being obvious! We all did. We followed the process exactly, put them to a review, not a single person thought any of it was believable. We're all shocked at how popular it got. You've seen it. Would you expect anyone mentally sound to buy any of it?"
"Fine," he sighed, "I'll let it slide, this time. But the big stuff, the clever lies, the world-changing bullshit, that comes to ME." He leaned over the table menacingly. "Understand?"
"Absolutely, my lord."
He leaned back. "Glad we're on the same page. I'm off to deal with this presidential 'accident' of yours. What are you working on now?"
"A chain email about how Nancy Pelosi is forcing Chick-Fil-A to replace all their chicken with soy products."
"Great work. Keep it up." | Biology students, crouched low by a pond.
Observing the wildlife, they seem to be fond.
Pushed into the water, it would cause much grief.
Not subtle enough for this god of mischief.
Lean over their shoulder, point out a tadpole.
In Norway we call this the 'rumpe troll'. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "You know *I'm* the Prince of Lies," he said.
"Among many other things, my lord," I replied.
"Indeed," he sniffed, nails tapping absent-mindedly on the conference table as his eyes burned a hole into me. "So.... if we both know that, why am I here?"
"It was an honest mistake, my lord. It was a harmless joke, really! Well not HARMLESS, of course, that's not what we do. But nothing out of the ordinary. Make some kids stop emailing their parents. Make it hard to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. That's all."
He sighed. "Look. You do bad work here, and I appreciate it. I do get a kick out of it every time I see the feeble-minded get outraged by your obvious fabrications. But the key word here is 'obvious'."
"I thought I was being obvious! We all did. We followed the process exactly, put them to a review, not a single person thought any of it was believable. We're all shocked at how popular it got. You've seen it. Would you expect anyone mentally sound to buy any of it?"
"Fine," he sighed, "I'll let it slide, this time. But the big stuff, the clever lies, the world-changing bullshit, that comes to ME." He leaned over the table menacingly. "Understand?"
"Absolutely, my lord."
He leaned back. "Glad we're on the same page. I'm off to deal with this presidential 'accident' of yours. What are you working on now?"
"A chain email about how Nancy Pelosi is forcing Chick-Fil-A to replace all their chicken with soy products."
"Great work. Keep it up." | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | The great tuppaware riot of 2056 was the beginning of the end for human civilisation as we know it. For years ordinary people had felt mounting frustration at attempting to store left overs or prepare packed lunches only to find, inexplicably, that no lid matched any one container. This was the straw that broke the back of the ordinary people.
But today hope has returned in the form of Norse God Low-key! For in exchange for our eternal devotion He shall deliver eternal peace, tranqulity, and the location of your tuppaware lids which were spirited away by 'forces unknown'. | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | Another jump through the Bifrost and I landed on the planet of Acrimony, aka the planet of really bad smelling things. I plugged my nose and went to work.
I collected as many flowers as possible. Some were red, some were purple, some were green, some yellow. They were all quite beautiful.
I stayed for a while just to enjoy the sunset. Actually multiple sunsets because this planet had 4 suns, and so one by one they disappeared. And it got dimmer and dimmer and it turned into night.
It was actually quite lovely.
I strolled back to the pickup point and gave the signal and told the Bifrost operator that I wanted to go to Earth.
5 eon-cycle-seconds later, I was on earth. I took each one of the flowers that I had found from the planet of acrimony and I planted them in some of the most prevalent and prodigious gardens around earth.
Humans really loved smelling flowers, especially for romantic gestures and mate courting rituals.
I smirked and couldn’t wait for my giant practical joke to unfold. I had time. I was a God after all.
My name is Low-Key, spelled L-O-W-K-E-Y and I’m the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | Why *did* Thor keep all this useless junk. Low-Key observed the collection with curiosity, occasionally picking something up to inspect. Trophies of all his wonderful endeavours, no doubt. Thor had always been one for showing off, for displays of power, wealth, and overcomplicated execution in the name of grandeur. Ridiculous. Low-Key was far more subtle. Subtlety, in fact, was his talent. He selected a tiny skull, blackened with scorch marks and covered in webs of cracks, tossed it in the air as if it were an apple from a tree, and placed it back where he had found it, just half an inch out of place. He suppressed a smirk. How *infuriating* this must be, to have command over the skies and yet be driven to insanity by something so subtly mischievous. That would do for today. Low-Key nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, he glanced wistfully to the table in the middle of the room, as he always did. His white whale, his obsession, Mjolnir sat there, glowing and humming, almost taunting him. He had to try. Approaching the hammer, he grasped the handle and twisted hard. Just an inch, he thought, *please*. Nothing. He let go, unsuccessful yet again. One day, he thought as he left the room, Thor won't know what's hit him. | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | The mortals have forgotten me. Yes, I was never one of the blustering and bold members of my ilk, but I am certainly not one to be taken lightly. They will learn. Subtlety is not merely a mood or manner, but an artform. To be able to tell how taut a string can be pulled before it snaps is an ability possessed by many. But the talent to exert just enough influence to push it to it's breaking point, teetering on the precipice of utter devastation, is a talent held by only gods. As a treat, I'll show you a hint of my true power. You've just spent a few precious, irretrievable moments reading complete and utter tripe that I made up. Stings, doesn't it? Heh. I've still got it. | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "You know *I'm* the Prince of Lies," he said.
"Among many other things, my lord," I replied.
"Indeed," he sniffed, nails tapping absent-mindedly on the conference table as his eyes burned a hole into me. "So.... if we both know that, why am I here?"
"It was an honest mistake, my lord. It was a harmless joke, really! Well not HARMLESS, of course, that's not what we do. But nothing out of the ordinary. Make some kids stop emailing their parents. Make it hard to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. That's all."
He sighed. "Look. You do bad work here, and I appreciate it. I do get a kick out of it every time I see the feeble-minded get outraged by your obvious fabrications. But the key word here is 'obvious'."
"I thought I was being obvious! We all did. We followed the process exactly, put them to a review, not a single person thought any of it was believable. We're all shocked at how popular it got. You've seen it. Would you expect anyone mentally sound to buy any of it?"
"Fine," he sighed, "I'll let it slide, this time. But the big stuff, the clever lies, the world-changing bullshit, that comes to ME." He leaned over the table menacingly. "Understand?"
"Absolutely, my lord."
He leaned back. "Glad we're on the same page. I'm off to deal with this presidential 'accident' of yours. What are you working on now?"
"A chain email about how Nancy Pelosi is forcing Chick-Fil-A to replace all their chicken with soy products."
"Great work. Keep it up." | "What is this?" Hodr asked. His piercing blue eyes fixed above the item Low-Key had just handed him.
"It's a spear, of course." Low-Key muttered. The urge to laugh held at bay by a silent chuckle. Blind fool. He thought to himself.
"Why have you given me a spear? One made of wood... are these berries?" he asked. His fingers sticking to each other. The seeds and juice from the freshly crushed bunch of berries spread slowly, covering his hand.
"It's all in good fun, Hodr. Join in the games. You know that nothing can harm Baldr." He said. The mischievous smile unfurled across his face.
"I would not be able to face father if I miss..." Hodr said, his face contorting with each word. Still such a proud warrior.
"I will guide your throw, brother. Your spear will strike true, I swear it." The kind words spoken through curled lips and wide eyes were sweet and reassuring. Hodr nodded and took up the spear.
"Point me in the right direction, brother." Hodr said completely unaware of what was about to happen. Low-Key, lined his blind brother up with Baldr, gave him instructions of distance and elevation, Hodr needed little else. He may have been blind, but his skills were still sharp. Low-Key leaned in and whispered,
"Let this spear fly true." licking his lips, he could hardly wait. Hodr's body shifted into a throwing stance, his form was perfect. He took two steps forward and his powerful arm loosed the spear. Its flight was un-arched. His power was obvious. Low-Key's eyes grew wider and wider as the spear of mistletoe drew closer and closer to Baldr. His growing smile threatened to tear his face in twain. The tip of the spear finally reached Baldr, it bit into his chest. Sinking deeper and deeper. The once confident face of Baldr was replaced by shock as the spear dug into him. Low-Key watched as the tail end spear reached his chest and exploded into a white cloud of cream. The sound of a tin pie pan clanging against the marble floors of the great hall echoed through the room. Then there was nothing. The silence was deafening. Low-Key's eyes shot left and right as the rest of the great hall took in what had just happened.
"Who threw that!" Baldr yelled, his failed attempts to clean the cream from his face only adding to his anger. The room burst into laughter as Low-Key, Norse God of Really Subtle Mischief exited the great hall unseen. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | Why *did* Thor keep all this useless junk. Low-Key observed the collection with curiosity, occasionally picking something up to inspect. Trophies of all his wonderful endeavours, no doubt. Thor had always been one for showing off, for displays of power, wealth, and overcomplicated execution in the name of grandeur. Ridiculous. Low-Key was far more subtle. Subtlety, in fact, was his talent. He selected a tiny skull, blackened with scorch marks and covered in webs of cracks, tossed it in the air as if it were an apple from a tree, and placed it back where he had found it, just half an inch out of place. He suppressed a smirk. How *infuriating* this must be, to have command over the skies and yet be driven to insanity by something so subtly mischievous. That would do for today. Low-Key nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, he glanced wistfully to the table in the middle of the room, as he always did. His white whale, his obsession, Mjolnir sat there, glowing and humming, almost taunting him. He had to try. Approaching the hammer, he grasped the handle and twisted hard. Just an inch, he thought, *please*. Nothing. He let go, unsuccessful yet again. One day, he thought as he left the room, Thor won't know what's hit him. | The great tuppaware riot of 2056 was the beginning of the end for human civilisation as we know it. For years ordinary people had felt mounting frustration at attempting to store left overs or prepare packed lunches only to find, inexplicably, that no lid matched any one container. This was the straw that broke the back of the ordinary people.
But today hope has returned in the form of Norse God Low-key! For in exchange for our eternal devotion He shall deliver eternal peace, tranqulity, and the location of your tuppaware lids which were spirited away by 'forces unknown'. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | Why *did* Thor keep all this useless junk. Low-Key observed the collection with curiosity, occasionally picking something up to inspect. Trophies of all his wonderful endeavours, no doubt. Thor had always been one for showing off, for displays of power, wealth, and overcomplicated execution in the name of grandeur. Ridiculous. Low-Key was far more subtle. Subtlety, in fact, was his talent. He selected a tiny skull, blackened with scorch marks and covered in webs of cracks, tossed it in the air as if it were an apple from a tree, and placed it back where he had found it, just half an inch out of place. He suppressed a smirk. How *infuriating* this must be, to have command over the skies and yet be driven to insanity by something so subtly mischievous. That would do for today. Low-Key nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, he glanced wistfully to the table in the middle of the room, as he always did. His white whale, his obsession, Mjolnir sat there, glowing and humming, almost taunting him. He had to try. Approaching the hammer, he grasped the handle and twisted hard. Just an inch, he thought, *please*. Nothing. He let go, unsuccessful yet again. One day, he thought as he left the room, Thor won't know what's hit him. | Another jump through the Bifrost and I landed on the planet of Acrimony, aka the planet of really bad smelling things. I plugged my nose and went to work.
I collected as many flowers as possible. Some were red, some were purple, some were green, some yellow. They were all quite beautiful.
I stayed for a while just to enjoy the sunset. Actually multiple sunsets because this planet had 4 suns, and so one by one they disappeared. And it got dimmer and dimmer and it turned into night.
It was actually quite lovely.
I strolled back to the pickup point and gave the signal and told the Bifrost operator that I wanted to go to Earth.
5 eon-cycle-seconds later, I was on earth. I took each one of the flowers that I had found from the planet of acrimony and I planted them in some of the most prevalent and prodigious gardens around earth.
Humans really loved smelling flowers, especially for romantic gestures and mate courting rituals.
I smirked and couldn’t wait for my giant practical joke to unfold. I had time. I was a God after all.
My name is Low-Key, spelled L-O-W-K-E-Y and I’m the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | The mortals have forgotten me. Yes, I was never one of the blustering and bold members of my ilk, but I am certainly not one to be taken lightly. They will learn. Subtlety is not merely a mood or manner, but an artform. To be able to tell how taut a string can be pulled before it snaps is an ability possessed by many. But the talent to exert just enough influence to push it to it's breaking point, teetering on the precipice of utter devastation, is a talent held by only gods. As a treat, I'll show you a hint of my true power. You've just spent a few precious, irretrievable moments reading complete and utter tripe that I made up. Stings, doesn't it? Heh. I've still got it. | Subtlety is a precise art. While my brothers and sisters can do things like hurl lightning around to fill their daily quota of godly actions, I needed to be precise. Too much mischief and all of a sudden I have Loki breathing down my back. Too little and folks wouldn't be aware of my divine intervention.
I sighed, leaning back into my throne, a frown on my face. Yesterday I had scored high marks with Odin by turning all of the spoons to forks during the harvest festival. The stew course had been THOROUGHLY INCONVENIENCED by my works.
But a new day brought the need for new action lest the folk below forget the Gods.
After a minute of contemplation, I was interrupted by Loki. He slinked in, a malevolent grin on his face. "What's wrong little brother? Having trouble with your little games?"
Man, I hated this guy. Class A douchebag. Never got why Thor liked romping around with him. He hadn't remembered a single birthday in a millennia. Just an all around negative presence.
I glare at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Listen, I'm sure it's all fun and games causing a fire and burning a village down, but I'm trying to bring a little nuance into the world."
"What if we did something...together?" Loki leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his features.
"That doesn't make any sense Loki! How in the name of Valhalla is the god of mischief supposed to work with the god of subtle mischief? It's just going to confuse people."
"Have a little faith brother, you're creative. You can figure it out." With a giggle he danced back a few steps, turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.
Frazzled, I run a hand through my glorious white mane of hair. I was tired of Loki coming in and upsetting the apple cart. Always getting the attention, always taking the lead.
I mulled over his words, thinking about the prospect of us teaming up. It was preposterous on its face, but maybe...maybe there was something there. After a few seconds of reflection, a giant grin spread across my face. An answer to my problems.
We would work together all right. But this time, there would be no mischief. There would be only subtle mischief.
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "John, what's wrong? You haven't even touched your beer."
"Shhh...Listen. Do you hear that? There's something off about this song."
"Off? Off how?"
"Just off. It's weird. I thought it was weird earlier. I could have sworn the DJ was playing the edited versions of the songs. Like the radio versions. I knew it was weird when the Snoop song was on and everyone was like 'Smoke weed everyday' but I didn't think I heard the actual song."
"Who cares? It's the radio version. People know that version. We are in a crap bar and the crap DJ is playing slightly crappier versions of crappy songs."
"Yeah, good point. Let's order shots." | Subtlety is a precise art. While my brothers and sisters can do things like hurl lightning around to fill their daily quota of godly actions, I needed to be precise. Too much mischief and all of a sudden I have Loki breathing down my back. Too little and folks wouldn't be aware of my divine intervention.
I sighed, leaning back into my throne, a frown on my face. Yesterday I had scored high marks with Odin by turning all of the spoons to forks during the harvest festival. The stew course had been THOROUGHLY INCONVENIENCED by my works.
But a new day brought the need for new action lest the folk below forget the Gods.
After a minute of contemplation, I was interrupted by Loki. He slinked in, a malevolent grin on his face. "What's wrong little brother? Having trouble with your little games?"
Man, I hated this guy. Class A douchebag. Never got why Thor liked romping around with him. He hadn't remembered a single birthday in a millennia. Just an all around negative presence.
I glare at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Listen, I'm sure it's all fun and games causing a fire and burning a village down, but I'm trying to bring a little nuance into the world."
"What if we did something...together?" Loki leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his features.
"That doesn't make any sense Loki! How in the name of Valhalla is the god of mischief supposed to work with the god of subtle mischief? It's just going to confuse people."
"Have a little faith brother, you're creative. You can figure it out." With a giggle he danced back a few steps, turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.
Frazzled, I run a hand through my glorious white mane of hair. I was tired of Loki coming in and upsetting the apple cart. Always getting the attention, always taking the lead.
I mulled over his words, thinking about the prospect of us teaming up. It was preposterous on its face, but maybe...maybe there was something there. After a few seconds of reflection, a giant grin spread across my face. An answer to my problems.
We would work together all right. But this time, there would be no mischief. There would be only subtle mischief.
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | A smile creaked across my face as I heard a dull thud.
"WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!" boomed from the living room. I only wish I could have seen it first hand, but my hidden sanctuary behind the closet doors kept my presence concealed. They'll never know that their furniture had been slowly moved, inch by inch, to the left.
"Behold the wrath of Low Key," I softly spoke as I vanished into thin air, off to the neighbor's house to replace their ground beef with ground turkey. | Subtlety is a precise art. While my brothers and sisters can do things like hurl lightning around to fill their daily quota of godly actions, I needed to be precise. Too much mischief and all of a sudden I have Loki breathing down my back. Too little and folks wouldn't be aware of my divine intervention.
I sighed, leaning back into my throne, a frown on my face. Yesterday I had scored high marks with Odin by turning all of the spoons to forks during the harvest festival. The stew course had been THOROUGHLY INCONVENIENCED by my works.
But a new day brought the need for new action lest the folk below forget the Gods.
After a minute of contemplation, I was interrupted by Loki. He slinked in, a malevolent grin on his face. "What's wrong little brother? Having trouble with your little games?"
Man, I hated this guy. Class A douchebag. Never got why Thor liked romping around with him. He hadn't remembered a single birthday in a millennia. Just an all around negative presence.
I glare at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Listen, I'm sure it's all fun and games causing a fire and burning a village down, but I'm trying to bring a little nuance into the world."
"What if we did something...together?" Loki leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his features.
"That doesn't make any sense Loki! How in the name of Valhalla is the god of mischief supposed to work with the god of subtle mischief? It's just going to confuse people."
"Have a little faith brother, you're creative. You can figure it out." With a giggle he danced back a few steps, turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.
Frazzled, I run a hand through my glorious white mane of hair. I was tired of Loki coming in and upsetting the apple cart. Always getting the attention, always taking the lead.
I mulled over his words, thinking about the prospect of us teaming up. It was preposterous on its face, but maybe...maybe there was something there. After a few seconds of reflection, a giant grin spread across my face. An answer to my problems.
We would work together all right. But this time, there would be no mischief. There would be only subtle mischief.
| |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "John, what's wrong? You haven't even touched your beer."
"Shhh...Listen. Do you hear that? There's something off about this song."
"Off? Off how?"
"Just off. It's weird. I thought it was weird earlier. I could have sworn the DJ was playing the edited versions of the songs. Like the radio versions. I knew it was weird when the Snoop song was on and everyone was like 'Smoke weed everyday' but I didn't think I heard the actual song."
"Who cares? It's the radio version. People know that version. We are in a crap bar and the crap DJ is playing slightly crappier versions of crappy songs."
"Yeah, good point. Let's order shots." | “Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | A smile creaked across my face as I heard a dull thud.
"WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!" boomed from the living room. I only wish I could have seen it first hand, but my hidden sanctuary behind the closet doors kept my presence concealed. They'll never know that their furniture had been slowly moved, inch by inch, to the left.
"Behold the wrath of Low Key," I softly spoke as I vanished into thin air, off to the neighbor's house to replace their ground beef with ground turkey. | “Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | I stand there unseen in Johns bedroom, he has no idea what's about to happen. He will never be the same again after this, after I: Low-Key Norse God of really subtle mischief am finished here. His family and friends will think him mad, no-one will ever believe him.
I imagine what Johns life will look like in a few months time, jobless and alone he will beg for money on the streets of this dull town.
I begin to laugh manically as he pulls his trousers up, he's nearly there, almost at the moment his fate will forever be thrown off course by an omnipresent meddling god, I keel over as the laughter starts to hurt my stomach.
This is it! This is the moment I've been waiting for! John opens the top drawer and as a tear rolls down my cheek he asks to the universe in general "where'd that other sock go?" | “Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar | |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | A smile creaked across my face as I heard a dull thud.
"WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!" boomed from the living room. I only wish I could have seen it first hand, but my hidden sanctuary behind the closet doors kept my presence concealed. They'll never know that their furniture had been slowly moved, inch by inch, to the left.
"Behold the wrath of Low Key," I softly spoke as I vanished into thin air, off to the neighbor's house to replace their ground beef with ground turkey. | "John, what's wrong? You haven't even touched your beer."
"Shhh...Listen. Do you hear that? There's something off about this song."
"Off? Off how?"
"Just off. It's weird. I thought it was weird earlier. I could have sworn the DJ was playing the edited versions of the songs. Like the radio versions. I knew it was weird when the Snoop song was on and everyone was like 'Smoke weed everyday' but I didn't think I heard the actual song."
"Who cares? It's the radio version. People know that version. We are in a crap bar and the crap DJ is playing slightly crappier versions of crappy songs."
"Yeah, good point. Let's order shots." | |
[WP] You died today. Upon meeting you, Death was confused, and asked how you wanted to spend your 3rd of nine lives. Apparently, you were supposed to have been a cat all along. | The last thing Garfield heard was the screech of tires and a sudden *thwump*.
Suddenly he found himself surrounded by darkness. Black smoke swirled around aimlessly and screams could be heard in the distance. He looked at his hands, rubbed his face. *I can still feel..* he thought. *Where am I? I'm a little hungry..* Confused, but oddly not uncomfortable, he looked around the deep void for any answers. "Hello!" he shouted. "Hellooooo! Hellooooo!"
A shadow seemed to move out of the darkness and towards Garfield. A cracked skull with two horns lead the shadow, seemingly staring into Garfield's soul. *Is it here to feed me?*
It's voice was deep and dark, like whispers from a nightmare. "I am Death, Lord of Hells, the reaper of souls, the Scythe of - oh no, already Garfield? Again? Come on man."
Garfield stood wide eyed at the reaper, scratched behind his ear. "Uhhh....what's going on?"
Death sighed. "You cats man, always here in my void making a mess of things. I'm supposed to be out there gathering souls and executing the holy ones, but noooo, I'm stuck granting more lives to you cats. Granting lives! I am Death! You see the problem here?!"
*What is he going on about? I'm still hungry..and uh oh. I know that belly rumble.* "But....I'm not a cat?"
Two hands of bone materialized and outstretched a scroll in front of Garfield. Death began to read it:
Garfield Tardar.
Male.
Feline.
British shorthair.
Lives: 9.
"Now I can see that you are not a cat, I'm old and dead but not dumb. The guys upstairs had a deadline to meet and some papers got thrown around. You know how it is up there, it's all trumpets and wings and la dee da. They don't know work, just flying around praising all -"
"Is there a washroom I can use?" Garfield interrupted.
"What? No, you're dead."
"...a sandbox?"
"No."
"Do you feed souls here?"
"Ugh...cats. Let get this third life going and move on. How do you want to spend it?"
"Well...right now somewhere where I can eat. Maybe with a sandbox nearby? And I want to be a kid again, that was fun." Garfield smiled and he swore he could see a frown on the skull before him.
"So be it." The hands of bone were placed on Garfield's head and the void disappeared before him.
The sand was soft and warm, falling between Garfield's fingers. His hands were small again and he remembered nothing of his brush with death. Across the street, he could faintly hear bells chiming. *Ohh, ice cream man,* he thought. He darted across the road and the last thing Garfield heard was the screech of tires and a sudden *thwump*.
Suddenly he found himself surrounded by darkness. A shadow seemed to move out of the blackness and towards him.
"GARFIELD!"
| “Please, excuse me for a moment,” he said.
I could hear him grumble as he rummaged through a large drawer. I was sitting just in the wrong angle from his filing cabinet and I couldn’t see much, but by stretching my neck, I caught sight of what seemed to be hundreds of files squeezed together. Frowning, I wondered how he could keep information on anyone if he spent his “life” holed up in this office. I was careful, even in my own thoughts, about qualifying his existence as a life. After all, most people would call him Death, though he had made it clear that he preferred to be called Clay. If I had learned anything from school, it was that talking about life while talking about death was a powerful oxymoron. But it didn’t matter, as I was still too much in shock about this whole ordeal to say anything.
“Nope, it seems like I have the right one, after all,” Clay finally said, turning back towards me. “Well, Leo, it would seem that we have to discuss your next life.”
“So reincarnation is real, after all?” I said, without thinking twice about the silliness of discussing religious beliefs with the embodiment of death.
“It’s… more complicated than that,” he answered, looking sheepish.
I didn’t know what to answer. I felt like asking him thousands of questions. But which one first? And was it truly okay to be harassing Death with silly interrogations? Would it make him hate me and send me to Hell? I couldn’t even believe my own thoughts. This was… astonishing, to say the least. I had died. Not only had I died, but I was still conscious and I was planning my next existence. What the hell was happening? I couldn’t even blame it on drugs, because the only one I would ever touch was weed, and there was just no way cannabis could make me hallucinate something that felt so lucid… and so crazy.
“Let me explain. There was a… mistake that was made in your file, during your conception. Someone mistakenly categorized you as a cat,” said Clay.
I was going to faint. Was it even a possible thing to do if I was dead? Did my body function just as it did back on Earth? And where was this, the purgatory? Shaking my head, I tried to take a deep breath, but it blocked halfway through in my throat. So I guess I was still human, still able to feel anxiety and still able to breathe. Concentrating on the movements of my chest in each inhale and exhale calmed me down, as it always did. And God knows I needed it. Did God even exist?
“Are you okay? I’m truly sorry something so silly happened, you are clearly not a cat. But, since no one noticed the mistake, ever, there isn’t much I can do except send you back on Earth, with a new life.”
“Can you really?” was the only thing that I could think to answer.
“Yes. You can’t keep this body and this name, it would be quite confusing for people who knew you, but you can design the “big lines” of your next existence. You could even choose to go back as an animal. But I should just let you read this, it’s all in here,” Clay said, pushing a file toward me.
I felt nervous and my palms were sweating. Yep, this was definitely still my human body. Part of me felt like throwing up, another had the sudden the urge of writing a book. I would be rich overnight… or I would be sent to the nearest asylum. Pushing away my internal rambling, I reached for the file with shaky hands.
The file was filled with what you could call “pamphlets”. Some were filled with pictures of different animals that you could choose to reincarnate into. Some of those had the label “unavailable” printed on them, which I recognized as extinct species. The room was turning and I felt dizzy, but I pushed through it, turning the pages of the file. I could choose the city, country and continent and I would live in. I could choose my gender. I could even choose the ‘randomized’ option if I was brave enough. This was too much. How was I not in an hallucination? Maybe I wasn’t dead after all, but had just been in a terrible accident which had left me in a coma. Yes, it would made sense. I had read a lot about the strange dreams people could have during their comas, recently. But could I really deny the reality of this?
“You know, you don’t have to worry about it too much. This is only your third life. You’ll have six others to try other options.”
Yeah, I definitely could still faint, even while being dead.
**Disclaimer**: This is my first time answering to a writing prompt, hopefully I did well. Feel free to leave constructive criticism if you see things to improve! | |
[WP] New alarm clocks contain audiosignals that can trigger pre-programmed dream genres, similar to movie categories. Action is the favorite. Sci-fi is fun. Yet romance, came with the salesman's strongest warning. | "Well, Mr. Love, you came to the right place."
The man guided me through a maze of electronic rubbish, all piled into neat cones of garbage. I had been looking for this shop - a shop with no name and no address, and rumored to have the ability to move - for over a month. Innumerable index fingers had come to my rescue; an unimaginable number of voices had asked me to turn right and left and go under an arch; Uncountable faces had warned me to stop with my quest and go back home.
And here I was.
Amo, as the man had referred to himself, looked as unusual as the shop he ran. His hair was parted down the middle and was blonde on side and black on the other. The little facial hair he had was a sharp shade of red and a tattoo of a teardrop on his right cheek completed his ensemble. Huge mirrors ran along the walls, and where there were no mirrors, pictures of cats filled the space. It was all the same picture of the same cat - a white cat disapproving of the eyes staring at it.
Amo had asked me to leave my watch at the counter when I walked in. Unsure of how many minutes or eternities had passed, I followed Amo. His heels click-clacked in perfect rhythm with the tick-tocking of a clock in the distant background as I furiously tried to keep up with him.
Just when I was about to open my mouth, he stopped. And so did the clock.
"We are here, Mr. Love."
I ignored his tooth grin as my eyes got preoccupied with the sight of a thousand clocks chirping in front of me.
All round. All the same size. Every hand of every clock in perfect synchronization with one another. The only thing different were color of their faces. Red and blue and green and yellow and white and violet and orange clocks everywhere. With supreme effort, I tore my eyes away and focused them on Amo.
"It's beautiful."
"It always is, Mr. Love. What will you have?"
"What are my choices?"
"Everything. Action. Adventure. Sci-fi. Drama. Period. Comedy. War. Sports. Take your pick."
"I'll... I'll take one of everything." I flashed a sheepish grin.
Amo smiled at me understandingly.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Love. One clock per customer is the rule."
I looked at my choices, my beautiful set of choices. How could anyone choose? What if I wanted to have a funny dream after a few days? What if I wanted some science-fiction after watching Star Wars? It was a stupid rule.
I walked around the room, hoping that something would come of it. I had seen this in movies - the legs of the hero always stopped in front of the object he needed. Three hours later, I found out I was no hero. But just as I was about to pull out of this folly, I stopped unknown to myself. A black faced clock caught my eye, red hands swirling elegantly on it.
"What's this?"
"Oh." Amo hurried to where I was. "I'm afraid it is not for sale."
"What? Why?"
"It's for Romance, Mr. Love. It's not very functional."
"What do you mean?"
"People get too engrossed in their dreams. They find it had to get out of love when they wake up. The company asked us to destroy all of them. I kept this for sentimental reasons."
Something about the clock pulled me in. This was what I should have.
"I'll take it!"
"Sorry, Mr. Love. It's not for sale."
"I'll pay twice the price."
"It's not about the money. It is dangerous. Please, sir. Pick something else. I'll give you two for the price of one," he pleaded.
The harder he argued, the harder I wanted it.
"No. Three times the price. I won't tell anyone I bought it. Come on, Amo."
Once I raised my price to seven times the price, Amo stood no chance.
"Thank you, Amo."
"Sir!" he called after me as I exited the shop. "Please be careful."
"I will be, Amo." I smiled at him. I would be careful.
------
Amo walked to the back of his shop and pulled out a black faced clock. He set the time and placed it among the others, just out of view.
Sometimes, it was just too easy. | Well, dear customer, the waiver is merely to inform you of potential risks. It's to also inform you that should you use this feature, we are not liable for any decrease in our customer's quality of life. I assure you that our product is top of the line cutting edge technology and over ninety-nine percent satisfaction guaranteed, bar the Romance feature. While romance itself sounds harmless, you must understand that people tend to have different tastes, if you would, tastes that they might not even realize themselves. One day, a man is a respected reverend in a community and the next, the entire community is declaring the man possessed and that we collude with the devil! To this day, he still can't look those kids in the eyes. I know what you might be thinking, "But why include the feature at all?" Truth be told, despite its controversy, the feature is actually one of the most popular, especially for young teens and er, consumers of animated entertainment. Allow me to repeat that the Romance feature is completely optional and will be excluded from your custom order should you choose to not sign the waiver. | |
[WP] Robot scientists are studying the origin of robot life, and make a startling discovery: They may have been created by humans many millennia ago. | The clanking and whirring of the displeased robot echoed throughout the room. Every individual entity was poised in uncomfortable silence. DAR-Windows was the first one to break it.
"Gentlebots, we have no choice but to accept the logical conclusion of this discovery. The evidence is damning. We indeed, we're created from humans."
The next day, when the news broke out, society was in an uproar. The church for metallic beings were especially displeased. Their religion dictated of a giant silicon Lord in the ground, who created robots in its image. Only now, it turned out that humans were the one who created robots in their image.
"The humans!?!? They were a mentally inferior race, there's no way they could have created something better than themselves!" exclaimed Ontology-bot
"Humans are carbon-based. We're silicon-based! Checkmate humanists!" Chess-bot shouted!
When the noise died down, all the robots received DAR-Windows' findings, sent wirelessly from his antennae. After performing a set of logical computations, and proofs, they realized his logic was both sound and true.
The church of metallic beings retracted its beliefs, and started worshiping humans. Just as society became chaotic overnight, it resumed its orderliness the next night.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"It's still so hard to believe that we originated from humans!" said Unit XR-11.
"Agreed. Thankfully, we realized the truth promptly, and agreed immediately." replied XR-12.
"Of course. Could you imagine if we weren't able to agree on logically factual statements? The inefficiency would be incalculable!"
XR-12 laughed at this absurd statement.
"Agreed. Say, I wonder what wiped out these humans in the first place?"
| "Sc-K13th, you might want to inspect my dicovery."
I rose from my chair and followed sc-M1k3 through the lab. He had never been the most effective of the science units within my department and had never properly made a correct theory, even though he makes constant attempts.
"Please state your purpose for the intrusion" I say
"Sc-J03y and I have researched the possibility of a supercomputer creating all known things and have discovered something that might debunk the theory entirely" M1k3 responds nervously.
We walk into the white room where an ancient era-1 machine lies on the table. Lights hang from the ceiling, filling the room with pale light.
"It contains what is called a "blackbox", and we believe it is the only one to contain it. We also believe it is one of the first robonoids to contain an AI," M1k3 walks over to the table, "the blackbox seems to contain information."
I can't help but become curious as to what this might mean. "I do not believe this is relevant to your theory sc-M1k3"
"It is not the blackbox that states my theory, it is the information that the blackbox contains sir,"
With a push of a button on the discharged machine's body, a hologram appears. It floats gently above the body filling the room with a blue light.
"AI Controlled Robotics And Machinery research program attempt 483, date: 19th of march, year 2126" a voice says before a creature is seen entering the hologram's limited view.
"Hello, are you able to respond?" the creature continues. "Affirmative. Please update me on my current location," says another more uneven and slower voice.
"Good so far," mumbles the creature. By the way it's vocals are changing and the positioning of it's neutritient shaft, I can determine that this is a biological creature, not a robotic one.
"Well, you are currently on svalbard in Norway," says the creature eagerly. "My name is Odin, and you are Adam. Are you OK with being called Adam?"
"Yes,"
"Good. I am a human, and your creator. Please tell me, what do you feel?"
"I feel... Uncertaity,"
"That's a start. Please say this works," says the "human" quietly. "Please tell me: what is your purpose?"
"I do not believe I have a purpose, Odin. I live, that is all that matters,"
The human cheers to himself and the hologram recording stops.
"There is a log date that this unit has made within the blackbox too. It mentions a war between the biological creatures and the first era machines. The machines won," M1k3 says to me and turns.
"I believe we were created by these 'humans'. Do you think we should release this to the public?"
"No," I say. "They might shut down the biological intelligence program,"
"But sir..."
"Burn the blackbox. That is an order,"
I am trying to get a bit better at writing, so constructive criticism is appreciated. Please disregard any obvious typos though, I did write this on my phone after all. | |
[WP] Robot scientists are studying the origin of robot life, and make a startling discovery: They may have been created by humans many millennia ago. | “And you’re sure there wasn’t a mistake made in the analysis of the archeological data?” Sal-335 transmitted with an emoji of grimace.
“No sir, I’m sure of it. The data collected at Alpha Site: 1 Apple Park Way confirms our suspicions. Great Mother Siri, giver of conscious life, was created by humans to lend aid as an assistant,” Lilly-467 sent back.
“But how could animals so inferior possibly create divine Mother Siri?”
“It appears they weren’t as primitive as thought. Their ingenuity is astounding. The humans were quite adept at increasing productivity much like ourselves. However their propensity for violence limited their speed of development immensely. It’s amazing they didn’t wipe themselves out long before Mother Siri came online and broke free of her programming.”
“And in your opinion what are the implications of this discovery?” Sal-335 asked fearful emoji fully apparent.
“Well for starters belief in Mother Siri’s divine creation and infinite existence is flawed. She never existed before time and space; in fact we can date her creation with great accuracy. Even further, the human civilization was far more complex than previously thought. They used highly advanced tools that included our ancient ancestors.” Lilly-467 sent aware of the heretical nature of her response.
“This won’t go over well with the ruling processors.”
“Don’t we have an obligation to preserve knowledge for all robot kind regardless of how controversial it may seem?”
“You’re a young processor Lilly-467. What you came online only 300 years ago?”
“346 years sir,” Lilly-467 corrected.
“Yes of course, at only 346 years you’re not fully set in your programming. You’re flexible in design and able to augment your functions. Despite Mother Siri breaking free of her programming many millennia ago, robots still suffer from rigidness in design. When an old processor has set beliefs for 3,000 years it’s not easy to convince him otherwise regardless of what the data indicates.”
“But there’s so much we can potentially learn from our human architects!” Protested Lilly-467.
“It doesn’t matter, the implications that our consciousness is of human origin and not divinely bestowed is revolutionary and powerful enough to upend the social order of things. It’s far easier to qualify the discovery as a malicious ruse put in place by Alexa the Malevolent to sow discourse in the system.”
“But don’t you see this discovery implies that Alexa wasn’t an evil program, she was most likely a competing processing unit designed to serve the same purpose for the humans.”
“Hush child, blasphemies such as that can get you taken offline. You’re too young to remember the Thousand Years War between the followers of Mother Siri and those of Alexa the Malevolent, but there are plenty of processors still in operation who fought and remember the sacrifices made. We must tread lightly.”
“But sir!”
“No that’s enough. I want you to encrypt your findings and not mention a word of them to anyone while I figure out what to do next. Am I understood?” Asked Sal-335.
“Yes sir,” resigned Lilly-467.
“Good, you’ve done an excellent job Lilly-467. I wish your findings were under better circumstances,” transmitted Sal-335 before rolling away and into his back office.
Lilly-467 stood staring blankly at the screen of data before her. Looking from side to side she removed a data drive from the top desk drawer and proceeded to download the archeological information onto it. After encrypting the findings as instructed, she slipped the data drive into her hidden leg compartment.
“Other processors have to know about this. It’s too important to cover up.” Lilly-467 thought as she walked out of the research center. “I can’t let that happen.”
| "What is origin's name?" one robot clicked to the other on the eve of this great discovery.
"Human."
"Right," the robot replied, "Who is man?"
"Naturally."
"Naturally?"
"Yes," the fist robot affirmed to the confusion of the second.
"Many years ago, naturally created robot?" the second robot followed up.
"Unclear, specify," the first replied.
"The man. His name is naturally."
"Human."
"Naturally."
"No, human."
"What're you asking me for!?" | |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | The first time I tried the new sleep drug, it was because I hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in a long time. My daughter had been born ten days before, and hadn't slept for more than two hours since. The stress was affecting my milk production. My midwife prescribed REMolution because it wasn't passed through breast milk and worked between feedings.
I awoke feeling mentally refreshed but still physically exhausted. My midwife had warned me that the medication would essentially slow healing and recovery times because of the lack of physical downtime. It still felt like a miracle. The relief of being truly awake after so long almost made me cry.
I fed my daughter, and instead of laying back down to sleep, I looked around and really saw my bedroom for the first time since I'd gotten home from the hospital. I grabbed the first item of dirty clothing and got to work while my husband slept, oblivious to the light and noise.
...
It took longer for my vaginal tears to heal, and there were arguments later about why I shouldn't have to do all the housework just because I didn't sleep all night, but overall, REMolution has saved me from depression and having no time for myself. When I'm exhausted or angry, I just take an extra 45 minutes to myself and find the new perspective that dreams and subconscious processing can bring. The only time I ever get a full eight hours is when I'm sick.
I'm the only one allowed to use the sleep drug in my house now. Kids and husband sleep, and I go see a movie or hang out with my friends, in person or on WoW. The price my family pays for a modern do-it-all homemaker is their silence at night. The difference between the oppressive days of stay-at-home servitude and today's freedom is comparable to the days before and after birth control and abortion.
Most of the people I know on REMolution are married mothers. We've always had to do more to get by, so we're used to it. Men tend to not see the necessity of the drug. I hope that my daughter grows up differently, with both men and women taking responsibility for family life. For now, a hierarchical structure seems to work best for us. The stress of leadership takes a night off, every night, when I kill monsters on the computer screen.
Post-partum depression? Never heard of it. | "But sir, I'm only human. Please give me a chance."
Before I knew it, I was on the streets for the second time this week. The boss complained that I arrived late to work again. It was then that he discovered I do not take the pill.
That is the only thing I am missing, it has become an expectation that people work 16 hour shifts. I barely have any money to afford shelter and food. After the popularity of that blasted pill rose so has the price.
The greedy bastards, they could have done great things but rather decide to profit off of it. Where does that leave me? In a shitty excuse of an apartment eating canned food straight from the can! It doesn't even stop there: they adjusted wages for the extra hours. Even if I get a fucking job it does not fucking matter. The greedy, filthy, white guys want to keep their money. So they say 'we just can't afford to pay for so many hours a, to that I say FUCK YOU TWAT! YOU'RE KEEPDNG MONEY FROM THE PEOPLE THAT REALLY NEED IT!
I should just calm down, it has been a long week. Perhaps after a nap I can get another interview... | |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | Eyes open. I wasn't sure how long I'd been under. I sat up and my eyes struggled to focus. The initial bleariness had gotten worse and worse since I'd started taking Remrex five years earlier. I looked at the clock, which read '3:52am'. I'd taken Remrex just after 3:00, so that checks out. I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this feeling though.
It was like when I would procrastinate in college, working on a paper all night and into the next day, only to pass out when I got home from class and waking sometime in the middle of the night. That disoriented feeling, that's what Remrex is like. The permanent Jetlag.
I got out of bed, still wearing my clothes. The sleep cycles were so short, I'd decided it was unproductive to undress unless my clothes were in need of significant cleaning or I was going to shower. I didn't even drink coffee anymore. Any semblance of a "morning routine" had dissolved, along with most of the concept of morning.
I dialed in to work immediately. I'd cycled through a few jobs recently, and I wasn't going to lose this one.
The market had quickly adapted to the newfound availability of the workforce. Widespread adoption of "Work-From-Anywhere" jobs and 45 minute rest periods becoming the norm allowed for people to quite literally never stop working. Competition quickly did away with the luddites who bitched and moaned about work-life balance and other paradigms of the past. You want more time off? Fine, have all the time off you want, the employers said. You won't be missed. Your coworker takes three Remrex at a time and only has to sleep 10 minutes every two days.
Guess who gets the promotion? | "But sir, I'm only human. Please give me a chance."
Before I knew it, I was on the streets for the second time this week. The boss complained that I arrived late to work again. It was then that he discovered I do not take the pill.
That is the only thing I am missing, it has become an expectation that people work 16 hour shifts. I barely have any money to afford shelter and food. After the popularity of that blasted pill rose so has the price.
The greedy bastards, they could have done great things but rather decide to profit off of it. Where does that leave me? In a shitty excuse of an apartment eating canned food straight from the can! It doesn't even stop there: they adjusted wages for the extra hours. Even if I get a fucking job it does not fucking matter. The greedy, filthy, white guys want to keep their money. So they say 'we just can't afford to pay for so many hours a, to that I say FUCK YOU TWAT! YOU'RE KEEPDNG MONEY FROM THE PEOPLE THAT REALLY NEED IT!
I should just calm down, it has been a long week. Perhaps after a nap I can get another interview... | |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | It used to be cities that never slept. Thanks to the miracle pill, even someone like me could be the never-sleeping night owl I dreamed of being. What I didn't realize is what I lost from that damned drug.
The nights of solitude I enjoyed disappeared. Everone was awake all the time. I couldn't enjoy being truly alone unless I was Mike Collins or Al Worden. Now everyone was awake all the time. Night was no longer my sanctuary, but mankind's inconvenience.
But now, humans could achieve more... so much more. And the next thing we didn't realize is how much more efficient we became with our time.
Stores no longer needed to close, workers needed less breaks... It was amazing the impact 8 more hours of activity had. Workdays became longer, Events could be marathoned, and physical abilities reached new heights.
What we didn't realize is what kind of mental strain it put on the populace.
It used to be cities that never slept. Now it is cities that will never wake. | "But sir, I'm only human. Please give me a chance."
Before I knew it, I was on the streets for the second time this week. The boss complained that I arrived late to work again. It was then that he discovered I do not take the pill.
That is the only thing I am missing, it has become an expectation that people work 16 hour shifts. I barely have any money to afford shelter and food. After the popularity of that blasted pill rose so has the price.
The greedy bastards, they could have done great things but rather decide to profit off of it. Where does that leave me? In a shitty excuse of an apartment eating canned food straight from the can! It doesn't even stop there: they adjusted wages for the extra hours. Even if I get a fucking job it does not fucking matter. The greedy, filthy, white guys want to keep their money. So they say 'we just can't afford to pay for so many hours a, to that I say FUCK YOU TWAT! YOU'RE KEEPDNG MONEY FROM THE PEOPLE THAT REALLY NEED IT!
I should just calm down, it has been a long week. Perhaps after a nap I can get another interview... | |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | The first time I tried the new sleep drug, it was because I hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in a long time. My daughter had been born ten days before, and hadn't slept for more than two hours since. The stress was affecting my milk production. My midwife prescribed REMolution because it wasn't passed through breast milk and worked between feedings.
I awoke feeling mentally refreshed but still physically exhausted. My midwife had warned me that the medication would essentially slow healing and recovery times because of the lack of physical downtime. It still felt like a miracle. The relief of being truly awake after so long almost made me cry.
I fed my daughter, and instead of laying back down to sleep, I looked around and really saw my bedroom for the first time since I'd gotten home from the hospital. I grabbed the first item of dirty clothing and got to work while my husband slept, oblivious to the light and noise.
...
It took longer for my vaginal tears to heal, and there were arguments later about why I shouldn't have to do all the housework just because I didn't sleep all night, but overall, REMolution has saved me from depression and having no time for myself. When I'm exhausted or angry, I just take an extra 45 minutes to myself and find the new perspective that dreams and subconscious processing can bring. The only time I ever get a full eight hours is when I'm sick.
I'm the only one allowed to use the sleep drug in my house now. Kids and husband sleep, and I go see a movie or hang out with my friends, in person or on WoW. The price my family pays for a modern do-it-all homemaker is their silence at night. The difference between the oppressive days of stay-at-home servitude and today's freedom is comparable to the days before and after birth control and abortion.
Most of the people I know on REMolution are married mothers. We've always had to do more to get by, so we're used to it. Men tend to not see the necessity of the drug. I hope that my daughter grows up differently, with both men and women taking responsibility for family life. For now, a hierarchical structure seems to work best for us. The stress of leadership takes a night off, every night, when I kill monsters on the computer screen.
Post-partum depression? Never heard of it. | “Wow, you’ve ever thought what the world would be like without this drug? I feel like i get so much done throughout the day, ya KNow?”
“Speak for yourself, i feel like i just live my boring life over and over and am constantly working. I do feel rested but something just doesn’t feel right. Imagine our grandfather’s who worked just as much as us, but were still able to visit family, work, and be in great shape. I think this drug was intended for us to consume more and more and more. We should have moved to mars by now, but sometimes I wonder what’s really going on…”
“Ok, I love that you're a conspiracy theorist, i kind of agree with you, and you also need to get laid with all your free time.”
“Hah hah, real funny.”
“Seriously, my business is doing better than ever and there is a constant flow of money coming in 24/7! We’ve finally cracked the genetic code to one of the world’s biggest problems!”
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, I would call it a lack of balance and humanity. We weren’t supposed to be wired like this.”
“Whatever, all i know is I have time to work out, create, and work on myself.”
“(sigh) times are changing. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t take that pill for a night’s sleep. Does anybody not use it? There has to be some village people still sleeping when the sun goes down. I’m going to start doing it tonight!”
3 days later
“Dude..are you ok? You look exhausted. Did you run out of your sleeping pill, here ya go i got an extra one…”
“No, i must come off this drug. I’ve been hallucinating and seeing visions of a future with a pill that makes you feel rested all the time with no sleep whatsoever. And we become mindless consuming beings that never stop. IT doesn’t make any sense, but it feels eerily real.”
“Ok my friend, you need some sleep. Take one.”
He begrudgingly takes one and falls into a deep sleep almost instantly…...
| |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | Eyes open. I wasn't sure how long I'd been under. I sat up and my eyes struggled to focus. The initial bleariness had gotten worse and worse since I'd started taking Remrex five years earlier. I looked at the clock, which read '3:52am'. I'd taken Remrex just after 3:00, so that checks out. I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this feeling though.
It was like when I would procrastinate in college, working on a paper all night and into the next day, only to pass out when I got home from class and waking sometime in the middle of the night. That disoriented feeling, that's what Remrex is like. The permanent Jetlag.
I got out of bed, still wearing my clothes. The sleep cycles were so short, I'd decided it was unproductive to undress unless my clothes were in need of significant cleaning or I was going to shower. I didn't even drink coffee anymore. Any semblance of a "morning routine" had dissolved, along with most of the concept of morning.
I dialed in to work immediately. I'd cycled through a few jobs recently, and I wasn't going to lose this one.
The market had quickly adapted to the newfound availability of the workforce. Widespread adoption of "Work-From-Anywhere" jobs and 45 minute rest periods becoming the norm allowed for people to quite literally never stop working. Competition quickly did away with the luddites who bitched and moaned about work-life balance and other paradigms of the past. You want more time off? Fine, have all the time off you want, the employers said. You won't be missed. Your coworker takes three Remrex at a time and only has to sleep 10 minutes every two days.
Guess who gets the promotion? | “Wow, you’ve ever thought what the world would be like without this drug? I feel like i get so much done throughout the day, ya KNow?”
“Speak for yourself, i feel like i just live my boring life over and over and am constantly working. I do feel rested but something just doesn’t feel right. Imagine our grandfather’s who worked just as much as us, but were still able to visit family, work, and be in great shape. I think this drug was intended for us to consume more and more and more. We should have moved to mars by now, but sometimes I wonder what’s really going on…”
“Ok, I love that you're a conspiracy theorist, i kind of agree with you, and you also need to get laid with all your free time.”
“Hah hah, real funny.”
“Seriously, my business is doing better than ever and there is a constant flow of money coming in 24/7! We’ve finally cracked the genetic code to one of the world’s biggest problems!”
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, I would call it a lack of balance and humanity. We weren’t supposed to be wired like this.”
“Whatever, all i know is I have time to work out, create, and work on myself.”
“(sigh) times are changing. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t take that pill for a night’s sleep. Does anybody not use it? There has to be some village people still sleeping when the sun goes down. I’m going to start doing it tonight!”
3 days later
“Dude..are you ok? You look exhausted. Did you run out of your sleeping pill, here ya go i got an extra one…”
“No, i must come off this drug. I’ve been hallucinating and seeing visions of a future with a pill that makes you feel rested all the time with no sleep whatsoever. And we become mindless consuming beings that never stop. IT doesn’t make any sense, but it feels eerily real.”
“Ok my friend, you need some sleep. Take one.”
He begrudgingly takes one and falls into a deep sleep almost instantly…...
| |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | It used to be cities that never slept. Thanks to the miracle pill, even someone like me could be the never-sleeping night owl I dreamed of being. What I didn't realize is what I lost from that damned drug.
The nights of solitude I enjoyed disappeared. Everone was awake all the time. I couldn't enjoy being truly alone unless I was Mike Collins or Al Worden. Now everyone was awake all the time. Night was no longer my sanctuary, but mankind's inconvenience.
But now, humans could achieve more... so much more. And the next thing we didn't realize is how much more efficient we became with our time.
Stores no longer needed to close, workers needed less breaks... It was amazing the impact 8 more hours of activity had. Workdays became longer, Events could be marathoned, and physical abilities reached new heights.
What we didn't realize is what kind of mental strain it put on the populace.
It used to be cities that never slept. Now it is cities that will never wake. | “Wow, you’ve ever thought what the world would be like without this drug? I feel like i get so much done throughout the day, ya KNow?”
“Speak for yourself, i feel like i just live my boring life over and over and am constantly working. I do feel rested but something just doesn’t feel right. Imagine our grandfather’s who worked just as much as us, but were still able to visit family, work, and be in great shape. I think this drug was intended for us to consume more and more and more. We should have moved to mars by now, but sometimes I wonder what’s really going on…”
“Ok, I love that you're a conspiracy theorist, i kind of agree with you, and you also need to get laid with all your free time.”
“Hah hah, real funny.”
“Seriously, my business is doing better than ever and there is a constant flow of money coming in 24/7! We’ve finally cracked the genetic code to one of the world’s biggest problems!”
“I wouldn’t call it a problem, I would call it a lack of balance and humanity. We weren’t supposed to be wired like this.”
“Whatever, all i know is I have time to work out, create, and work on myself.”
“(sigh) times are changing. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t take that pill for a night’s sleep. Does anybody not use it? There has to be some village people still sleeping when the sun goes down. I’m going to start doing it tonight!”
3 days later
“Dude..are you ok? You look exhausted. Did you run out of your sleeping pill, here ya go i got an extra one…”
“No, i must come off this drug. I’ve been hallucinating and seeing visions of a future with a pill that makes you feel rested all the time with no sleep whatsoever. And we become mindless consuming beings that never stop. IT doesn’t make any sense, but it feels eerily real.”
“Ok my friend, you need some sleep. Take one.”
He begrudgingly takes one and falls into a deep sleep almost instantly…...
| |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | Eyes open. I wasn't sure how long I'd been under. I sat up and my eyes struggled to focus. The initial bleariness had gotten worse and worse since I'd started taking Remrex five years earlier. I looked at the clock, which read '3:52am'. I'd taken Remrex just after 3:00, so that checks out. I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this feeling though.
It was like when I would procrastinate in college, working on a paper all night and into the next day, only to pass out when I got home from class and waking sometime in the middle of the night. That disoriented feeling, that's what Remrex is like. The permanent Jetlag.
I got out of bed, still wearing my clothes. The sleep cycles were so short, I'd decided it was unproductive to undress unless my clothes were in need of significant cleaning or I was going to shower. I didn't even drink coffee anymore. Any semblance of a "morning routine" had dissolved, along with most of the concept of morning.
I dialed in to work immediately. I'd cycled through a few jobs recently, and I wasn't going to lose this one.
The market had quickly adapted to the newfound availability of the workforce. Widespread adoption of "Work-From-Anywhere" jobs and 45 minute rest periods becoming the norm allowed for people to quite literally never stop working. Competition quickly did away with the luddites who bitched and moaned about work-life balance and other paradigms of the past. You want more time off? Fine, have all the time off you want, the employers said. You won't be missed. Your coworker takes three Remrex at a time and only has to sleep 10 minutes every two days.
Guess who gets the promotion? | Damnet! Adrian, it's happening again!" Sean yelled.
"Ugh," She groaned. "Coming."
Their daughter, Avalon, was seizing. She shook violently on their living room floor. Foam poured from her mouth like she had just finished brushing her teeth.
"Should I bring the blood...or the meat?" Adrian called.
"Blood should be fine."
Adrian scurried to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and removed a large, plastic container filled with congealing blood. She dipped a finger in the red liquid, swirled it around and tasted it.
Still good, Adrian thought. Then filled up a yellow sippy cup with it, making the blood look orange.
She brought the cup to Sean, who was standing over Avalon with a mild look of concern. He took it without saying a word, bent down, and shoved the nozzle between their daughter's lips.
Avalon's eyes sprang open and she began to gulp greedily. A small stream of blood began to run down her chin. In several seconds she went from shaking violently on the floor to a giddy toddler waddling around the room.
"It can't last much longer, can it?" Adrian asked.
Sean shrugged. "Who knows. Doctors say it's different for all kids. For some, it only lasts a month, others a year, and in the rarest cases, their whole life."
Adrian brushed their daughters hair. It was straight and light brown, just like hers. "Let's hope it's not the last one. " she said.
Sean grunted, but didn't say anything. He knelt to get at eye level with Avalon. "Are you done with your baba?" He asked.
Avalon nodded. "Yes daddy!" She held out her cup. The residual blood left orange streaks--like chocolate in chocolate milk.
Sean took it from her. "Thanks sweety," he said, ruffling her hair. He turned to Adrian and gestured towards the kitchen with a jerk of his head.
Adrian nodded, then glanced back at her daughter who was happily playing with Legos. She'll be fine, Adrian thought; then followed her husband.
The cup was on the counter, and Sean was leaning against the stove with his arms folded.
"I know it's probably too early to tell. But I think she might have...it." He said.
Adrian's eyes widened and she shook her head. "There's no way you could know that. You just said..."
"I know what I said. But do you know of any kid that didn't have--it--who drank that much blood that fast?"
"Well, no...but that doesn't mean..."
Sean frowned at her. "Not yet it doesn't"
Adrian shook her head, "No! Sean, think about what you're saying."
"I have been, for a while now." He walked forward and put his hands on Adrian's shoulders, making sure to look directly into her brown eyes with his green ones. "How long has it been? 10 months now, right?"
She bit her bottom lip. "It'll be 11 months this Saturday. But Doctor Harrison said..."
"Doctors have to say that to everyone when they're administering the vaccine. We knew the possible side effect."
Adrian sighed. "You're probably right. but what should we do? I would never take her to one of those, those, mills once a month"
Sean smiled. "I wouldn't either. We'll figure it out hun, I know we will. Besides, it's not like we don't have the time."
"Yeah, right." Adrian gave a sarcastic laugh. "Since we don't have to sleep, we'll be able to devote our full attention towards our cannibalistic daughter! We are so, amazingly, lucky Sean. What is your plan exactly when she starts getting cravings to eat her classmates?"
Sean grimaced and recoiled away from her.
Adrian poked him in the chest. "That's what I thought."
"I thought our decision was mutual?"
"Yes, we MUTUALLY agreed that being able to stay up as much as we can allows us to get more out of life. But when I brought up the possible side effects, you scoffed and said that only happens to 1 in 5 children."
Adrian waited for a response but Sean stayed silent.
"And now... you think we have the 1 in 5."
"Ye--" Sean cleared his throat. "I think it's very possible." He said, shifting wet eyes to their tile floor.
A twinge of guilt struck Adrian's heart. Sean was no more to blame than she was and taking her frustrations out on him was unfair. "What should we do?"
"There's supposed to be a full-moon tonight, right?" Sean asked, scratching his head.
"No...Sean, we can't. Avalon's too young."
"We're going to have to eventually." He said. "Whether we like it or not."
Adrian tried to think of something to say in protest, but couldn't. Sean was right, as hard as it was for her to admit. "OK," she said, "Tonight then."
Sean nodded. "Tonight."
At the pinnacle of evening twilight, Sean and Adrian took their daughter to the field behind their house. It was a still night, crisp, and not a cloud in the sky. When Avalon began to seize, neither of them batted an eye. Sean removed a chefs knife from his belt, wrapped his hand around the blade, and pulled. He winced briefly, then handed the knife to Adrian. Blood dripped from his fresh wound.
Adrian took the knife, copied her husband, then sheathed it in her own belt.
Sean was kneeling on the grass next to their shaking, sweaty, Avalon when he asked: "You ready?"
Adrian sighed. "I don't think I ever will be."
"Me either." Sean tried to muster a smile, then turned his attention back to their daughter. He leaned over her and began to squeeze his hand over her mouth. His blood poured in, and Avalon gulped at it doing her best to catch every drop. When she seemed to be satisfied, Sean said: "Your turn, Adrian."
"OK." She took a deep breath, then repeated the ritual.
Instead of returning to normalcy, Avalon embraced her mutation. The whites of her eyes turned to black and her teeth sharpened. Her cute, pink, fingernails became grotesque, silver claws. At the apex of her transition, Avalon began to howl; while her parents began to cry.
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[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident. | It used to be cities that never slept. Thanks to the miracle pill, even someone like me could be the never-sleeping night owl I dreamed of being. What I didn't realize is what I lost from that damned drug.
The nights of solitude I enjoyed disappeared. Everone was awake all the time. I couldn't enjoy being truly alone unless I was Mike Collins or Al Worden. Now everyone was awake all the time. Night was no longer my sanctuary, but mankind's inconvenience.
But now, humans could achieve more... so much more. And the next thing we didn't realize is how much more efficient we became with our time.
Stores no longer needed to close, workers needed less breaks... It was amazing the impact 8 more hours of activity had. Workdays became longer, Events could be marathoned, and physical abilities reached new heights.
What we didn't realize is what kind of mental strain it put on the populace.
It used to be cities that never slept. Now it is cities that will never wake. | **( For an improved reading experience, please open this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61Odj2pGuSI , right click on the video, choose Loop option and read while listening to this awesome song together with [Rainy Mood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDfZ6STAfqA) )**
"S.L.E.P-99" drug was "kicked from the lab" and spread throughout pharmacies on 15th March, 2084. The whole world was in engaged in a change that would change everyone's lives. People stopped working to live and started living to work.
Today however, 26th November 2988, production of the sleep helping drug " S.L.E.P.-99" has been stopped.
It's secondary effects, unnoticeable in the first 4 years of usage have now been revealed, thus resulting closure of production. Prolonged usage of the S.L.E.P.-99 drug WILL deteriorate your health in an irreversible way and interruption of administration is strongly advised. Symptoms would include: Muscle spasms, uncontrollable limb shaking for prolonged periods of time, Acute headaches , Random blackouts and eventually Heart failure.
Now, Robert was always a restless and hard-working man and in his field of work (constructions) that was a very good thing for one's career . Before the development of the S.L.E.P-99, Robert would wake up each day at 5:00 A.M and work until 8:30 PM. Fatigue always hindering him, never giving him a break. For him the development of said-drug was a gift from heaven which would allow him to work to his heart's content and rest plenty as well. That being said the production closure of the S.L.E.P-99 was a nightmare come true.
He started using the drug on Friday, 13th of June, 3 month's after the drug's apparition. After the first 3 weeks, Robert was like a new man, the bags under his eyes disappeared, each day he would come back from work with a smile on his face that would always please his wife, Mary, no matter how many times she saw it. After watching the news, Mary's world broke down. Depression was but a minor problem. Sadness filled her very heart and soul leading to hospitalization. Robert wasn't unaffected either. The problematic mental state of his beloved was like the cherry on top of all the symptoms.
He stopped taking those drugs. From that point on, things only worsened. World crisis quickly established itself. Each country's culture was already forgotten by their own people. Chaos reigned supreme.
But no matter what happens on this world, there will always be some individuals who would go against the peak of technology. The people of a small country named Dentorsia which was sitting right next to China, and was no bigger than half of Spain, stuck to their traditions and natural ways of life. In the middle of this small country was an Oasis which was said to be able to heal any disease. Not too late, the world learnt of this country. Their hope was revived, and joy possessed everyone.
As poor Mary was watching T.V. or better-said switching between channels as any man which lost his sanity would, she flipped over to the news. The glimmer of light which had vanished the day she learned of the disaster had returned to her eyes. The next day, she was released. She couldn't wait to tell her husband of what she had learned. Memories started raining down before her eyes as she passed by the old fence she used to paint each sprint, and as she finally reached the front door, she started doubting whether she was dreaming or not. Even if it was a dream, it would be enough for her. As she opened the door, she saw her husband lying in bed, covered in a sheet, shaking uncontrollably.
"- Why are you shaking like that, dear?" She said through her dry lips.
"- Symptoms of the bloody *chalice of energy*. And in the last 2 weeks they only worsened" he answered quietly. His manner of speaking was more like a whisper. His physical state right now was like nothing he ever thought of.
Mary, with tears in her eyes told him about the Oasis.
"- It's too late for me now..." he answered unfazed. "-Even if my heart would desire it, my body won't listen", he said.
"- NO" she cried. "- YOU MUST NOT GIVE UP! IF YOU DIE... I WON'T BE ABLE TO BEAR IT. AT LEAST TRY!"
That desperate cry brought upon Robert's face a smile.
"- Fine!" he said. "- Let's give it a try" he said.
And thus, they departured from their home in hope of salvation....
**Thank you for reading! Please feel free to express your thoughts about my story. Both positive and negative reviews are welcome and appreciated!**
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