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[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | -Data log 43 cycles from contact-
We failed. Sentient life comes in two varieties, unintelligent muscle and the fragile mind. This fact we believed true for neigh a millennia, yet we found an exception, and in our hubris we burned that exception. We started this war, plunged their world into chaos, and they made us pay.
I was a part of the reconnaissance fleet tasked with obtaining a sample of the population. The population of the dominant species was low, a mere 7 billion, but this seemed a result of their size to us. This planet was home to a variety of life with aquatic species the size of a small orbital transport! We became hasty.
We only ran the initial lifeform scan before we began collecting samples. Not one of us stopped to consider thar the light we saw in the dark of the planet was artificial before sending the drones. We didn't expect them to resist. This was all routine work for us after all. We lost half the collection drones sent towards large human settlements, and only retrieved an extremely small sample of five thousand. We couldn't have killed more than 50 million that day, but for them that number means so much more than for us. The five thousand we captured turned violent on the trip back, and we were forced to exterminate them.
When we returned we deemed the species violent, and decided upon an extinction protocol. This was nothing new to us, this happened at a regular basis. We took a warship and a few escorts to conduct a species extermination before harvesting the organic resources. Our species moves in space at a constant speed so that we match our life cycles with those around us. While the whole process took no more than a quarter cycle, the effects of time dilation let 15 cycles pass for the citizens of the earth, or 60 of their years, and in that time they grew.
They took our technology, and they made it their own. Their creativity will never cease to amaze me. They created large metal effigies in their own likeness, piloted by one of their own. These machines could transform and combine, and were capable of deep space flight. We, a species who had never known true war, were utterly outmatched.
As soon as our fleet arrived, we were decimated. My ship was the lone vessel to escape. We carried the message that these human savages were intelligent and hell bent on our destruction. Blinded by our hubris still, our leaders deemed the species protected by an unknown intellegent lifeform, and sought a militant solution, but the humans were smarter than we ever could have imagined. They had traced us back to our fleet, discovered how we move at perpetual sub-light to keep our time in sync, and set about 'liberating' all lifeforms controlled by us.
We had the numbers advantage, but a single skilled pilot and his mech could defeat an entire fleet of our small fighters. We had to build bigger, but we couldn't. We gave them time while robbing us of our own and that cost us dearly. Their tactics far surpassed our own. Our bright fleet's full force dive, the maneuver that has always worked failed. We had the number advantage. We shouldn't have lost, but their 'guerilla' tactics decimated our formations.
Yet now we sit on the brink of peace. The humans have little taste for further revenge, yet they demand us release all subservient races and educate them as if they were our intellectual equal. The absurdity in this demand would be scoffed at, if it weren't for how the humans came to this proposal with members of 'liberated' races. Mayhap the old doctrine was wrong. Perhaps the strength of the body has nothing to do with the intelligence of the species. If anything humanity has proven to be both a giant with fearsome strength, and a cunning genius with an intellect thar likely surpasses our own.
Some of us have even gone as far as to call the humans deities, but for me, having seen them at their worst and best throughout this war... they were just a bigger fish in this pond they call the Milky Way.
- Seargent ********* VA-Day -
It's over. The war we've fought over 100 years ended today. The damn space gerbils surrendered. Some of the things these little critters make are still beyond me, but we beat em. My experimental type-0X delta frame took down more of those things than I can count, it's hard to believe this is the same frame my father piloted before me after the retrofit they gave it.
I want to hate these gerbils, I really do, they killed my dad in this war, and they killed millions to start it, but I can't do that anymore. They're a weak race, smart, but not that smart. They just developed first, and we were the first race they met that was far enough along to match em.
Now I'm just glad all this shits over. I'll miss being a pilot, but peace is for the best. I just hope we don't make the same mistake the space rats did.
-------------
This is my first time writing, well, anything. I just saw this prompt in my feed at 6am and thought it'd be fun to turn it into a mecha story, but I kinda didn't do that and wound up with this instead. | This story takes place in the future when humans have achieved long range spaceflight, have colonised our solar system as much as possible, have started colonising life supporting planets without intelligent life and setting up outposts on planets with intelligent life to aid in trade and safety. The story is written from the viewpoint of General Haj-kün of the alien race Kodjang.
Now for the story:
After we found humans as they call themselves in a dual star system on the 7 planet from the stars we saw them working the land and digging into to planet while being watched by exoskeletal beings commandeered by beings they called giants, by what we saw we assumed humans were brutes. We were in need of capable workers so we decided to capture them. We did what we usually do, go on the planet, find their boss and tell them they will be slaved and protected, if they refuse we kill some of them. So we went to get these humans and after they refused and we killed ONLY ONE HUMAN they shot explosive weaponry at us. We were forced to kill their guardians and that was sad because we had never seen any of these 3 species before and when we went to examine the corpses we found intact humans inside. We then made the logical assumption that humans are transformers and that was good because they are the most capable workers ever.
Then we detected a signal leaving the planet and a few octotimes after They arrived. They commanded us to lower our weapons and prepare for capture. We laughed at them and that was the moment we messed up. The things that landed were more of the exoskeletal beings and more titans. We managed to translate their coms and the things that landed were being referred to as mech suits and giants. We got beaten. I lost one of my arms and a few external tongues, lucky considering what happened to others.
Me and my surviving crew retreated to our closest secure outposts. They tailed us there, they told that we better run or they are gonna make a example of us. We apologized and asked for peace. They refused and told us they weren't gonna let us live anyways and they started dropping the pods. We thought we were getting captured but then the titans started emerging from the pods, they were 3 times bigger that the giants who were 2 times taller than the regular humans who were roughly as tall but a lot meatier than us. I got into my escape pod and left to get reinforcements.
Our HQ had gotten the war declaration before I got there and when I told them of humans they got scared. They told me that HUMANS had declared war on us not some mysterious stronger species. The brutes had kicked the asses of tinkerers with their own equipment that they made. I also got the info that the mechs, giants and titans are exoskeletal armor and weapons suits for humans.
I started a war against the most capable race in the universe that I thought were brutes guarded by bigger brutes commanded by tinkerers remotely. That entire planet was inhabited by HUMANS. That wasn't even their home world. | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | -Data log 43 cycles from contact-
We failed. Sentient life comes in two varieties, unintelligent muscle and the fragile mind. This fact we believed true for neigh a millennia, yet we found an exception, and in our hubris we burned that exception. We started this war, plunged their world into chaos, and they made us pay.
I was a part of the reconnaissance fleet tasked with obtaining a sample of the population. The population of the dominant species was low, a mere 7 billion, but this seemed a result of their size to us. This planet was home to a variety of life with aquatic species the size of a small orbital transport! We became hasty.
We only ran the initial lifeform scan before we began collecting samples. Not one of us stopped to consider thar the light we saw in the dark of the planet was artificial before sending the drones. We didn't expect them to resist. This was all routine work for us after all. We lost half the collection drones sent towards large human settlements, and only retrieved an extremely small sample of five thousand. We couldn't have killed more than 50 million that day, but for them that number means so much more than for us. The five thousand we captured turned violent on the trip back, and we were forced to exterminate them.
When we returned we deemed the species violent, and decided upon an extinction protocol. This was nothing new to us, this happened at a regular basis. We took a warship and a few escorts to conduct a species extermination before harvesting the organic resources. Our species moves in space at a constant speed so that we match our life cycles with those around us. While the whole process took no more than a quarter cycle, the effects of time dilation let 15 cycles pass for the citizens of the earth, or 60 of their years, and in that time they grew.
They took our technology, and they made it their own. Their creativity will never cease to amaze me. They created large metal effigies in their own likeness, piloted by one of their own. These machines could transform and combine, and were capable of deep space flight. We, a species who had never known true war, were utterly outmatched.
As soon as our fleet arrived, we were decimated. My ship was the lone vessel to escape. We carried the message that these human savages were intelligent and hell bent on our destruction. Blinded by our hubris still, our leaders deemed the species protected by an unknown intellegent lifeform, and sought a militant solution, but the humans were smarter than we ever could have imagined. They had traced us back to our fleet, discovered how we move at perpetual sub-light to keep our time in sync, and set about 'liberating' all lifeforms controlled by us.
We had the numbers advantage, but a single skilled pilot and his mech could defeat an entire fleet of our small fighters. We had to build bigger, but we couldn't. We gave them time while robbing us of our own and that cost us dearly. Their tactics far surpassed our own. Our bright fleet's full force dive, the maneuver that has always worked failed. We had the number advantage. We shouldn't have lost, but their 'guerilla' tactics decimated our formations.
Yet now we sit on the brink of peace. The humans have little taste for further revenge, yet they demand us release all subservient races and educate them as if they were our intellectual equal. The absurdity in this demand would be scoffed at, if it weren't for how the humans came to this proposal with members of 'liberated' races. Mayhap the old doctrine was wrong. Perhaps the strength of the body has nothing to do with the intelligence of the species. If anything humanity has proven to be both a giant with fearsome strength, and a cunning genius with an intellect thar likely surpasses our own.
Some of us have even gone as far as to call the humans deities, but for me, having seen them at their worst and best throughout this war... they were just a bigger fish in this pond they call the Milky Way.
- Seargent ********* VA-Day -
It's over. The war we've fought over 100 years ended today. The damn space gerbils surrendered. Some of the things these little critters make are still beyond me, but we beat em. My experimental type-0X delta frame took down more of those things than I can count, it's hard to believe this is the same frame my father piloted before me after the retrofit they gave it.
I want to hate these gerbils, I really do, they killed my dad in this war, and they killed millions to start it, but I can't do that anymore. They're a weak race, smart, but not that smart. They just developed first, and we were the first race they met that was far enough along to match em.
Now I'm just glad all this shits over. I'll miss being a pilot, but peace is for the best. I just hope we don't make the same mistake the space rats did.
-------------
This is my first time writing, well, anything. I just saw this prompt in my feed at 6am and thought it'd be fun to turn it into a mecha story, but I kinda didn't do that and wound up with this instead. | A burly man trudged through the poorly lit alley, his figure bathed in shadow and smoke. Pulling a data pad from his coat, he holds it up to a door, comically too small for his imposing figure to enter. Only for the door to change into a vortex and for him to enter and be consumed by velvety smoke.
Captain Reed was well aware of the aliens tailing him. His recent activities have required them to take a larger interest in *acquiring* him. That’s what they call it, when they grab a human and stuff them into one of those pods.
If you’re wondering, Earth has fallen. At least, most of it. The collective governments too busy bickering with each other instead of engaging the immediate threat, the alien species which was hellbent on enslaving the human race. They’d have succeeded, if not for what was going to happen tonight.
*BANG BANG BANG!* Three shots rang out in the darkness, three slim figures dropped to the street, purple liquid leaking out of the fresh, smoking holes just forcibly punched into them. A lone figure steps out from behind a dumpster.
“That’s another one you owe me, Reed.” A voice echoed. The figure stepped into the light, revealing a woman with an ocular implant glowing a brilliant green hue, clutching a sniper rifle with a scarlet hot barrel exuding smoke twirling around her figure like a cape.
“Great shooting, Alma, this ends tonight.” Captain Reed stepped back onto the street, his smoke camouflage disengaged, revealing the face of a man who’d given *too* much. A steel jaw, wires connecting his mechanical arm to his spinal cord, an ocular implant glowing red, a black carapace running from his neck to his feet. He was more machine than man, but tonight, tonight would be the genesis of freedom.
Tonight, Reed would forcibly rip the alien hold on earth with his own, nonhuman hands.
| |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | Personal log of Sergeant Astreaus, United Earth Space command:
I still can't believe that worked. My captain once told me, in the military you learn to play dumb in just the right way. Well "playing dumb" has worked for our civilisation very well, since the invaders seem to buy it no questions asked. But thus far, the war has been going better than it should have. Especially since we are fighting with one hand behind our backs to limit the destruction to our planet. We started to suspect they were thinking us not very smart by employing obvious baits, that they still went for them. They even went for the they-can't-think-we're-that-stupid type of bait high command started to lay out soon after that. Then the negotiation started, with Earth seeming to offer a "surrender" whose entire purpose was to get our people aboard their flagship. As I sneaked into the "engine" room and set the charges, I still don't understand how half the stuff in here works. But I don't have to, the people who do understand it told me where I need to plant my little surprise for maximum effect. The fireworks will be glorious. | A burly man trudged through the poorly lit alley, his figure bathed in shadow and smoke. Pulling a data pad from his coat, he holds it up to a door, comically too small for his imposing figure to enter. Only for the door to change into a vortex and for him to enter and be consumed by velvety smoke.
Captain Reed was well aware of the aliens tailing him. His recent activities have required them to take a larger interest in *acquiring* him. That’s what they call it, when they grab a human and stuff them into one of those pods.
If you’re wondering, Earth has fallen. At least, most of it. The collective governments too busy bickering with each other instead of engaging the immediate threat, the alien species which was hellbent on enslaving the human race. They’d have succeeded, if not for what was going to happen tonight.
*BANG BANG BANG!* Three shots rang out in the darkness, three slim figures dropped to the street, purple liquid leaking out of the fresh, smoking holes just forcibly punched into them. A lone figure steps out from behind a dumpster.
“That’s another one you owe me, Reed.” A voice echoed. The figure stepped into the light, revealing a woman with an ocular implant glowing a brilliant green hue, clutching a sniper rifle with a scarlet hot barrel exuding smoke twirling around her figure like a cape.
“Great shooting, Alma, this ends tonight.” Captain Reed stepped back onto the street, his smoke camouflage disengaged, revealing the face of a man who’d given *too* much. A steel jaw, wires connecting his mechanical arm to his spinal cord, an ocular implant glowing red, a black carapace running from his neck to his feet. He was more machine than man, but tonight, tonight would be the genesis of freedom.
Tonight, Reed would forcibly rip the alien hold on earth with his own, nonhuman hands.
| |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | **Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #526**
We encountered a new species, one far on the other end of the galaxy from our homeworld, humans they're called. Such a simple species from what we've seen, when watching them last week we saw that they do labor and build, but they have yet to achieve space travel and there are signs that they have been on this planet for several millennium, with this the council back at home determined them a brute species and that since our current slave species is almost extinct that we immediately begin our enslavement process which should only take a few weeks, tomorrow we will determine their numbers to figure what approach we should take.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #529**
It's wonderful! There is so many of these humans that we can use them for decades without worry of running out anytime soon, our calculations put the population at around seven billion, more then any other species we have ever encountered since we achieved intergalactic travel, and their physical ability is so much more than we could have even imagined, they're easily the strongest species since the Yowlkan were discovered a millennium ago. And they can move so fast that once we have them under our control we should be able to double our construction efforts. We will begin abductions next week to do further tests on their abilities and what limits we can push their genetics to.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #534**
Today we found out some interesting things about these humans, they have a diversity of unprecedented levels, with the smallest adult we abducted being shorter than me, but the tallest one we abducted was well above my height, and their skin tones differ wildly as well. But what I found most interesting was how they reacted different to the same tests, usually test subjects have some slightly different reactions due to differing variables, but these humans they acted differently to different pressures, the smaller ones had their bones break much easier but their reactions differed, from yelling in pure agony to showing pure rage and attempting to lash out, the larger ones took a little longer to suffer damage but their reactions differed greatly as well. One of them even managed to break their containment for a second before we terminated it. I have never seen a species with such differences in how they look and react to our tests.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #546**
We translated their language and updated our translators and began questioning some of the newer subjects we brought in since we wiped out the old ones. Their diversity seems to also be their downfall somewhat, they differ so much that they have a hard time agreeing with each other, and have even led to wars with each other, they persecute each other for such simple things that I have a hard time believing they made it this far without wiping themselves out. There are groups that hate and demean their female gender since apparently they're seen as the weaker gender and that throughout their history they even had them underneath males, and only recently was homosexual behavior allowed as before they apparently treated it as a mental illness and at some point said that "god" declared it was a sin. How can a species that has achieved some civilization still believe in such a concept as god?
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #549**
I feel we have learned enough about humans, I told the council that tomorrow I will start the subjugation of them, we'll have to be somewhat cautious, we captured one that we believe is what peak human physical condition and we had a hard time containing it and it even managed to hurt one of our security personal rather easily, breaking his arm in multiple places.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #551**
We underestimated them, when faced with the unknown they had what looked like an army ready to take us, they didn't attack on sight and attempted to communicate, but we thought if we fired a warning shot they would submit. We were wrong, within seconds after the first shot they opened fire, tearing our subjugation force to pieces, even with our more advance technology they seemed to have a surprising gasp of tactics, we sent a signal for actual military, they should be here in three days. Until then, we wait.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #561**
They reverse engineered our technology, it was crude but they did it, it wasn't even a fight when the military finally landed, it was a slaughter, their ruthlessness, their brutality, their rage against us, they tore through our ships like they were toys. It was a complete loss, over three quarters of our forces sent down were wiped out, the council ordered us to quarantine the planet and get ready for orbital bombardment. They were such a promising species, but they're to much of an unpredictable variable that we unfortunately have to bomb them into submission.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #585**
The politicians screwed us! With all the red tape that comes with an orbital bombardment the galactic council couldn't come to an agreement. The humans, the humans finished reverse engineering our equipment from when they slaughtered us in battle, they listened in onto our communications and made galactic travel their priority, and now, four months after we were ordered to quarantine them, they built ships, ships meant purely for war, and their animosity from when they hacked out systems to see what we did to them, they won't show any mercy, I'm ordering the ships to retreat, we need to make a plan of attack, our ships aren't meant for space warfare.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #608**
They have taken Yetinus IV, that's a third of our planets they have taken from our grasp, they freed any subjugated species and gave them the choice of helping, and all the ones they have freed have taken arms against us, on our farms, our breeding facilities, and our cities slaves are starting to rise against us. I feel the end is near..
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #701**
It's over, their armada will be entering our system in the next few days, the galactic council has abandoned us and our council can't rally us, not that it would matter, I have accepted my fate, whether it is enslavement or death, I have come to terms with it.
**Captain Yoal'so Final Entry**
I have learned, what we did to all those species we found that we thought were simply brutes was wrong, we assumed that no matter what every species fell into one of the two categories, but that is not the case, as of yesterday our government has fallen, humans are in the streets, the holograms show that they are not slaughtering as I expected but those they find that were involved in trying to subjugate them are being taken away, it is only a few hours until they take me away, I will not fight, I brought this on myself. I pray that God may have mercy on my soul.
​ | A burly man trudged through the poorly lit alley, his figure bathed in shadow and smoke. Pulling a data pad from his coat, he holds it up to a door, comically too small for his imposing figure to enter. Only for the door to change into a vortex and for him to enter and be consumed by velvety smoke.
Captain Reed was well aware of the aliens tailing him. His recent activities have required them to take a larger interest in *acquiring* him. That’s what they call it, when they grab a human and stuff them into one of those pods.
If you’re wondering, Earth has fallen. At least, most of it. The collective governments too busy bickering with each other instead of engaging the immediate threat, the alien species which was hellbent on enslaving the human race. They’d have succeeded, if not for what was going to happen tonight.
*BANG BANG BANG!* Three shots rang out in the darkness, three slim figures dropped to the street, purple liquid leaking out of the fresh, smoking holes just forcibly punched into them. A lone figure steps out from behind a dumpster.
“That’s another one you owe me, Reed.” A voice echoed. The figure stepped into the light, revealing a woman with an ocular implant glowing a brilliant green hue, clutching a sniper rifle with a scarlet hot barrel exuding smoke twirling around her figure like a cape.
“Great shooting, Alma, this ends tonight.” Captain Reed stepped back onto the street, his smoke camouflage disengaged, revealing the face of a man who’d given *too* much. A steel jaw, wires connecting his mechanical arm to his spinal cord, an ocular implant glowing red, a black carapace running from his neck to his feet. He was more machine than man, but tonight, tonight would be the genesis of freedom.
Tonight, Reed would forcibly rip the alien hold on earth with his own, nonhuman hands.
| |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | -Data log 43 cycles from contact-
We failed. Sentient life comes in two varieties, unintelligent muscle and the fragile mind. This fact we believed true for neigh a millennia, yet we found an exception, and in our hubris we burned that exception. We started this war, plunged their world into chaos, and they made us pay.
I was a part of the reconnaissance fleet tasked with obtaining a sample of the population. The population of the dominant species was low, a mere 7 billion, but this seemed a result of their size to us. This planet was home to a variety of life with aquatic species the size of a small orbital transport! We became hasty.
We only ran the initial lifeform scan before we began collecting samples. Not one of us stopped to consider thar the light we saw in the dark of the planet was artificial before sending the drones. We didn't expect them to resist. This was all routine work for us after all. We lost half the collection drones sent towards large human settlements, and only retrieved an extremely small sample of five thousand. We couldn't have killed more than 50 million that day, but for them that number means so much more than for us. The five thousand we captured turned violent on the trip back, and we were forced to exterminate them.
When we returned we deemed the species violent, and decided upon an extinction protocol. This was nothing new to us, this happened at a regular basis. We took a warship and a few escorts to conduct a species extermination before harvesting the organic resources. Our species moves in space at a constant speed so that we match our life cycles with those around us. While the whole process took no more than a quarter cycle, the effects of time dilation let 15 cycles pass for the citizens of the earth, or 60 of their years, and in that time they grew.
They took our technology, and they made it their own. Their creativity will never cease to amaze me. They created large metal effigies in their own likeness, piloted by one of their own. These machines could transform and combine, and were capable of deep space flight. We, a species who had never known true war, were utterly outmatched.
As soon as our fleet arrived, we were decimated. My ship was the lone vessel to escape. We carried the message that these human savages were intelligent and hell bent on our destruction. Blinded by our hubris still, our leaders deemed the species protected by an unknown intellegent lifeform, and sought a militant solution, but the humans were smarter than we ever could have imagined. They had traced us back to our fleet, discovered how we move at perpetual sub-light to keep our time in sync, and set about 'liberating' all lifeforms controlled by us.
We had the numbers advantage, but a single skilled pilot and his mech could defeat an entire fleet of our small fighters. We had to build bigger, but we couldn't. We gave them time while robbing us of our own and that cost us dearly. Their tactics far surpassed our own. Our bright fleet's full force dive, the maneuver that has always worked failed. We had the number advantage. We shouldn't have lost, but their 'guerilla' tactics decimated our formations.
Yet now we sit on the brink of peace. The humans have little taste for further revenge, yet they demand us release all subservient races and educate them as if they were our intellectual equal. The absurdity in this demand would be scoffed at, if it weren't for how the humans came to this proposal with members of 'liberated' races. Mayhap the old doctrine was wrong. Perhaps the strength of the body has nothing to do with the intelligence of the species. If anything humanity has proven to be both a giant with fearsome strength, and a cunning genius with an intellect thar likely surpasses our own.
Some of us have even gone as far as to call the humans deities, but for me, having seen them at their worst and best throughout this war... they were just a bigger fish in this pond they call the Milky Way.
- Seargent ********* VA-Day -
It's over. The war we've fought over 100 years ended today. The damn space gerbils surrendered. Some of the things these little critters make are still beyond me, but we beat em. My experimental type-0X delta frame took down more of those things than I can count, it's hard to believe this is the same frame my father piloted before me after the retrofit they gave it.
I want to hate these gerbils, I really do, they killed my dad in this war, and they killed millions to start it, but I can't do that anymore. They're a weak race, smart, but not that smart. They just developed first, and we were the first race they met that was far enough along to match em.
Now I'm just glad all this shits over. I'll miss being a pilot, but peace is for the best. I just hope we don't make the same mistake the space rats did.
-------------
This is my first time writing, well, anything. I just saw this prompt in my feed at 6am and thought it'd be fun to turn it into a mecha story, but I kinda didn't do that and wound up with this instead. | We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | Personal log of Sergeant Astreaus, United Earth Space command:
I still can't believe that worked. My captain once told me, in the military you learn to play dumb in just the right way. Well "playing dumb" has worked for our civilisation very well, since the invaders seem to buy it no questions asked. But thus far, the war has been going better than it should have. Especially since we are fighting with one hand behind our backs to limit the destruction to our planet. We started to suspect they were thinking us not very smart by employing obvious baits, that they still went for them. They even went for the they-can't-think-we're-that-stupid type of bait high command started to lay out soon after that. Then the negotiation started, with Earth seeming to offer a "surrender" whose entire purpose was to get our people aboard their flagship. As I sneaked into the "engine" room and set the charges, I still don't understand how half the stuff in here works. But I don't have to, the people who do understand it told me where I need to plant my little surprise for maximum effect. The fireworks will be glorious. | We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | Sargent Ajik'rad looked up from his device.
"Admiral...these creatures, the humans...they're quite intelligent. It seems we've mistakenly labeled them as brutes, given their robustness. However, as much as I hate to admit it, their intelligence is approximately equal to our own." He summarized. "Though they are a younger race, and as such are not as developed."
The admiral narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you certain? Of the thousands of extraterritorial lifeforms we've encountered, all have fallen into one of the two categories, and you're saying these 'humans' possess both traits?"
Ajik nodded. "That is correct, sir."
The admiral slowly leaned back into his chair, grinning. "Then we have found truly excellent slaves."
(OP never said humanity would win. And yes, I know aliens probably wouldn't have eyes/faces/chairs, but it's pretty hard to convey emotion with hypothetical, realistic, non-terrestrial lifeforms.) | We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | Smashing past the sound barrier at mach 10, the massive Bpfassh class cruiser descended into the atmosphere of the blue-green planet. preliminary scans had detected a significant amount of lifeforms, ranging from small quarter unit sized exoskeletal creatures to aquatic behemoths that dwarfed even the common beasts of burden back home. Standing at the helm of the eight hundred meter long spacecraft, the Goda/captain looked out at the view before him.
Crude buildings of metal and stone stretched across the land. What looked like smooth solid tar divided groups of buildings, organizing them into small sections. Many of the buildings were only several dozen units tall, with only a few that were several times higher. A large wheel-like structure spun near a river that divided the cluster of buildings. Countless bipedal creatures walked along the side of the solid tar, with wheeled vehicles using the tar as roads. How primitive.
The sub Goda sitting beside the Goda turned to face him, then began making his report of the area.
"Mitna of clan Paa, Goda, I have finished scanning this area. These inhabitants do not show much intelligence. They may be able to construct these stone hovels and harness lightning, but they also freely destroy their own homeworld with destructive fuel for their factories and vehicles. They cannot even see through our simple stealth field. I conclude this species to be nothing more than an average brute race, ready to be harvested"
Mitna thought for a moment, then asked "Are they capable of communication? These animals won't be of much use if they can't even follow commands."
The sub-Goda, looked through several lines of data, then responded.
"We believe they may be able to. They seem to use a crude form of electomagnetic radio wave for something. It may be for communication, or just simple animal mating calls. The tech team is putting together a device to translate the radio waves as we speak. In fact, they should have completed such a simply device already."
"Excellent," Mitna replied, "begin the translation. Lets see what these tailless bipeds are saying"
Pressing a button, Goda Mitna called up the projector. Instantly, a three dimensional display began showing the secrets of the radio waves.
What looked like a weird shaped box with a sphere and eye stalk appeaered.
"THIS NOT WAR. THIS IS PEST CONTROL" a robotic voice yelled out.
Goda Mitna was taken aback. Were these primitives declaring war?
Another image appeared. This time of a biped with a massive lower mandible stood.
"Is this world protected?" it asked.
Another image. This time of a giant eye displaying various beings. behind the image, the biped continued talking.
"You're not he first lot to come here. Oh, there have been so many. And what you've got ot ask is, what happened to them?"
Various faced flashed by. Mitna counted exactly double digit.
Th large mandible man walked through the projection and spoke again. This time, with a different clothing pattern.
"Hello, I'm the Doctah. Basically, run"
Mitna paused the projection, then turned one of his eye stalks to his second in command.
"Sub Goda, do a search of the radio waves of this 'Doktah'. Find out what it is."
The search took only several moments. Mitna turned to see the results. His blue skin darkened as he watched through the recordings of this Doktah, uncertainty and fear creeping into his mind. He saw this being outsmart and destroy what looked to be empires many times more power than even their coalition combined. He saw casual bending of physics and manipulation of time so advanced, he could not fathom how such feats were possible. After what seemed like several rotations of this planet, the Goda decided he had seen enough.
Deciding on the course of action, Goda Mitna of clan Paa issued his orders to the sub Goda.
"Sub Goda, prepare to return to Coalition space. This world is clearly defended by a godlike being. One who can cheat death and bend the universe to his will. It's best we retreat now and inform the Coalition, so that no one else will come to this planet, lest we incur the wrath of this Lord of Time."
Nodding, the sub Goda fired up the ship's engines and prepared for the trip back home.
| We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | The laws of gravity and sentience were known to the Elder species. The cycles of life always repeating, always yielding the same results.
Life that developed on moons, proto-planets and large asteroids shared two distinct characteristics, Intelligence and a physical fragility due to the lack of gravity. Where as life that developed within a significant gravity well was destined to be nothing more than mindless vermin, good only for use in the "project". It was known.
The Elder counted back 10,000 cycles, 10,000 different pinpoints of life in this arm of the galaxy alone. Any signs of intelligence eradicated and the vermin enslaved. And the cycles continued to repeat, It was known.
Micro transmissions detected in an adjacent star cluster signaled developing life. "This cycle is nearing its end, we are fortunate to have found a new source so soon." The Elders thoughts transmitted near instantaneously to the others overseeing the final collection of resources from the rubble belt that was once a moon populated by billions.
A chorus of agreement was returned, the "project" was on schedule.
The Elder prepared the systems needed to spawn a wormhole between their location and the source of the transmissions. A moon orbiting the 3rd planet from the systems sun.
The Elder felt a faint thrill of excitement run through its root system at the sight of the newborn wormhole "the cycle is complete, the cycle begins anew" a faint murmur from the others was the only response as reality warped around them.
Soon... the "project" will reach its final stage.
It is known.
For as long as humans have looked to the stars the question has been there, a simple enough question but one with colossal repercussions. "Are we alone in the universe?"
Two weeks ago humanity got its answer, and humanity wept.
The worm hole had appeared just past the heliopause of our solar system and had sparked massive debate within the scientific community, every man or woman trying to answer how and why it had so suddenly appeared.
We stopped asking questions after "it" appeared. Curiosity turned to fear, it was alien, indescribably alien and it was coming for us. Or so we thought at the time. A week after it came through the wormhole "it" came to rest in a stable orbit in the lagrange point between Earth and the moon, the day after that fear turned into rage.
In the space of hours the moon that had shone its light over earth for countless centuries was reduced to rubble, and we still don't have the faintest clue as to how.
It was a rallying call to all of humanity, disputes over race and borders were thrown aside in one horrible instant. "It" was the enemy of all. Plans were made and put into action.
Then the dropship started falling, spewing out drones that seemed intent on bringing back samples of all organic life on the planet. Out of the thousands that landed only a handful made the return journey. Humanity fought back.
The plans had been made, alien drop ships retrofitted for human use and the nukes were armed. Revenge is all we know now. I close my eyes and put down my journal in anticipation for launch. The new mantra of the people repeating over and over in my head "Earth must win, it is known"
First time trying my hand at something like this, any critiques are very welcome :D
| We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | **Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #526**
We encountered a new species, one far on the other end of the galaxy from our homeworld, humans they're called. Such a simple species from what we've seen, when watching them last week we saw that they do labor and build, but they have yet to achieve space travel and there are signs that they have been on this planet for several millennium, with this the council back at home determined them a brute species and that since our current slave species is almost extinct that we immediately begin our enslavement process which should only take a few weeks, tomorrow we will determine their numbers to figure what approach we should take.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #529**
It's wonderful! There is so many of these humans that we can use them for decades without worry of running out anytime soon, our calculations put the population at around seven billion, more then any other species we have ever encountered since we achieved intergalactic travel, and their physical ability is so much more than we could have even imagined, they're easily the strongest species since the Yowlkan were discovered a millennium ago. And they can move so fast that once we have them under our control we should be able to double our construction efforts. We will begin abductions next week to do further tests on their abilities and what limits we can push their genetics to.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #534**
Today we found out some interesting things about these humans, they have a diversity of unprecedented levels, with the smallest adult we abducted being shorter than me, but the tallest one we abducted was well above my height, and their skin tones differ wildly as well. But what I found most interesting was how they reacted different to the same tests, usually test subjects have some slightly different reactions due to differing variables, but these humans they acted differently to different pressures, the smaller ones had their bones break much easier but their reactions differed, from yelling in pure agony to showing pure rage and attempting to lash out, the larger ones took a little longer to suffer damage but their reactions differed greatly as well. One of them even managed to break their containment for a second before we terminated it. I have never seen a species with such differences in how they look and react to our tests.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #546**
We translated their language and updated our translators and began questioning some of the newer subjects we brought in since we wiped out the old ones. Their diversity seems to also be their downfall somewhat, they differ so much that they have a hard time agreeing with each other, and have even led to wars with each other, they persecute each other for such simple things that I have a hard time believing they made it this far without wiping themselves out. There are groups that hate and demean their female gender since apparently they're seen as the weaker gender and that throughout their history they even had them underneath males, and only recently was homosexual behavior allowed as before they apparently treated it as a mental illness and at some point said that "god" declared it was a sin. How can a species that has achieved some civilization still believe in such a concept as god?
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #549**
I feel we have learned enough about humans, I told the council that tomorrow I will start the subjugation of them, we'll have to be somewhat cautious, we captured one that we believe is what peak human physical condition and we had a hard time containing it and it even managed to hurt one of our security personal rather easily, breaking his arm in multiple places.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #551**
We underestimated them, when faced with the unknown they had what looked like an army ready to take us, they didn't attack on sight and attempted to communicate, but we thought if we fired a warning shot they would submit. We were wrong, within seconds after the first shot they opened fire, tearing our subjugation force to pieces, even with our more advance technology they seemed to have a surprising gasp of tactics, we sent a signal for actual military, they should be here in three days. Until then, we wait.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #561**
They reverse engineered our technology, it was crude but they did it, it wasn't even a fight when the military finally landed, it was a slaughter, their ruthlessness, their brutality, their rage against us, they tore through our ships like they were toys. It was a complete loss, over three quarters of our forces sent down were wiped out, the council ordered us to quarantine the planet and get ready for orbital bombardment. They were such a promising species, but they're to much of an unpredictable variable that we unfortunately have to bomb them into submission.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #585**
The politicians screwed us! With all the red tape that comes with an orbital bombardment the galactic council couldn't come to an agreement. The humans, the humans finished reverse engineering our equipment from when they slaughtered us in battle, they listened in onto our communications and made galactic travel their priority, and now, four months after we were ordered to quarantine them, they built ships, ships meant purely for war, and their animosity from when they hacked out systems to see what we did to them, they won't show any mercy, I'm ordering the ships to retreat, we need to make a plan of attack, our ships aren't meant for space warfare.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #608**
They have taken Yetinus IV, that's a third of our planets they have taken from our grasp, they freed any subjugated species and gave them the choice of helping, and all the ones they have freed have taken arms against us, on our farms, our breeding facilities, and our cities slaves are starting to rise against us. I feel the end is near..
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #701**
It's over, their armada will be entering our system in the next few days, the galactic council has abandoned us and our council can't rally us, not that it would matter, I have accepted my fate, whether it is enslavement or death, I have come to terms with it.
**Captain Yoal'so Final Entry**
I have learned, what we did to all those species we found that we thought were simply brutes was wrong, we assumed that no matter what every species fell into one of the two categories, but that is not the case, as of yesterday our government has fallen, humans are in the streets, the holograms show that they are not slaughtering as I expected but those they find that were involved in trying to subjugate them are being taken away, it is only a few hours until they take me away, I will not fight, I brought this on myself. I pray that God may have mercy on my soul.
​ | We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | On the planet of Ten Moons X57 there is a creature called the Red Shade Yu. When it’s children are taken from it, the females will wail so loud the snow on the Thread Spike Mountains begins to slide down. It’s called a Grief Avalanche.
Yet, this human girl was screaming so loudly I thought she might rival the Yu. Her red hair was stuck to her wet cheeks and her mouth was wide open. They call it crying. They call it rage. It was such a primal thing. What a species without proper words.
If only I had been smarter if only I had seen that her grief blocked her words. And if they could grow so angry over dogs then what had made us think to go after their children. Their elderly. Their civilization.
Stupidity. Power makes the smart docile. Sluggish. We had grown too slick in our control of laboring species.
Xxx
The girl was called Winona. She lived in a large city called Red Place. The clay mountains seemed to grow around them. We had thought them silly. With their shiny buildings and tools.
Yet Winona had taken me by the wings and ripped them from my back with great strength. The translator had blinked twice when she spoke again. When her rage allied with her mind and she grew certain. Intelligent cunning.
“You killed my dog,” her words came with a firmness I feared. “You will regret it.”
I thought she might torture me. Instead she called out to more of her people. They all did. Connected and unified.
I was taken away. The clear way Winona looked at me was terrifying. And it stayed with me.
For she was the kindest human I have met. | We tried to enslave them.
They enslaved us.
Only two revolutions or "years" as they call it have passed. Our planet found some labourers. Or so we thought. We thought we were more intelligent. We obestimated our intellect.
The day we attacked, was the day we gave up our freedom. The day we lost it all. Our mistake cost us everything. The moment the first attack began, we saw how badly we messed up. Rockets of all sorts were flying at our ships.
We don't know how they did it. Their physicsl strenth surpasses ours and their intellects only slightly less. This species is an anomaly. They have found a way to use each other to better themselves and each time they become smarter, someone else also becomes smarter.
This species numbers are their advantage. The way the united against us was unimaginable. We can't beat them.
I am a slave because of our own mistakes. We fucked up, and we can't take it back. I'm sorry my future family. This is our fault | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | Smashing past the sound barrier at mach 10, the massive Bpfassh class cruiser descended into the atmosphere of the blue-green planet. preliminary scans had detected a significant amount of lifeforms, ranging from small quarter unit sized exoskeletal creatures to aquatic behemoths that dwarfed even the common beasts of burden back home. Standing at the helm of the eight hundred meter long spacecraft, the Goda/captain looked out at the view before him.
Crude buildings of metal and stone stretched across the land. What looked like smooth solid tar divided groups of buildings, organizing them into small sections. Many of the buildings were only several dozen units tall, with only a few that were several times higher. A large wheel-like structure spun near a river that divided the cluster of buildings. Countless bipedal creatures walked along the side of the solid tar, with wheeled vehicles using the tar as roads. How primitive.
The sub Goda sitting beside the Goda turned to face him, then began making his report of the area.
"Mitna of clan Paa, Goda, I have finished scanning this area. These inhabitants do not show much intelligence. They may be able to construct these stone hovels and harness lightning, but they also freely destroy their own homeworld with destructive fuel for their factories and vehicles. They cannot even see through our simple stealth field. I conclude this species to be nothing more than an average brute race, ready to be harvested"
Mitna thought for a moment, then asked "Are they capable of communication? These animals won't be of much use if they can't even follow commands."
The sub-Goda, looked through several lines of data, then responded.
"We believe they may be able to. They seem to use a crude form of electomagnetic radio wave for something. It may be for communication, or just simple animal mating calls. The tech team is putting together a device to translate the radio waves as we speak. In fact, they should have completed such a simply device already."
"Excellent," Mitna replied, "begin the translation. Lets see what these tailless bipeds are saying"
Pressing a button, Goda Mitna called up the projector. Instantly, a three dimensional display began showing the secrets of the radio waves.
What looked like a weird shaped box with a sphere and eye stalk appeaered.
"THIS NOT WAR. THIS IS PEST CONTROL" a robotic voice yelled out.
Goda Mitna was taken aback. Were these primitives declaring war?
Another image appeared. This time of a biped with a massive lower mandible stood.
"Is this world protected?" it asked.
Another image. This time of a giant eye displaying various beings. behind the image, the biped continued talking.
"You're not he first lot to come here. Oh, there have been so many. And what you've got ot ask is, what happened to them?"
Various faced flashed by. Mitna counted exactly double digit.
Th large mandible man walked through the projection and spoke again. This time, with a different clothing pattern.
"Hello, I'm the Doctah. Basically, run"
Mitna paused the projection, then turned one of his eye stalks to his second in command.
"Sub Goda, do a search of the radio waves of this 'Doktah'. Find out what it is."
The search took only several moments. Mitna turned to see the results. His blue skin darkened as he watched through the recordings of this Doktah, uncertainty and fear creeping into his mind. He saw this being outsmart and destroy what looked to be empires many times more power than even their coalition combined. He saw casual bending of physics and manipulation of time so advanced, he could not fathom how such feats were possible. After what seemed like several rotations of this planet, the Goda decided he had seen enough.
Deciding on the course of action, Goda Mitna of clan Paa issued his orders to the sub Goda.
"Sub Goda, prepare to return to Coalition space. This world is clearly defended by a godlike being. One who can cheat death and bend the universe to his will. It's best we retreat now and inform the Coalition, so that no one else will come to this planet, lest we incur the wrath of this Lord of Time."
Nodding, the sub Goda fired up the ship's engines and prepared for the trip back home.
| Sargent Ajik'rad looked up from his device.
"Admiral...these creatures, the humans...they're quite intelligent. It seems we've mistakenly labeled them as brutes, given their robustness. However, as much as I hate to admit it, their intelligence is approximately equal to our own." He summarized. "Though they are a younger race, and as such are not as developed."
The admiral narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you certain? Of the thousands of extraterritorial lifeforms we've encountered, all have fallen into one of the two categories, and you're saying these 'humans' possess both traits?"
Ajik nodded. "That is correct, sir."
The admiral slowly leaned back into his chair, grinning. "Then we have found truly excellent slaves."
(OP never said humanity would win. And yes, I know aliens probably wouldn't have eyes/faces/chairs, but it's pretty hard to convey emotion with hypothetical, realistic, non-terrestrial lifeforms.) | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | The laws of gravity and sentience were known to the Elder species. The cycles of life always repeating, always yielding the same results.
Life that developed on moons, proto-planets and large asteroids shared two distinct characteristics, Intelligence and a physical fragility due to the lack of gravity. Where as life that developed within a significant gravity well was destined to be nothing more than mindless vermin, good only for use in the "project". It was known.
The Elder counted back 10,000 cycles, 10,000 different pinpoints of life in this arm of the galaxy alone. Any signs of intelligence eradicated and the vermin enslaved. And the cycles continued to repeat, It was known.
Micro transmissions detected in an adjacent star cluster signaled developing life. "This cycle is nearing its end, we are fortunate to have found a new source so soon." The Elders thoughts transmitted near instantaneously to the others overseeing the final collection of resources from the rubble belt that was once a moon populated by billions.
A chorus of agreement was returned, the "project" was on schedule.
The Elder prepared the systems needed to spawn a wormhole between their location and the source of the transmissions. A moon orbiting the 3rd planet from the systems sun.
The Elder felt a faint thrill of excitement run through its root system at the sight of the newborn wormhole "the cycle is complete, the cycle begins anew" a faint murmur from the others was the only response as reality warped around them.
Soon... the "project" will reach its final stage.
It is known.
For as long as humans have looked to the stars the question has been there, a simple enough question but one with colossal repercussions. "Are we alone in the universe?"
Two weeks ago humanity got its answer, and humanity wept.
The worm hole had appeared just past the heliopause of our solar system and had sparked massive debate within the scientific community, every man or woman trying to answer how and why it had so suddenly appeared.
We stopped asking questions after "it" appeared. Curiosity turned to fear, it was alien, indescribably alien and it was coming for us. Or so we thought at the time. A week after it came through the wormhole "it" came to rest in a stable orbit in the lagrange point between Earth and the moon, the day after that fear turned into rage.
In the space of hours the moon that had shone its light over earth for countless centuries was reduced to rubble, and we still don't have the faintest clue as to how.
It was a rallying call to all of humanity, disputes over race and borders were thrown aside in one horrible instant. "It" was the enemy of all. Plans were made and put into action.
Then the dropship started falling, spewing out drones that seemed intent on bringing back samples of all organic life on the planet. Out of the thousands that landed only a handful made the return journey. Humanity fought back.
The plans had been made, alien drop ships retrofitted for human use and the nukes were armed. Revenge is all we know now. I close my eyes and put down my journal in anticipation for launch. The new mantra of the people repeating over and over in my head "Earth must win, it is known"
First time trying my hand at something like this, any critiques are very welcome :D
| Sargent Ajik'rad looked up from his device.
"Admiral...these creatures, the humans...they're quite intelligent. It seems we've mistakenly labeled them as brutes, given their robustness. However, as much as I hate to admit it, their intelligence is approximately equal to our own." He summarized. "Though they are a younger race, and as such are not as developed."
The admiral narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you certain? Of the thousands of extraterritorial lifeforms we've encountered, all have fallen into one of the two categories, and you're saying these 'humans' possess both traits?"
Ajik nodded. "That is correct, sir."
The admiral slowly leaned back into his chair, grinning. "Then we have found truly excellent slaves."
(OP never said humanity would win. And yes, I know aliens probably wouldn't have eyes/faces/chairs, but it's pretty hard to convey emotion with hypothetical, realistic, non-terrestrial lifeforms.) | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | **Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #526**
We encountered a new species, one far on the other end of the galaxy from our homeworld, humans they're called. Such a simple species from what we've seen, when watching them last week we saw that they do labor and build, but they have yet to achieve space travel and there are signs that they have been on this planet for several millennium, with this the council back at home determined them a brute species and that since our current slave species is almost extinct that we immediately begin our enslavement process which should only take a few weeks, tomorrow we will determine their numbers to figure what approach we should take.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #529**
It's wonderful! There is so many of these humans that we can use them for decades without worry of running out anytime soon, our calculations put the population at around seven billion, more then any other species we have ever encountered since we achieved intergalactic travel, and their physical ability is so much more than we could have even imagined, they're easily the strongest species since the Yowlkan were discovered a millennium ago. And they can move so fast that once we have them under our control we should be able to double our construction efforts. We will begin abductions next week to do further tests on their abilities and what limits we can push their genetics to.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #534**
Today we found out some interesting things about these humans, they have a diversity of unprecedented levels, with the smallest adult we abducted being shorter than me, but the tallest one we abducted was well above my height, and their skin tones differ wildly as well. But what I found most interesting was how they reacted different to the same tests, usually test subjects have some slightly different reactions due to differing variables, but these humans they acted differently to different pressures, the smaller ones had their bones break much easier but their reactions differed, from yelling in pure agony to showing pure rage and attempting to lash out, the larger ones took a little longer to suffer damage but their reactions differed greatly as well. One of them even managed to break their containment for a second before we terminated it. I have never seen a species with such differences in how they look and react to our tests.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #546**
We translated their language and updated our translators and began questioning some of the newer subjects we brought in since we wiped out the old ones. Their diversity seems to also be their downfall somewhat, they differ so much that they have a hard time agreeing with each other, and have even led to wars with each other, they persecute each other for such simple things that I have a hard time believing they made it this far without wiping themselves out. There are groups that hate and demean their female gender since apparently they're seen as the weaker gender and that throughout their history they even had them underneath males, and only recently was homosexual behavior allowed as before they apparently treated it as a mental illness and at some point said that "god" declared it was a sin. How can a species that has achieved some civilization still believe in such a concept as god?
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #549**
I feel we have learned enough about humans, I told the council that tomorrow I will start the subjugation of them, we'll have to be somewhat cautious, we captured one that we believe is what peak human physical condition and we had a hard time containing it and it even managed to hurt one of our security personal rather easily, breaking his arm in multiple places.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #551**
We underestimated them, when faced with the unknown they had what looked like an army ready to take us, they didn't attack on sight and attempted to communicate, but we thought if we fired a warning shot they would submit. We were wrong, within seconds after the first shot they opened fire, tearing our subjugation force to pieces, even with our more advance technology they seemed to have a surprising gasp of tactics, we sent a signal for actual military, they should be here in three days. Until then, we wait.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #561**
They reverse engineered our technology, it was crude but they did it, it wasn't even a fight when the military finally landed, it was a slaughter, their ruthlessness, their brutality, their rage against us, they tore through our ships like they were toys. It was a complete loss, over three quarters of our forces sent down were wiped out, the council ordered us to quarantine the planet and get ready for orbital bombardment. They were such a promising species, but they're to much of an unpredictable variable that we unfortunately have to bomb them into submission.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #585**
The politicians screwed us! With all the red tape that comes with an orbital bombardment the galactic council couldn't come to an agreement. The humans, the humans finished reverse engineering our equipment from when they slaughtered us in battle, they listened in onto our communications and made galactic travel their priority, and now, four months after we were ordered to quarantine them, they built ships, ships meant purely for war, and their animosity from when they hacked out systems to see what we did to them, they won't show any mercy, I'm ordering the ships to retreat, we need to make a plan of attack, our ships aren't meant for space warfare.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #608**
They have taken Yetinus IV, that's a third of our planets they have taken from our grasp, they freed any subjugated species and gave them the choice of helping, and all the ones they have freed have taken arms against us, on our farms, our breeding facilities, and our cities slaves are starting to rise against us. I feel the end is near..
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #701**
It's over, their armada will be entering our system in the next few days, the galactic council has abandoned us and our council can't rally us, not that it would matter, I have accepted my fate, whether it is enslavement or death, I have come to terms with it.
**Captain Yoal'so Final Entry**
I have learned, what we did to all those species we found that we thought were simply brutes was wrong, we assumed that no matter what every species fell into one of the two categories, but that is not the case, as of yesterday our government has fallen, humans are in the streets, the holograms show that they are not slaughtering as I expected but those they find that were involved in trying to subjugate them are being taken away, it is only a few hours until they take me away, I will not fight, I brought this on myself. I pray that God may have mercy on my soul.
​ | Sargent Ajik'rad looked up from his device.
"Admiral...these creatures, the humans...they're quite intelligent. It seems we've mistakenly labeled them as brutes, given their robustness. However, as much as I hate to admit it, their intelligence is approximately equal to our own." He summarized. "Though they are a younger race, and as such are not as developed."
The admiral narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you certain? Of the thousands of extraterritorial lifeforms we've encountered, all have fallen into one of the two categories, and you're saying these 'humans' possess both traits?"
Ajik nodded. "That is correct, sir."
The admiral slowly leaned back into his chair, grinning. "Then we have found truly excellent slaves."
(OP never said humanity would win. And yes, I know aliens probably wouldn't have eyes/faces/chairs, but it's pretty hard to convey emotion with hypothetical, realistic, non-terrestrial lifeforms.) | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | On the planet of Ten Moons X57 there is a creature called the Red Shade Yu. When it’s children are taken from it, the females will wail so loud the snow on the Thread Spike Mountains begins to slide down. It’s called a Grief Avalanche.
Yet, this human girl was screaming so loudly I thought she might rival the Yu. Her red hair was stuck to her wet cheeks and her mouth was wide open. They call it crying. They call it rage. It was such a primal thing. What a species without proper words.
If only I had been smarter if only I had seen that her grief blocked her words. And if they could grow so angry over dogs then what had made us think to go after their children. Their elderly. Their civilization.
Stupidity. Power makes the smart docile. Sluggish. We had grown too slick in our control of laboring species.
Xxx
The girl was called Winona. She lived in a large city called Red Place. The clay mountains seemed to grow around them. We had thought them silly. With their shiny buildings and tools.
Yet Winona had taken me by the wings and ripped them from my back with great strength. The translator had blinked twice when she spoke again. When her rage allied with her mind and she grew certain. Intelligent cunning.
“You killed my dog,” her words came with a firmness I feared. “You will regret it.”
I thought she might torture me. Instead she called out to more of her people. They all did. Connected and unified.
I was taken away. The clear way Winona looked at me was terrifying. And it stayed with me.
For she was the kindest human I have met. | Sargent Ajik'rad looked up from his device.
"Admiral...these creatures, the humans...they're quite intelligent. It seems we've mistakenly labeled them as brutes, given their robustness. However, as much as I hate to admit it, their intelligence is approximately equal to our own." He summarized. "Though they are a younger race, and as such are not as developed."
The admiral narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Are you certain? Of the thousands of extraterritorial lifeforms we've encountered, all have fallen into one of the two categories, and you're saying these 'humans' possess both traits?"
Ajik nodded. "That is correct, sir."
The admiral slowly leaned back into his chair, grinning. "Then we have found truly excellent slaves."
(OP never said humanity would win. And yes, I know aliens probably wouldn't have eyes/faces/chairs, but it's pretty hard to convey emotion with hypothetical, realistic, non-terrestrial lifeforms.) | |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | **Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #526**
We encountered a new species, one far on the other end of the galaxy from our homeworld, humans they're called. Such a simple species from what we've seen, when watching them last week we saw that they do labor and build, but they have yet to achieve space travel and there are signs that they have been on this planet for several millennium, with this the council back at home determined them a brute species and that since our current slave species is almost extinct that we immediately begin our enslavement process which should only take a few weeks, tomorrow we will determine their numbers to figure what approach we should take.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #529**
It's wonderful! There is so many of these humans that we can use them for decades without worry of running out anytime soon, our calculations put the population at around seven billion, more then any other species we have ever encountered since we achieved intergalactic travel, and their physical ability is so much more than we could have even imagined, they're easily the strongest species since the Yowlkan were discovered a millennium ago. And they can move so fast that once we have them under our control we should be able to double our construction efforts. We will begin abductions next week to do further tests on their abilities and what limits we can push their genetics to.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #534**
Today we found out some interesting things about these humans, they have a diversity of unprecedented levels, with the smallest adult we abducted being shorter than me, but the tallest one we abducted was well above my height, and their skin tones differ wildly as well. But what I found most interesting was how they reacted different to the same tests, usually test subjects have some slightly different reactions due to differing variables, but these humans they acted differently to different pressures, the smaller ones had their bones break much easier but their reactions differed, from yelling in pure agony to showing pure rage and attempting to lash out, the larger ones took a little longer to suffer damage but their reactions differed greatly as well. One of them even managed to break their containment for a second before we terminated it. I have never seen a species with such differences in how they look and react to our tests.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #546**
We translated their language and updated our translators and began questioning some of the newer subjects we brought in since we wiped out the old ones. Their diversity seems to also be their downfall somewhat, they differ so much that they have a hard time agreeing with each other, and have even led to wars with each other, they persecute each other for such simple things that I have a hard time believing they made it this far without wiping themselves out. There are groups that hate and demean their female gender since apparently they're seen as the weaker gender and that throughout their history they even had them underneath males, and only recently was homosexual behavior allowed as before they apparently treated it as a mental illness and at some point said that "god" declared it was a sin. How can a species that has achieved some civilization still believe in such a concept as god?
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #549**
I feel we have learned enough about humans, I told the council that tomorrow I will start the subjugation of them, we'll have to be somewhat cautious, we captured one that we believe is what peak human physical condition and we had a hard time containing it and it even managed to hurt one of our security personal rather easily, breaking his arm in multiple places.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #551**
We underestimated them, when faced with the unknown they had what looked like an army ready to take us, they didn't attack on sight and attempted to communicate, but we thought if we fired a warning shot they would submit. We were wrong, within seconds after the first shot they opened fire, tearing our subjugation force to pieces, even with our more advance technology they seemed to have a surprising gasp of tactics, we sent a signal for actual military, they should be here in three days. Until then, we wait.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #561**
They reverse engineered our technology, it was crude but they did it, it wasn't even a fight when the military finally landed, it was a slaughter, their ruthlessness, their brutality, their rage against us, they tore through our ships like they were toys. It was a complete loss, over three quarters of our forces sent down were wiped out, the council ordered us to quarantine the planet and get ready for orbital bombardment. They were such a promising species, but they're to much of an unpredictable variable that we unfortunately have to bomb them into submission.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #585**
The politicians screwed us! With all the red tape that comes with an orbital bombardment the galactic council couldn't come to an agreement. The humans, the humans finished reverse engineering our equipment from when they slaughtered us in battle, they listened in onto our communications and made galactic travel their priority, and now, four months after we were ordered to quarantine them, they built ships, ships meant purely for war, and their animosity from when they hacked out systems to see what we did to them, they won't show any mercy, I'm ordering the ships to retreat, we need to make a plan of attack, our ships aren't meant for space warfare.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #608**
They have taken Yetinus IV, that's a third of our planets they have taken from our grasp, they freed any subjugated species and gave them the choice of helping, and all the ones they have freed have taken arms against us, on our farms, our breeding facilities, and our cities slaves are starting to rise against us. I feel the end is near..
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #701**
It's over, their armada will be entering our system in the next few days, the galactic council has abandoned us and our council can't rally us, not that it would matter, I have accepted my fate, whether it is enslavement or death, I have come to terms with it.
**Captain Yoal'so Final Entry**
I have learned, what we did to all those species we found that we thought were simply brutes was wrong, we assumed that no matter what every species fell into one of the two categories, but that is not the case, as of yesterday our government has fallen, humans are in the streets, the holograms show that they are not slaughtering as I expected but those they find that were involved in trying to subjugate them are being taken away, it is only a few hours until they take me away, I will not fight, I brought this on myself. I pray that God may have mercy on my soul.
​ | Smashing past the sound barrier at mach 10, the massive Bpfassh class cruiser descended into the atmosphere of the blue-green planet. preliminary scans had detected a significant amount of lifeforms, ranging from small quarter unit sized exoskeletal creatures to aquatic behemoths that dwarfed even the common beasts of burden back home. Standing at the helm of the eight hundred meter long spacecraft, the Goda/captain looked out at the view before him.
Crude buildings of metal and stone stretched across the land. What looked like smooth solid tar divided groups of buildings, organizing them into small sections. Many of the buildings were only several dozen units tall, with only a few that were several times higher. A large wheel-like structure spun near a river that divided the cluster of buildings. Countless bipedal creatures walked along the side of the solid tar, with wheeled vehicles using the tar as roads. How primitive.
The sub Goda sitting beside the Goda turned to face him, then began making his report of the area.
"Mitna of clan Paa, Goda, I have finished scanning this area. These inhabitants do not show much intelligence. They may be able to construct these stone hovels and harness lightning, but they also freely destroy their own homeworld with destructive fuel for their factories and vehicles. They cannot even see through our simple stealth field. I conclude this species to be nothing more than an average brute race, ready to be harvested"
Mitna thought for a moment, then asked "Are they capable of communication? These animals won't be of much use if they can't even follow commands."
The sub-Goda, looked through several lines of data, then responded.
"We believe they may be able to. They seem to use a crude form of electomagnetic radio wave for something. It may be for communication, or just simple animal mating calls. The tech team is putting together a device to translate the radio waves as we speak. In fact, they should have completed such a simply device already."
"Excellent," Mitna replied, "begin the translation. Lets see what these tailless bipeds are saying"
Pressing a button, Goda Mitna called up the projector. Instantly, a three dimensional display began showing the secrets of the radio waves.
What looked like a weird shaped box with a sphere and eye stalk appeaered.
"THIS NOT WAR. THIS IS PEST CONTROL" a robotic voice yelled out.
Goda Mitna was taken aback. Were these primitives declaring war?
Another image appeared. This time of a biped with a massive lower mandible stood.
"Is this world protected?" it asked.
Another image. This time of a giant eye displaying various beings. behind the image, the biped continued talking.
"You're not he first lot to come here. Oh, there have been so many. And what you've got ot ask is, what happened to them?"
Various faced flashed by. Mitna counted exactly double digit.
Th large mandible man walked through the projection and spoke again. This time, with a different clothing pattern.
"Hello, I'm the Doctah. Basically, run"
Mitna paused the projection, then turned one of his eye stalks to his second in command.
"Sub Goda, do a search of the radio waves of this 'Doktah'. Find out what it is."
The search took only several moments. Mitna turned to see the results. His blue skin darkened as he watched through the recordings of this Doktah, uncertainty and fear creeping into his mind. He saw this being outsmart and destroy what looked to be empires many times more power than even their coalition combined. He saw casual bending of physics and manipulation of time so advanced, he could not fathom how such feats were possible. After what seemed like several rotations of this planet, the Goda decided he had seen enough.
Deciding on the course of action, Goda Mitna of clan Paa issued his orders to the sub Goda.
"Sub Goda, prepare to return to Coalition space. This world is clearly defended by a godlike being. One who can cheat death and bend the universe to his will. It's best we retreat now and inform the Coalition, so that no one else will come to this planet, lest we incur the wrath of this Lord of Time."
Nodding, the sub Goda fired up the ship's engines and prepared for the trip back home.
| |
[WP] In the universe, species are either very intelligent and frail or durable and strong. Finding humans to be capable of labor, aliens mistakenly label us as dumb brutes and attempt to enslave us. | **Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #526**
We encountered a new species, one far on the other end of the galaxy from our homeworld, humans they're called. Such a simple species from what we've seen, when watching them last week we saw that they do labor and build, but they have yet to achieve space travel and there are signs that they have been on this planet for several millennium, with this the council back at home determined them a brute species and that since our current slave species is almost extinct that we immediately begin our enslavement process which should only take a few weeks, tomorrow we will determine their numbers to figure what approach we should take.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #529**
It's wonderful! There is so many of these humans that we can use them for decades without worry of running out anytime soon, our calculations put the population at around seven billion, more then any other species we have ever encountered since we achieved intergalactic travel, and their physical ability is so much more than we could have even imagined, they're easily the strongest species since the Yowlkan were discovered a millennium ago. And they can move so fast that once we have them under our control we should be able to double our construction efforts. We will begin abductions next week to do further tests on their abilities and what limits we can push their genetics to.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #534**
Today we found out some interesting things about these humans, they have a diversity of unprecedented levels, with the smallest adult we abducted being shorter than me, but the tallest one we abducted was well above my height, and their skin tones differ wildly as well. But what I found most interesting was how they reacted different to the same tests, usually test subjects have some slightly different reactions due to differing variables, but these humans they acted differently to different pressures, the smaller ones had their bones break much easier but their reactions differed, from yelling in pure agony to showing pure rage and attempting to lash out, the larger ones took a little longer to suffer damage but their reactions differed greatly as well. One of them even managed to break their containment for a second before we terminated it. I have never seen a species with such differences in how they look and react to our tests.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #546**
We translated their language and updated our translators and began questioning some of the newer subjects we brought in since we wiped out the old ones. Their diversity seems to also be their downfall somewhat, they differ so much that they have a hard time agreeing with each other, and have even led to wars with each other, they persecute each other for such simple things that I have a hard time believing they made it this far without wiping themselves out. There are groups that hate and demean their female gender since apparently they're seen as the weaker gender and that throughout their history they even had them underneath males, and only recently was homosexual behavior allowed as before they apparently treated it as a mental illness and at some point said that "god" declared it was a sin. How can a species that has achieved some civilization still believe in such a concept as god?
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #549**
I feel we have learned enough about humans, I told the council that tomorrow I will start the subjugation of them, we'll have to be somewhat cautious, we captured one that we believe is what peak human physical condition and we had a hard time containing it and it even managed to hurt one of our security personal rather easily, breaking his arm in multiple places.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #551**
We underestimated them, when faced with the unknown they had what looked like an army ready to take us, they didn't attack on sight and attempted to communicate, but we thought if we fired a warning shot they would submit. We were wrong, within seconds after the first shot they opened fire, tearing our subjugation force to pieces, even with our more advance technology they seemed to have a surprising gasp of tactics, we sent a signal for actual military, they should be here in three days. Until then, we wait.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #561**
They reverse engineered our technology, it was crude but they did it, it wasn't even a fight when the military finally landed, it was a slaughter, their ruthlessness, their brutality, their rage against us, they tore through our ships like they were toys. It was a complete loss, over three quarters of our forces sent down were wiped out, the council ordered us to quarantine the planet and get ready for orbital bombardment. They were such a promising species, but they're to much of an unpredictable variable that we unfortunately have to bomb them into submission.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #585**
The politicians screwed us! With all the red tape that comes with an orbital bombardment the galactic council couldn't come to an agreement. The humans, the humans finished reverse engineering our equipment from when they slaughtered us in battle, they listened in onto our communications and made galactic travel their priority, and now, four months after we were ordered to quarantine them, they built ships, ships meant purely for war, and their animosity from when they hacked out systems to see what we did to them, they won't show any mercy, I'm ordering the ships to retreat, we need to make a plan of attack, our ships aren't meant for space warfare.
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #608**
They have taken Yetinus IV, that's a third of our planets they have taken from our grasp, they freed any subjugated species and gave them the choice of helping, and all the ones they have freed have taken arms against us, on our farms, our breeding facilities, and our cities slaves are starting to rise against us. I feel the end is near..
**Captain Yoal'so Journal Entry #701**
It's over, their armada will be entering our system in the next few days, the galactic council has abandoned us and our council can't rally us, not that it would matter, I have accepted my fate, whether it is enslavement or death, I have come to terms with it.
**Captain Yoal'so Final Entry**
I have learned, what we did to all those species we found that we thought were simply brutes was wrong, we assumed that no matter what every species fell into one of the two categories, but that is not the case, as of yesterday our government has fallen, humans are in the streets, the holograms show that they are not slaughtering as I expected but those they find that were involved in trying to subjugate them are being taken away, it is only a few hours until they take me away, I will not fight, I brought this on myself. I pray that God may have mercy on my soul.
​ | The laws of gravity and sentience were known to the Elder species. The cycles of life always repeating, always yielding the same results.
Life that developed on moons, proto-planets and large asteroids shared two distinct characteristics, Intelligence and a physical fragility due to the lack of gravity. Where as life that developed within a significant gravity well was destined to be nothing more than mindless vermin, good only for use in the "project". It was known.
The Elder counted back 10,000 cycles, 10,000 different pinpoints of life in this arm of the galaxy alone. Any signs of intelligence eradicated and the vermin enslaved. And the cycles continued to repeat, It was known.
Micro transmissions detected in an adjacent star cluster signaled developing life. "This cycle is nearing its end, we are fortunate to have found a new source so soon." The Elders thoughts transmitted near instantaneously to the others overseeing the final collection of resources from the rubble belt that was once a moon populated by billions.
A chorus of agreement was returned, the "project" was on schedule.
The Elder prepared the systems needed to spawn a wormhole between their location and the source of the transmissions. A moon orbiting the 3rd planet from the systems sun.
The Elder felt a faint thrill of excitement run through its root system at the sight of the newborn wormhole "the cycle is complete, the cycle begins anew" a faint murmur from the others was the only response as reality warped around them.
Soon... the "project" will reach its final stage.
It is known.
For as long as humans have looked to the stars the question has been there, a simple enough question but one with colossal repercussions. "Are we alone in the universe?"
Two weeks ago humanity got its answer, and humanity wept.
The worm hole had appeared just past the heliopause of our solar system and had sparked massive debate within the scientific community, every man or woman trying to answer how and why it had so suddenly appeared.
We stopped asking questions after "it" appeared. Curiosity turned to fear, it was alien, indescribably alien and it was coming for us. Or so we thought at the time. A week after it came through the wormhole "it" came to rest in a stable orbit in the lagrange point between Earth and the moon, the day after that fear turned into rage.
In the space of hours the moon that had shone its light over earth for countless centuries was reduced to rubble, and we still don't have the faintest clue as to how.
It was a rallying call to all of humanity, disputes over race and borders were thrown aside in one horrible instant. "It" was the enemy of all. Plans were made and put into action.
Then the dropship started falling, spewing out drones that seemed intent on bringing back samples of all organic life on the planet. Out of the thousands that landed only a handful made the return journey. Humanity fought back.
The plans had been made, alien drop ships retrofitted for human use and the nukes were armed. Revenge is all we know now. I close my eyes and put down my journal in anticipation for launch. The new mantra of the people repeating over and over in my head "Earth must win, it is known"
First time trying my hand at something like this, any critiques are very welcome :D
| |
[WP] In a dream you are given the choice to gain omnipotence at the cost of 4 billion random people dying, who you cannot resurrect. You accept the offer. When you wake up, the decision was real and every single human being left alive knows it was you. | I usually can’t remember my dreams. Every so often I’ll snag a moment, an image, a word from my imagination. The most vivid memories of dreaming I have are simulated deaths my brain decided to put me through
I should have realized it was real because of that
I should have realized.
It was to vivid
I came to in a large stone chamber. It was lit with blue torches in the walls and the high gothic ceilings stretched above me. At the end of the chamber was a figure, in a large stone throne set with gleaming blue gemstones.I recognized him then. I don’t now. Even with his “gift.” He smiled at me and welcomed me, then introduced himself. I can’t remember who he said he was. I learned in the dream. I acted like I did at least. But it’s blocked now.
He poured us wine and materialized a table to sit at before saying. “I’ve been watching you a while, Professor Carson, am I have an offer for you.”
“It a pleasure to meet you ——, but I would like to go now, may I?
“Of course, if you wish. You may awake at any moment back in your bed.But then I would have to take my offer elsewhere, and I think you would like to hear me out before refusing.”
Something about the way he said it, the way he was perfectly at ease, convinced me to stay. Besides, he just practically stated i was in a dream. Just a dream. Maybe a weird one, maybe a lucid one now, but just a dream. It was a curious situation to play out... “Alright, what did you bring me all this way to offer me.”
“I have recently acquired something, an artifact of sorts. And I would like to move it to your world. I need someone to bear it. This is no small task of course as it demands a price for changing worlds, and a curious thing about it is everyone learns who moved it, which can be...challenging. But in exchange for this I have an immense gift for you. Something no one else in your world have even come close to. I know you seek knowledge, how would you like all of the knowledge of your realm.”
I spit out my wine at this “Omnipotence?!” Strange dream indeed
“That is my offer professor Carson. In exchange for your services of course.”
I paused for a minute, just thinking. He watched me the entire sixty or so seconds.
“You mentioned a price?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that”
He sighed and paused a moment before saying “upon entry, in order to secure its position, it has to reap four billion humanoid souls. It takes them randomly, the only safe being its bearer, which would be you. And as I said, everyone would know who transported it.”
Four billion. Half of my world. I sunk in my chair, the weight of this decision now upon me.
Then I remembered it was a dream.
Only a dream.
Several minutes passed with —— just staring at me. Before I piped up. “What would I have to do?”
“Nothing. Me and my people will arrange everything, you will simply have to wait”
Another several minutes.
“What happens to the reaped souls?”
“Even I do not know.”
Another several minutes
Only a dream
I guess that was the rationale I made my decision under. I keep asking why I thought that
“You know what? I’ll take you up in that.”
A smile spread across his face. “Wonderful professor Carson!” He produced a large scroll and a black quill. “Sign here to confirm and you will have all the knowledge of your world at your fingertips.”
Upon the scroll were paragraphs and paragraphs of of tiny text. I tried to read some. I was in a language I didn’t understand.
I signed
“Well that’s that. Excellent decision Professor Carson! I’ll see you on the other side. Soon.” And he snapped. And I woke up. Just a dream.
I told my roommate about it over tea, he said it was weird, and I went about my day. About an hour later. It happened. There was a boom. It was deafening, and suddenly, the worst headache I ever had, and then I knew. I knew everything. All the science, literature, and everything else. And I knew my mistake. They would connect the dots. I had 74 seconds before the first attempt on my life. And 10 seconds in between attacks for the next 15 days. Then they would become less consistent. I saw about half my students turn to dust as a small black object materialized in my hand. And I ran. I knew my mistake, and everything it had done. Only a dream. Not so much.
| *click*
*click*
*click*
Once again my monitor slid to another question. The thin line carried another question as it darted into the middle of the screen. Printed in Italicized Times New Roman the question drifted across the monitor bouncing when ever it touched border.
*Would you click the button to gain omnipotence but you kill over half the world's population.*
I felt my chair fall back into a 15 degree angle as I placed my weight upon it. The loose black plastic squeaking under the weight of the choice I was about to make.
"Man That's A Hard One"
I ran it through my head the advantages and disadvantages. On one had the wording had implied I would not be able to resurrect the dead. And the selection would be random possibly ending me with the rather unlucky half.
But on the other side of the coin
God like powers and limitless betterment for mankind as a whole. But best of all the wording allowed some wiggle room around no resurrection policy via gifting some of my powers away to some lucky few.
But damit it was one in the morning and I would be dammed if I thought about this question any longer. I have a test in history to tomarrow that I skipped out studying on to answer demented questions online.
"Screw It"
==================================
*click*
==================================
I pulled back from my desk and ramed my finger into the power icon on the PC. And rattled off what my first few actions would be in my mind as I flopped face first into bliss. I dreamed about those actions and questions that night. I started out my *quest* of omnipotence by giving any survivors a random power and leaving a message.
"On the words of hanz yor of cascaid idaho something something resurrect the dead you fucking mongs I did this for omnipotence". And with that I drifted off into the fuzzy embrace of nothing.
.
.
.
.
Then the world tore it's self apart like a slasher villian finally catching up to his first victim. Tearing and wrenching through gore covered fangs of terror and shadows. Only this time it was real and it was happening to people who didn't deserve it. And every single broken bone and life cut short was all my doing in this story I was the villain.
I was the dark menacing wraith at the end of the field of skulls and blood about to disembowel the princesses father. In front of her and all of the conscripted heroes and generals that came to save the king. Then going on a long monologue about "The Betterment Of Our Peoples" and the justified sacrafices of the many to save the few.
When I left my slumber it was not to the monastic ringing of my alarm. Instead it was a sound that made me want to gut myself like a steel head caught swimming up stream. The sorrowful voice of my family that were left whispering one solom word.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*"why"*
==================================
(Wow lads that got dark real quick I didn't want to leave it as a downer but I ran out of time and I saw a decent end point.)
Note to future self:*for self improvement*
*(dont be Micky mouse slaughter house levels of dark)*
*(Try to slow down and get more detail out)*
*(Punch Hanz Yur in the throat)*
| |
[WP] Everytime you go to sleep you wake up in a new world, you're trying desperately to stay awake. | I can no longer tell if my shaking is from the 15 cups of coffee or my growing anxiety.
Let me start with a bit of backstory. My name is Jacob and for years people thought me to be a sleepwalker, but my condition is far... stranger. You see whenever I go to sleep, I wake up somewhere else immediately. It seems to be like a dream, in that when I wake up I feel rested, but while in the dream, its almost like real life. Hyper vivid and sensationally robust, dreaming is almost a reality swap for me. The most interesting part was that there seemed to be a 1:1 time ratio, time moved evenly from the dream world to the real world. I would live 8-10 hours in this other place, then get tired, fall asleep and wake up in the "real" world again. This however, is where the sleepwalking comes in. I'm never in my bed when I wake up. I'm always in a park or a field, occasionally someones backyard but always a grassy open space. Like I said, everyone wrote it off as sleepwalking, but that was quickly disproven when I managed to "sleepwalk" out of a completely locked room. My mother had barricaded my doors and windows shut one night in an attempt to keep me from getting out of the house (not malicious mind you, just concerned and confused) and I somehow managed to get out of the house and into a nearby field without even moving any of the locks or bolts on any of the barricades. This was when we sought help from professionals, starting with doctors and eventually moving up to tests with high level quantum physicists. Apparently my "sleepwalking" was more like a dimensional teleport, sending me to another reality within our mulitverse, but only until I "woke up" again.
Ok then, exposition aside, let me share how I got here, before I either fall asleep or lose control of my thumbs since I'm shaking so much. One of the testing days I remember half the facility being closed for the test of a new antimatter engine, one that many scientists speculated would finally make space travel possible. The energy required to start it was so great they had even diverted the electricity from a nearby power plant to the facility, and had allowed the neighboring city who suffered the blackout to observe the start up. I made my way through the crowd of mildly annoyed people and into the building. Today was a test involving an administered sedative, to see how much was needed to make me "teleport". However, about halfway to the room, sirens began to sound, and the ground started rumbling. From one of the big bay windows in the lobby a blinding flash of light exploded into the room, and a high pitched whirring sound sung through the air. I quickly gathered myself and turned the corner back into the lobby. The antimatter engine was the source of the minature solar flare, and was shaking violently in its massive steel cradle. The ground underneath it buckled and swayed with the motion of the collosal machine, and small rocks began to levitate as the whirring grew louder and louder. You couldnt even hear the loudspeaker anymore. Then the whole assembly lurched like a drunk who just discovered his limit, hurling a small mountian into the air behind it. The outer face of the engine caved into itself and was swallowed by the supermassive pistons that made up the sides of it, quickly collapsing into a shifting maw of molten metal and orange sparks. I couldnt hear anything over that deafening whir now, and as I watched with horror, the sky behind the coagulated mass began to swell inward, drawing attention to the miniature speck of what I can only describe as the light of a star, gleaming in the now compacting air.
The last words I thought to myself were "This is it. This is the end."
And then the metal rod bashed me in the back of the head.
I came to instantly, in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Everything seemed normal, no whirring noise, no collapsing skyline, no crushing sense of inevitable destruction.
Then that fourth one came back when I realized where I was. Somewhere else. That thing that hit me (I'm guessing it was a rod, I dont know for sure) had knocked me out. I fucking fell asleep as the world was ending. Or at least that section of the continent. Antimatters some pretty crazy shit, extremely reactive if it comes into contact with matter (you learn a lot being tested on in a quantum testing lab all the time). Even tiny amounts can have catastrophic, apocalyptic consequences for misuse.
Now I don't know what to do. If I fall asleep where will I wake up? Another grassy park? Maybe in another universe? What if it takes me back to mine? Will there be anything left? What if I just pop into existence in the vaccume of space? I needed time, something I didnt have much of, I was already starting to feel fatigue. See, when I wake up in the dreamworld, I start out fully energized, and it slowly drains until I'm too tired and fall asleep. So I needed a way to stay up. On that note the barista has been giving me scared looks for the past day. Yes, thats correct, DAY. I HAVE BEEN HERE FOR 3 DAYS WITH NOTHING BUT COFFEE TO KEEP ME GOING. I CAN FEEL MY FINGERNAILS GROWING, MY TEETH VIBRATE, AND THE LAST FAMILIAR THING I REMEMBER IS MY REALITY CURLING INTO A DARK OBLIVIOM BEHIND A CONGEALED SPHERE OF SUPERNUCLEAR DEATH. My composure is avtually knd of impressive if im beenn honest. But I don't know hiw mich longer i cn stay awaake. This whole blurb took a lot out of mr, everythunfs gertinh fuzzy. I just had to grt thiis out. If you red this, plesse dint let my storu dissapear.
For the srcind time...
This is it
The end
Ifg somerrone fibds me, pleSe help.
-The Sleepwalker
:::::Please lemme know what you think. I apologize for small errors but i did this at 3 am on my phone. Any feedback would be super appreciated! Hope you enjoyed!:::::::
| Its been 42 days awake. Your mind smeared with the glitter of lights booming from the echoes of the room. The dirty music pounds your ears into your soul. You stammer around to find bearing about the meaning of it all. Should you stay? Stay here in this place?
From beneath the prancing of the hollow drums of feat skipping upon the tiled floor a shriek ignites a fire in you. Like hounds upon the scent of foxs blood a wave of daring lads set towards the scene. You dodge fourth following. Upon the ground at the scene a mass of people staring down a man lay shaking in compulsions. A women terrified in panic letting her hysteria bleed unto the crowd.
You wipe the sweet from you brows. Pushing the wettness up into the greasy mess of you hair. Anger swells your blood. This was no tragedy worth a weep. But the exhaustion. It hits you like a wave. You think to yourself "oh god let me fall asleep". In the midst of the chaos. As the music plays. The clubs roars. You find a seat and sit down. You head falls to your arms cradling your blooming head. You close you eyes.
Memories rush through your mind. The places you've been. The things you've seen. They all play in reverse. Only yesterday you had learned to love. Where a day was a year. Where you had meet your love. She was here when you awoke you could have sworn you saw her. Didn't she say she would follow you from world to world.
Did you know her when it first happened. It's been many worlds and many lifetimes. You can barely remember how it happened. It was when you were 20. It must have been 40 years. Yet you haven't aged at all. Yes you remember now. You had made a deal. Once it was over. You would return. But what was it you came here to do.
The void approached with sudden relief to take your mind away. To spell you into a dream. Into another world you would go. Certainly as it always occurs. Like the sun rises anew each day so to do you arise each day into a new world different from the last.
But suddenly a sound. One from behind. A hand you see it reaching. A voice, a womens voice calls you back. You spring up dazed and betrayed.
The club. Damn your still in the club. So close to sleep. You turn around. It is her. She is standing there greeting you with a warm smile. Tears swelling in her eyes.
"I found you" She pulls at you to turn to her embrace.
Damn the women you love. The women you hate. You remember the bet. You can't lose.
"Yes darling. You have"
.... to be continued. | |
[WP] Everytime you go to sleep you wake up in a new world, you're trying desperately to stay awake. | The longest any person on any of the hundreds of worlds I’ve been on as been able to stay awake is about 11 days. The longest I’ve ever managed to stay awake is five, and that’s as I’m writing this.
It’s said that when a body goes without sleep it starts to hallucinate and the heart quickens and breaths become sharper and air cooler and your body hotter and the body begs for sleep. I don’t know what death feels like, but I can assume that this is how some would picture it. I would say they’re wrong.
I think it’s because of this curse. For some reason the damned gods decided I was the one who should be burdened to wake on another planet. I’ve seen thousands, maybe millions of planets. I lost count a while ago. I used to write about each one, but now I rarely write. I usually will spend a day on a planet, travel it and see what I can, then drift off to nothingness and find a new place when I wake. I stopped trying to break this curse a while ago. Well, until now.
I know it’s pointless to fight. Yet I do.
I would describe death as a numbness. Never once have been cursed with hallucinations and such, but when I got this long without sleep a numbness starts in my chest, where my heart should be, and slowly spreads. It’s been spreading for three days. I can feel it claw up my throat and my left hand has been tingling since this morning. Walking is becoming harder. It’s becoming harder to use my senses as well. Everything is going numb, and eventually I will be forced into sleep.
I’ve never been on a place like earth. They aren’t the most advanced planet and from the small time I’ve been here I believe they will tear themselves apart before any other life form does, if they don’t tear their planet apart before. I’ve seen other planets come to the same fate as earth. Sadly I couldn’t pass with these planets, for this curse also made me immortal.
Still, the people of earth seem to have something I haven’t seen in a while. No matter the odds they fight, like how i fight to stay awake. They have hope. You have hope, and that is what gave me hope that I could stay awake, that I could stay with you.
I know you’ll probably be mad that I told you this in a letter. You might not even believe it, which would probably be best for both of us. I sometimes don’t believe it, yet the black scars on my body show that it’s real.
I don’t know why the gods cursed me. They know I curse them but they never respond, just as earths gods have never responded. Yet your people still have faith. So much so that hey fight over which faith is the right one. The most common war among the infinite space is religion, and while i curse the gods not even I can say if they are real or not.
I have no place to call home. It’s best that way, because I’ve found most to not accept me. I’d say it’s the black scars that look like fire that cover my arms, chest, and back, but it’s also because I am unknown to them. Unknown, like on earth, is a threat among the universe. And when you can’t kill the unknown, what do you do?
These are not questions you should worry about. You always ask what’s going on inside my head and why I’m quite, and it’s because of these thoughts. I figured I may as well give you an answer before I disappear.
Carla, I have only know you for five days. In those five days you have me smile more than I have my entire life. I have never had a home, and I have never known love. But if I had to define the words, I’d use the time I spent with you to do so. I know for your people this seems sudden, to profess a word like love so soon. But it doesn’t matter, because I will be gone before you reject me. Some twisted part of me would rather have your rejection than be forced away. But this is uncontrollable, and for that I am sorry.
I have never yet been to a planet twice, and in the impossible chance that I’ll be here again there is no telling how much time has passed. If for some reason you have hope that I’ll return, I beg of you to burn it, and move forward.
I will miss this planet and it’s people. Even if I return to my depressing ways, I’ll be able to smile when I think of earth, and when i think of you.
I’m crying. I can’t remember the last time I’ve cried. Thank you, Carla.
Thank you for everything. | Its been 42 days awake. Your mind smeared with the glitter of lights booming from the echoes of the room. The dirty music pounds your ears into your soul. You stammer around to find bearing about the meaning of it all. Should you stay? Stay here in this place?
From beneath the prancing of the hollow drums of feat skipping upon the tiled floor a shriek ignites a fire in you. Like hounds upon the scent of foxs blood a wave of daring lads set towards the scene. You dodge fourth following. Upon the ground at the scene a mass of people staring down a man lay shaking in compulsions. A women terrified in panic letting her hysteria bleed unto the crowd.
You wipe the sweet from you brows. Pushing the wettness up into the greasy mess of you hair. Anger swells your blood. This was no tragedy worth a weep. But the exhaustion. It hits you like a wave. You think to yourself "oh god let me fall asleep". In the midst of the chaos. As the music plays. The clubs roars. You find a seat and sit down. You head falls to your arms cradling your blooming head. You close you eyes.
Memories rush through your mind. The places you've been. The things you've seen. They all play in reverse. Only yesterday you had learned to love. Where a day was a year. Where you had meet your love. She was here when you awoke you could have sworn you saw her. Didn't she say she would follow you from world to world.
Did you know her when it first happened. It's been many worlds and many lifetimes. You can barely remember how it happened. It was when you were 20. It must have been 40 years. Yet you haven't aged at all. Yes you remember now. You had made a deal. Once it was over. You would return. But what was it you came here to do.
The void approached with sudden relief to take your mind away. To spell you into a dream. Into another world you would go. Certainly as it always occurs. Like the sun rises anew each day so to do you arise each day into a new world different from the last.
But suddenly a sound. One from behind. A hand you see it reaching. A voice, a womens voice calls you back. You spring up dazed and betrayed.
The club. Damn your still in the club. So close to sleep. You turn around. It is her. She is standing there greeting you with a warm smile. Tears swelling in her eyes.
"I found you" She pulls at you to turn to her embrace.
Damn the women you love. The women you hate. You remember the bet. You can't lose.
"Yes darling. You have"
.... to be continued. | |
[WP] Everytime you go to sleep you wake up in a new world, you're trying desperately to stay awake. | Head nodding, eyes drooping, body heavy.
I've forgotten what it's like to be a kid. Or at least, what it should be like.
Every trick in the book, I've already tried it. Screaming, yelling, stamping my feet, crying, playing, mocking. Nothing works.
No one can understand me.
I've been a million different people, though always older than this. Every time I get thrust into some life I haven't built, into relationships I don't understand and working a job I've never seen before.
Never been a kid, though. Never had a mom or a dad. Always been the adult, whether it's waking up in a gutter in the city of God, or rolling over in satin sheets in the kind of giant house many dream of, but never live in.
You're supposed to miss these kinds of things, but I've got what you would call a melancholy. I've never had it, so I don't know what I've lost. Only the impression of what should have been.
Being a kid is weird. I'm shorter than everyone, and can't even express myself in any kind of way. Though I've been doing this for what seems like countless days, when I try to speak it's all garbles and cooing. If my body can't make words, then I guess I can't force it to.
Part of the cover, maybe?
It's been pretty nice, actually. Not having to adapt to some family dynamic complicated by a thousand petty grievances I've never seen before.
Just a young man, with a full beard and stubby nose, short hair and hairy arms. A young woman, with short, cropped hair and wiry thin arms.
It must be a weekend, because they've been around all day. Morning came, and I awoke, expecting to have to swing my legs out of bed and fulfill responsibilities I never signed up for.
Instead I was in a crib, and the woman came into my room, singing a song about getting dressed.
It was lovely, except I'd apparently shat myself overnight, and was in need of a diaper change. No rash, which was nice. Kind of weird, since I've changed my fair share of diapers, but every time I looked down in that crib I couldn't help but envy the lump of meat swaddled in blankets in love.
Here, it felt nice, being picked up and cared for.
To be told you were loved, even though they knew you couldn't understand.
To remind you that you weren't alone, that they'd always be there for you.
Snapshot effect, maybe. Could be in ten years they're divorced and trying to bribe the leftover children with gifts and promises of being the 'cool' parent.
I'm not sure about these two, though. There's too much warmth.
But I guess that's how most of these things start, isn't it? All warm butterflies and happy thoughts and sugary words? You don't have to deal with the endless monotony of broken promises and empty days.
It seems cruel, that something I've never had before, is about to be taken away. When I fall asleep, they'll be gone. Two people I don't know, have never met, and will probably never see again.
Still, it was nice. To have a mom cut up your banana and read you a story in the afternoon. For your dad to make a silly voice and dangle some keys over you so you'll stay still when a diaper is being changed.
He's a quiet man, spending a lot of time in his head. The woman is quirky and silly most of the time, though she seems to hide it from those who interact with her. When no one is looking, she'll do a twirling dance that she seems to expect will make me laugh.
Sure, I've experienced love before, but there's always something expected out of me. Hell, it's actually never directed at me. Always at the body I'm inhabiting, the mask I'm wearing, the person I'm supposed to be but can never follow.
For the first time in a long time, I don't want to go to bed.
I want to be normal, to grow up with some kind of family and make friends. To not be alone, time and time again with people I have no connection to.
I'm in one of those things that isn't a crib, but isn't exactly a bed either. There's walls, but the ground is soft like a mattress. There's a stuffed elephant in one corner, and a blanket with trains on either side.
I've sat in one corner, trying to stay awake as long as I can.
Maybe if I stay fully awake in this body, I can stay here. I have no idea what happens to the consciousness of the person I've stolen, but God forgive me, I don't want to leave.
I'm happy.
I'm safe.
I'm warm.
My eyes droop, my shoulders stoop, my back aches. My legs are short and stubby, worn with a day of walks and play. I can hear the distant murmur of a mother and father discuss the day.
The room is dark, but there's a night light in the corner, red and inviting.
Please don't let me go.
Please don't make me go.
Whatever governs this process, I don't want to switch anymore. I want a body of my own. I know this can be hard, that being a person asks so much of everyone, but please, please let me do it on my own. There's struggles and trials and tribulations, and some are condemned to terrible childhoods that leave scars that'll never heal, but here seems nice. I've seen their eyes and mannerisms and behaviors, and they're loving people. I want what this kid would have. Something I've been denied since I've spent my time jumping from form to form.
I start to cry, but it's not me. It's the body, the undeveloped brain, the tiny form.
After awhile, the drowsiness becomes too much.
And I close my eyes, drifting away on soft clouds as dark as midnight.
Away, to a different form.
For the process to repeat again.
Though now I know what I've lost.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato | Its been 42 days awake. Your mind smeared with the glitter of lights booming from the echoes of the room. The dirty music pounds your ears into your soul. You stammer around to find bearing about the meaning of it all. Should you stay? Stay here in this place?
From beneath the prancing of the hollow drums of feat skipping upon the tiled floor a shriek ignites a fire in you. Like hounds upon the scent of foxs blood a wave of daring lads set towards the scene. You dodge fourth following. Upon the ground at the scene a mass of people staring down a man lay shaking in compulsions. A women terrified in panic letting her hysteria bleed unto the crowd.
You wipe the sweet from you brows. Pushing the wettness up into the greasy mess of you hair. Anger swells your blood. This was no tragedy worth a weep. But the exhaustion. It hits you like a wave. You think to yourself "oh god let me fall asleep". In the midst of the chaos. As the music plays. The clubs roars. You find a seat and sit down. You head falls to your arms cradling your blooming head. You close you eyes.
Memories rush through your mind. The places you've been. The things you've seen. They all play in reverse. Only yesterday you had learned to love. Where a day was a year. Where you had meet your love. She was here when you awoke you could have sworn you saw her. Didn't she say she would follow you from world to world.
Did you know her when it first happened. It's been many worlds and many lifetimes. You can barely remember how it happened. It was when you were 20. It must have been 40 years. Yet you haven't aged at all. Yes you remember now. You had made a deal. Once it was over. You would return. But what was it you came here to do.
The void approached with sudden relief to take your mind away. To spell you into a dream. Into another world you would go. Certainly as it always occurs. Like the sun rises anew each day so to do you arise each day into a new world different from the last.
But suddenly a sound. One from behind. A hand you see it reaching. A voice, a womens voice calls you back. You spring up dazed and betrayed.
The club. Damn your still in the club. So close to sleep. You turn around. It is her. She is standing there greeting you with a warm smile. Tears swelling in her eyes.
"I found you" She pulls at you to turn to her embrace.
Damn the women you love. The women you hate. You remember the bet. You can't lose.
"Yes darling. You have"
.... to be continued. | |
Have at it. | [WP] You can’t prove it, but you’re about 87% sure that your school janitor is one of the Old Gods. | **Teacher’s Pet** (766 words)
The teacher had told me to get to the principal poste-haste, which was a bit unusual. My grades were decent; not stellar, but there was no danger of failing a class either. So I was a bit confused as to why, but never one to rock the boat, I just went.
As I entered his anteroom there were no other student, only the janitor, watering the plants in the corner. He didn’t pay me any attention, and since I was expected I simply knocked on the door.
“Come in!” The principal’s voice was muffled. “Both of you.”
*Both?* I wondered, looking around. Was there anyone else?
“’Scuse me,” the janitor said as he pushed past me into the office. Then he turned to me, keeping the door open and bushy eyebrows raised. “Ya comin’ or what?”
“Uh, ye-yes,” I stammered.
We both sat down in front of the principal’s desk. I shot sideways glances at the janitor. He’s been at school as long as I remember, and according to my parents he’d already been ancient when they attended. He was unassuming and bland looking, so much that he and easily fell into the background.
“Thank you. Mr Berger, Mrs Anne, do you know why I called you in?”
Mr Berger just shrugged. I gave an uncertain shake of my head. “No?”
The principal took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. He turned to Mr Berger.
“You’ve been leaking. More so than usual.”
“So what?” Mr Berger scoffed. “Them larvae ’re all stunted an’ wouldn’t feel me if ya marinated them in my psychic effluence.”
The principal gave a sharp glance at me, there was a snap, and suddenly everything sounded a bit quieter, the colours were a bit duller, and the sunlight shining through the windows was a bit colder.
“Usually I would agree, but maybe you have wallowed a little overmuch in your own effluence? For you see, our dear Mrs Anne here appears to be something of a special case.”
He steepled his fingers in front of his face, giving me an ominous look.
“Mrs Anne, I made discreet inquiries about what you do with your friends. Don’t ask them, they won’t recall anything. So please be frank: why don’t you tell us about your campaign?”
My jaw dropped in fury at the thinly veiled threat, then I blinked in comprehension as it finally clicked.
I was DM’ing a game with a couple of friends, pretty typical evil dude trying to take over a country and a plucky party of adventurers was all that stood in his way. I also had the habit of reusing characters but changing the fluff for the respective campaign. An archetypical hero in one campaign was a down on his luck barkeep in another, simply because he had chosen differently and wasn’t skilled at barkeeping.
But at times I also like to connect the games. In the current campaign I had introduced a minor NPC, modelled after the man sitting currently next to me, simply because as a janitor he quickly faded into the background. The NPC though, he was the hidden mentor to the Big Bad, nudging him with comments into useful actions rather than mindless evil-for-evil’s-sake. He’d keep appearing in future campaigns, lending the current Big Bad an unobtrusive hand, not because he wanted him to succeed, but because it was funny and a way to stave off boredom another couple years.
I told all this to the principal and Mr Berger. The two men shared a complicated look, one that was too fraught with meaning for me to parse fully.
“She got *some* things right,” Mr Berger said.
“And others surprisingly, *delightfully* wrong.” The principal gave me smile that stretched a bit too far and showed exactly 43 teeth—I didn’t knew how I knew that number, it had arrived in my mind unbidden and unannounced. I swallowed nervously.
“Mrs Anne, how would you feel about taking on another course this year?”
“Um… fine, I guess? I don’t have any AP courses, if that’s what you mean?”
“Tut-tut-tut.” The principal had raised a finger in mock admonishment. “You *had* no AP course, now you have… let’s call it AP Collaborative Storytelling. About three hours weekly on a day of your choosing, held in the teacher’s lounge hosting another game for the teacher’s. The first session will be held next Friday.”
He gave me another too-wide smile, showing even more teeth.
“I’d—” I swallowed again, frightened and nervous and, to be honest, a smidgen curious.
“I’d be *delighted*!” | There was always something off about Mr. De Luca. From the way he carried himself, to the way some jerk-off’s locker would mysteriously slam shut as he walked by, I always had my suspicions. Especially with the archaic way he spoke.
One day, it got to be too much for poor Mr. De Luca. He had heard one too many people call him Mr. DeLorean, after that stupid car. He had seen one too many people laugh at his slightly hobbled walk. I heard a shout and felt a rush of air, almost like the most bitter winter wind rush by. Then I heard it. The cry that confirmed my suspicions: “YOU DARE INSULT THE MIGHTY AEOLUS, GOD OF THE WINDS?” Then, silence as the hallway froze, one person, (clearly the one who pissed off Mr. De Lu- Aeolus) literally. I remember going home that night both frightened and intrigued. I remember knowing what was going to be taught the next day in history: Greek and Roman mythology. |
Have at it. | [WP] You can’t prove it, but you’re about 87% sure that your school janitor is one of the Old Gods. | Do you sometimes get the feeling that someone is intentionally acting dumb or socially awkward. Well, there is something weird with our janitor Mr. Roth but I can't quite put my finger on it.
My high school is nothing out of the ordinary. Public school, you know, the same stuff as in most places. Some bored, some overly enthusiastic teachers, excessively bored students, the usual jocks, varying degrees of nerds, etc.
He started during the last years exams and immediately garnered the attention of the mean jocks. They can smell lack of confidence from miles away and ganged up on him on his second day. Nothing new or unusually mean of course. They mocked his baggy brown clothes, took away his glassed and passed it among themselves, emptied his water bucket on the ground and made fun of his finely combed oily blonde hair. The sad thing was he made no effort to rectify his situation. Besides his exaggerated looks, he also could carry fully stacked boxes without breaking stride, and in one instance turn on a light by just touching the bulb itself, slight electrical currents visible from his fingers dancing to and back from it. He didn't notice me at first but I saw it all. "Bulb was loose, these things are dangerous. I got slightly electrocuted" he said, smiling. Of course Mr. Roth, of course and I'm Otto Von Bismarck, pleasure.
Some part of me felt awful watching him suffer and tried to talked to him multiple times, after the weekly jock storm had passed of course. Mostly to understand, why.
"Mr. Roth, they would leave you alone if you would talk to Mr. Kinnsly about this." I said as I picked up his glasses from the ground.
"I would wish no harm on the boys Mr. Briggs, they mean no offense." he said, tidying himself up. "I must confess though, I do wear old fashioned clothes. his voice trailed off, eyes pointing back to the ground. "Have a fine day, Mr Briggs." he said, breaking conversation. *You cannot run away from questions Mr. Roth.*
The next time was no different but this time I had to ask, "Why, Mr. Roth? Why do you not defend yourself? I know you have the strength, I've seen you lift boxes filled with books on stack of two."
"I'm looking for my brother. He has a debt to pay and I will make him do so. But first, I must find him." he said suddenly out of his usual depressed demeanor, shocking me, but immediately fell back to it. "He is here in this town, somewhere, but I have been looking for a long time without luck.". Just as his sentence was about to end, I heard a dull thud right beside my head. I moved by eyes to the left and inches from my face was his hand with an apple firmly inside. It was probably aimed at him of course but not every douche pitches for the team and they missed. There was total silence in the hallway.
Mr. Kinnsly suddenly materialized behind our backs, "Mr. Roth, do you not have any duties to perform other than chatting up the students?". "Yes Sir, I'm sorry sir.". Mr. Kinnsly was a fatherly figure to everyone in the school. Everyone except Mr Roth for some reason. His sole enjoyment since last year is to torment the man to no ends.
One such example he certainly enjoys is making Mr. Roth tend to the mistletoe plants growing around the trees. I think I saw him shed a tear once in a while while tending those plants. Maybe it was the memories of better times, who knows.
* * *
*I enjoy writing short prompts. If you are curious for more:* [r/spider_elephant](https://www.reddit.com/r/spider_elephant/)
| There was always something off about Mr. De Luca. From the way he carried himself, to the way some jerk-off’s locker would mysteriously slam shut as he walked by, I always had my suspicions. Especially with the archaic way he spoke.
One day, it got to be too much for poor Mr. De Luca. He had heard one too many people call him Mr. DeLorean, after that stupid car. He had seen one too many people laugh at his slightly hobbled walk. I heard a shout and felt a rush of air, almost like the most bitter winter wind rush by. Then I heard it. The cry that confirmed my suspicions: “YOU DARE INSULT THE MIGHTY AEOLUS, GOD OF THE WINDS?” Then, silence as the hallway froze, one person, (clearly the one who pissed off Mr. De Lu- Aeolus) literally. I remember going home that night both frightened and intrigued. I remember knowing what was going to be taught the next day in history: Greek and Roman mythology. |
[WP] You were born with a curse; Anti-Luck. The more unlikely something is, the better the chance you have at achieving it, and vice versa. You’re forced to take danger risks to get the most mundane tasks done. | I threw the coin across the room, bracing for the impact as it bounces back at my head. Another lottery won, another million in the bank. Sighing, I backflipped onto the couch, wishing I could take out the trash without breaking my legs half the time. Glumly, I flipped through the channels two at a time, praying that the remote won't short circuit. It did. I cursed.
Obscenities streaming forth, I rolled off of the couch, crashed through my sliding glass door one more time, and drove to Generic-Mart on the wrong side of the road. Leaving my car on, I cartwheelled indoors, climbed over a few aisles, grabbed my new remote, and ran. Another day, another item stolen.
The drive home was eventful, as always. I went 90 in a 45, evaded the police, and arrived home to crash through my just-repaired door again. My landlord cursed me even as I threw another stack of $100s at his feet.
Then realising I didn't, in fact, want to watch TV, I army-crawled to the kitchen to attempt taking the garbage out. This time, however, something inside me clicked. I had a grand epiphany, and, saying a prayer to Kobe Bryant, I yeeted the trash bag towards the dumpster.
I should play basketball.
​
r/The_Anony_Mouse | Zarchelfa walked across the hall to his room. However, just like his name, he did it quite strangely. Normal people could walk normally; that's just how it worked. Not for Zarch. He was cursed with the same problem that befell his parents: anti-luck. The reason that Zarchelfa had such a strange name was that a normal name would've set his birth certificate ablaze. So, Zarchelfa MacVarillus Villianus was born.
When confronted with a floor, Zarch either wall ran to get farther, or when outside, walked extremely strangely. Zarch remembered clearly that in 9th grade, he was out of ideas when it came to strolling around the park, so he started to squat kick while walking. This did not go very well, as he kicked his face and fell to the ground. Here is where his anti-luck kicked in. Right between his nose and the ground, was a perfectly usable 20 dollar bill. Zarch, being a young teenager at the time, felt like he had just won the lottery. He was so caught up in it that he started to walk normally. Here is where the anti-luck kicked in again.
*Crack*
The crunch he felt was not that of a crisp dollar bill, but instead that of his leg breaking after tripping on a rock after walking normally. "Curse my anti-luck" was all Zarch could think for the rest of the ride to the hospital.
By today, Zarch had figured out his anti-luck. As he found out one day, if he hurt himself, something good would happen to him. However, this took a toll on his body. It started with paper cuts, then self harm. He found that the worse the pain, the better the benefit. He got a dream job, and won a car that he always wanted. But he was addicted. Nothing could satisfy his greed. He found a new game to play. He had won it a few times, as the probability of losing was low. However, the consequences of losing were grave. He spun the barrel, put the gun to his head, and fired.
#Game Over | |
[WP] Write a story we’re it’s not clear who’s the villain and who’s the good guy up until the final sentence we’re it becomes incredible black and white. | A man was running from a prison complex, he was dressed in a jumpsuit, and was constantly being harried by a group of guards.
He ran into bolt-hole and threw the door closed. The guards caught up and began pounding on the door. One of the guards yelled something the man didn't understand, and a hole appeared in the door, blown through with a shotgun.
The man heard one of his persuers yell, "Aufmachen, Schutzstaffel. Surrender yourself now, Englishman, and you'll live to see the marrow.", as a gremade flew past his head, bounced twice, and he knew no more. | The cold night air encapsulates your being as you step out of your car
"Jesus fucking christ, again? Fuck this car" Sal said with a suppressed rage.
Sal walked, slowly, lumbering with his great stature and wide gait to the trunk of his car, scrounging through the mess of tools in an attempt to get the honda junker moving again.
"Fuck, where is it" Sal again, began to rummage until his hand felt something wet
"What the fuck is this?" Sal exclaimed with shock
Sals eyes widened as his eyes narrowed on the blood stained screwdriver "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, IT'S BLOOD, WHAT THE FUCK"
Sal began looking around, paranoid. When did this happen? Who? Was it always like this? He tried to remember, a couple of nights ago he had a strange dream, in it he had violent visions of rage being taken out on some stranger.
"Did...did I kill someone?" *shots ring out*
in the distance as a vehicle speeds by Sal hears his final words "FUCK YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT, THIS IS FOR JOHNNY" and slumps to the floor, screwdriver tightly held in his hand as his breathe escapes in the cold night air.
The next day on the news:
Man accused in killing infamous thug Johnny Walker who was attempting to sexually assault a young girl found shot to death, suspect still at large.
*I wandered in here from rising, I have no idea what I'm doing* | |
[WP] Write a story we’re it’s not clear who’s the villain and who’s the good guy up until the final sentence we’re it becomes incredible black and white. | “Here’s to 20 happy years together,” Michael said sarcastically, raising his champagne flute into the air. He was sat by a picnic table in his garden.
“They were the best,” laughed Sheila, raising her glass in response. “Where did it all go wrong?”
Michael’s grin gradually exchanged itself for a look of pensive sadness. “Well, you fucked Tommy’s dad, that’s probably where it started going wrong.”
“No, Mike. Things started to go sour long before I did that. Back when you started beating me after you’d had too much to drink,” Sheila retorted.
Michael and Sheila looked down at their glasses as a peaceful stillness broke out between them. This had been the first time they’d communicated honestly in 20 years.
They picked up their glasses, smiled at one another, and simultaneously consumed the champagne.
Michael began to struggle to breath. His face became crimson red, and his eyes started to bulge. He clasped his straining throat as if to free himself from an invisible stranglehold. Sheila looked on with horror, but she didn’t move to help. A short struggle later, Michael collapsed onto the picnic table.
A teenage boy came to his bedroom window overlooking his parents. He’d heard the thud of his father’s head on the picnic table. He hated their fighting; he hated getting beaten. He wanted it all to end. As he walked back from his window, he grabbed his bag, already packed, and headed out. He didn’t need to see his mother die as well. | The cold night air encapsulates your being as you step out of your car
"Jesus fucking christ, again? Fuck this car" Sal said with a suppressed rage.
Sal walked, slowly, lumbering with his great stature and wide gait to the trunk of his car, scrounging through the mess of tools in an attempt to get the honda junker moving again.
"Fuck, where is it" Sal again, began to rummage until his hand felt something wet
"What the fuck is this?" Sal exclaimed with shock
Sals eyes widened as his eyes narrowed on the blood stained screwdriver "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, IT'S BLOOD, WHAT THE FUCK"
Sal began looking around, paranoid. When did this happen? Who? Was it always like this? He tried to remember, a couple of nights ago he had a strange dream, in it he had violent visions of rage being taken out on some stranger.
"Did...did I kill someone?" *shots ring out*
in the distance as a vehicle speeds by Sal hears his final words "FUCK YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT, THIS IS FOR JOHNNY" and slumps to the floor, screwdriver tightly held in his hand as his breathe escapes in the cold night air.
The next day on the news:
Man accused in killing infamous thug Johnny Walker who was attempting to sexually assault a young girl found shot to death, suspect still at large.
*I wandered in here from rising, I have no idea what I'm doing* | |
[WP] Write a story we’re it’s not clear who’s the villain and who’s the good guy up until the final sentence we’re it becomes incredible black and white. | “Ah, Mr. Quickpaw. How nice of you to join me.”
Lone Quickpaw merely eyed the man across from him, a burly thing of muscle and fists that could hardly be considered much use to society, yet somehow he was a leading member of both the city council and aid to the governor. Careful to keep his hands neutral at his side, away from the hidden weapon kept just over his heart in a hidden pocket, he watched his target as he sat down at a long wooden table already set with food.
“Please, do sit,” the man offered graciously in the perfect manner of civility, and Lone complied. Sitting at the opposite end of the table, he started at the appearance of a servant beside him, settling down once the apron clad woman set a plate of turkey in front of him. He watched her go for a moment before tentatively picking up a knife and fork beside the newly placed plate. Checking to ensure his host had begun eating, Lone did so as well, taking small, quick bites.
“So tell me, Mr. Quickpaw, why have you come to kill me?”
Lone froze mid bite, then chuckled. “I see you already know my intention.”
“Well it certainly wasn’t hidden,” the man responded with his own chuckle. “You’ve left plenty of bodies lying around the city as of late.”
“Aye, I have,” Lone agreed.
“Even after all they did?”
“Please,” Lone said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he returned his knife and fork to their original positions. “Tell me of their great deeds.”
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Jeverone helped to build the city infrastructure, setting up bus lines and trams, high speed trains, and soon a subway. Yet you cut their lives and accomplishments short.”
“A conflict of interest,” Lone merely responded with a shrug. “They got in my way.”
“Even the Pulsivers?”
“You mean the ex-mayor? She certainly...was a character. Although I hardly consider her controlling things from behind the scenes after leaving office a prime example of an upstanding citizen.”
“But harsh enough to take her life?” the host asked, taking a large bite of his chicken. “Besides, all ex-incumbents do such things one way or another. Even your uncle.”
“And what happened to him? Ah, yes, an accident late at night. Car crash while intoxicated.” Lone smile beguilingly. “Rather unfortunate.”
“And that is why I doubt that was an accident,” Lone’s target shot back with a deep frown. “I wonder if you would even go so far as matricide to get what you want.”
“Don’t bring my mother into this,” Lone immediately growled back, right hand shifting unconsciously to the hidden revolver in his breast pocket. His host shifted a little uncomfortably before responding slowly.
“Now now, hear me out. I meant nothing by that. And honestly, Lone, what have I done?”
“By all accounts, nothing,” Lone said simply, calming himself but not enough to remove his hand from the weapon. “But I need you out of the way.”
“All I have ever done is provide for the livelihood of the people,” the host quickly interjected. “I haven’t missed a single tax day, I pushed laws that hurt my economic status but boosted those below me, and I don’t have so much as a ticket in my name on the books. Why kill someone who even, I might add, defended you in court when you failed to show?”
“As if they thought a known murderer would go to a public court date,” Lone snorted out. “Besides, this moniker they gave me, I find it ridiculous. Just ask anyone and they could probably give the cops my real name.”
“Oh certainly,” the target agreed. “But the people do love a story and mystique.”
“We digress,” Lone abruptly snapped, fully drawing his gun and casually pointing it down the table. “Now, should I finish it?”
“Of course,” the man agreed before grinning malevolently. “If you can.”
“Oh you mean the poison you slipped in my food?” Lone supplied nonchalantly. “Yes, a classic old trick, but it’s useless if the person is immune.” The host paled greatly at Lone’s words, and the killer merely smiled. “Now, may the white rose bloom.”
The crack could be heard in the adjoining kitchen, and the servant winced as she paused momentarily at the sound before returning to vigorously scrubbing a dirtied pan. A minute later, she became aware of the presence of the assassin, who had unbeknownst to her entered the kitchen as silent as a mouse. Turning to him, she took in the revolver loosely gripped in his right hand, fear slowly creeping up as her life began to flash before her eyes. Or that was until he spoke.
“Where are they?”
“Wh-What?” The servant looked as if she had been struck, mouth dropping open as she immediately knew what the man meant. “No, please! They know nothing!”
“Show me,” Lone simply ordered, pointing his gun at her head. The servant knew only to comply, forlornly showing the way as tears began to stream down her face. Lone followed, gun raised, until they stood in front of a section of wainscoting that appeared more worn than areas around it. Pushing on a hand sized worn area, there was a click, and the false wall swung outwards to reveal a huddled mass of bodies. Owlishly, eyes turned out towards the light and the two figures, most immediately falling on the silver revolver still pointed at the servant. She began to beg, plead for their lives, claiming they would say nothing if released, never reveal his identity, until Lone shut her up with a sharp strike to her temple with his gun’s wooden handle. Ten pairs of eyes followed it as the barrel turned away from the servant, towards them, and most accepted the death they saw coming.
“You are all free,” Lone said simply, waving his gun at the young girls the man had used as playthings ever since his rise to power. “You’re ‘master’ is dead.” He allowed himself a small smile at seeing the dawning recognition and then excitement on their faces as they began to revel in their newfound hope. Glancing down at the servant, who was staring up at him from the ground where he had knocked her down, he said simply, “After all, it’s the most upstanding of us that hide the worst transgressions.”
Edit: words that auto correct got a hold of | The cold night air encapsulates your being as you step out of your car
"Jesus fucking christ, again? Fuck this car" Sal said with a suppressed rage.
Sal walked, slowly, lumbering with his great stature and wide gait to the trunk of his car, scrounging through the mess of tools in an attempt to get the honda junker moving again.
"Fuck, where is it" Sal again, began to rummage until his hand felt something wet
"What the fuck is this?" Sal exclaimed with shock
Sals eyes widened as his eyes narrowed on the blood stained screwdriver "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, IT'S BLOOD, WHAT THE FUCK"
Sal began looking around, paranoid. When did this happen? Who? Was it always like this? He tried to remember, a couple of nights ago he had a strange dream, in it he had violent visions of rage being taken out on some stranger.
"Did...did I kill someone?" *shots ring out*
in the distance as a vehicle speeds by Sal hears his final words "FUCK YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT, THIS IS FOR JOHNNY" and slumps to the floor, screwdriver tightly held in his hand as his breathe escapes in the cold night air.
The next day on the news:
Man accused in killing infamous thug Johnny Walker who was attempting to sexually assault a young girl found shot to death, suspect still at large.
*I wandered in here from rising, I have no idea what I'm doing* | |
[WP] Write a story we’re it’s not clear who’s the villain and who’s the good guy up until the final sentence we’re it becomes incredible black and white. | “Here’s to 20 happy years together,” Michael said sarcastically, raising his champagne flute into the air. He was sat by a picnic table in his garden.
“They were the best,” laughed Sheila, raising her glass in response. “Where did it all go wrong?”
Michael’s grin gradually exchanged itself for a look of pensive sadness. “Well, you fucked Tommy’s dad, that’s probably where it started going wrong.”
“No, Mike. Things started to go sour long before I did that. Back when you started beating me after you’d had too much to drink,” Sheila retorted.
Michael and Sheila looked down at their glasses as a peaceful stillness broke out between them. This had been the first time they’d communicated honestly in 20 years.
They picked up their glasses, smiled at one another, and simultaneously consumed the champagne.
Michael began to struggle to breath. His face became crimson red, and his eyes started to bulge. He clasped his straining throat as if to free himself from an invisible stranglehold. Sheila looked on with horror, but she didn’t move to help. A short struggle later, Michael collapsed onto the picnic table.
A teenage boy came to his bedroom window overlooking his parents. He’d heard the thud of his father’s head on the picnic table. He hated their fighting; he hated getting beaten. He wanted it all to end. As he walked back from his window, he grabbed his bag, already packed, and headed out. He didn’t need to see his mother die as well. | The dimly lit chamber echoed with their voices.
"You always were like this. Always belittling me with your snarky comments!" said his royal highness, now not so high.
"What about you, never once a thank you for a lifetime of service, for unwavering loyalty." said the battered knight.
*R:* "Unwavering loyalty my royal bottom. How many times have I caught you on the job with her. Pray we are friends and she is a monster. And I'm thankless? You ungrateful lout. How quickly you forget the service medals or the paid holidays. I even knighted you."
*K:* "Pfft! You knight everybody with the ability to separate a horse from an apple. All in all, I'm happy that you're getting your comeuppance."
*R:* "And whats that going to be? Are you implying something?"
*K:* "Death comes in many surprises to tyrants."
*R:* "You forget your place, peasant."
*K:* "That is Sir Peasant the Knight to you."
*R:* "I think it's high time I show you your place and restore my dignity, in the eyes of my lords at least."
*K:* "If you ever leave here, of course."
*R:* "I always knew you would be the end of me. With your fat mouth and all blabbering on about our secrets."
*K:* "You forget you ruined my life too by sleeping with your duke's wife and blaming me. You have a lovely queen by the way."
*R:* "She was a hag as you well know. Besides, you went and blamed half the town for witchcraft, the rest for adultery"
*K:* "Well the tools were sharp, you know I have low pain tolerance."
*R:* "Wimp!"
*K:* "Knave!"
"QUIET!" The chamber went dead silent, that is after the torturer's shout echoed off the walls.
*T:* "If you two are done, shall we begin something *fun*?"
*R:* "And what fun would that be you dimwit?"
*T:* "I thought we may find something to do to pass the time, I'm tired of hanging upside down and I'm not even speaking."
*K:* "No wonder you were not knighted but you were always a good friend. You shouldn't have let us go."
"***You are correct, he shouldn't have.***" said a voice as smooth as silk. The queen readied her tools for the *fun*.
* * *
*I enjoy writing short prompts. If you are curious for more:* [r/spider_elephant](https://www.reddit.com/r/spider_elephant/)
| |
[WP] Write a story we’re it’s not clear who’s the villain and who’s the good guy up until the final sentence we’re it becomes incredible black and white. | “Ah, Mr. Quickpaw. How nice of you to join me.”
Lone Quickpaw merely eyed the man across from him, a burly thing of muscle and fists that could hardly be considered much use to society, yet somehow he was a leading member of both the city council and aid to the governor. Careful to keep his hands neutral at his side, away from the hidden weapon kept just over his heart in a hidden pocket, he watched his target as he sat down at a long wooden table already set with food.
“Please, do sit,” the man offered graciously in the perfect manner of civility, and Lone complied. Sitting at the opposite end of the table, he started at the appearance of a servant beside him, settling down once the apron clad woman set a plate of turkey in front of him. He watched her go for a moment before tentatively picking up a knife and fork beside the newly placed plate. Checking to ensure his host had begun eating, Lone did so as well, taking small, quick bites.
“So tell me, Mr. Quickpaw, why have you come to kill me?”
Lone froze mid bite, then chuckled. “I see you already know my intention.”
“Well it certainly wasn’t hidden,” the man responded with his own chuckle. “You’ve left plenty of bodies lying around the city as of late.”
“Aye, I have,” Lone agreed.
“Even after all they did?”
“Please,” Lone said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he returned his knife and fork to their original positions. “Tell me of their great deeds.”
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Jeverone helped to build the city infrastructure, setting up bus lines and trams, high speed trains, and soon a subway. Yet you cut their lives and accomplishments short.”
“A conflict of interest,” Lone merely responded with a shrug. “They got in my way.”
“Even the Pulsivers?”
“You mean the ex-mayor? She certainly...was a character. Although I hardly consider her controlling things from behind the scenes after leaving office a prime example of an upstanding citizen.”
“But harsh enough to take her life?” the host asked, taking a large bite of his chicken. “Besides, all ex-incumbents do such things one way or another. Even your uncle.”
“And what happened to him? Ah, yes, an accident late at night. Car crash while intoxicated.” Lone smile beguilingly. “Rather unfortunate.”
“And that is why I doubt that was an accident,” Lone’s target shot back with a deep frown. “I wonder if you would even go so far as matricide to get what you want.”
“Don’t bring my mother into this,” Lone immediately growled back, right hand shifting unconsciously to the hidden revolver in his breast pocket. His host shifted a little uncomfortably before responding slowly.
“Now now, hear me out. I meant nothing by that. And honestly, Lone, what have I done?”
“By all accounts, nothing,” Lone said simply, calming himself but not enough to remove his hand from the weapon. “But I need you out of the way.”
“All I have ever done is provide for the livelihood of the people,” the host quickly interjected. “I haven’t missed a single tax day, I pushed laws that hurt my economic status but boosted those below me, and I don’t have so much as a ticket in my name on the books. Why kill someone who even, I might add, defended you in court when you failed to show?”
“As if they thought a known murderer would go to a public court date,” Lone snorted out. “Besides, this moniker they gave me, I find it ridiculous. Just ask anyone and they could probably give the cops my real name.”
“Oh certainly,” the target agreed. “But the people do love a story and mystique.”
“We digress,” Lone abruptly snapped, fully drawing his gun and casually pointing it down the table. “Now, should I finish it?”
“Of course,” the man agreed before grinning malevolently. “If you can.”
“Oh you mean the poison you slipped in my food?” Lone supplied nonchalantly. “Yes, a classic old trick, but it’s useless if the person is immune.” The host paled greatly at Lone’s words, and the killer merely smiled. “Now, may the white rose bloom.”
The crack could be heard in the adjoining kitchen, and the servant winced as she paused momentarily at the sound before returning to vigorously scrubbing a dirtied pan. A minute later, she became aware of the presence of the assassin, who had unbeknownst to her entered the kitchen as silent as a mouse. Turning to him, she took in the revolver loosely gripped in his right hand, fear slowly creeping up as her life began to flash before her eyes. Or that was until he spoke.
“Where are they?”
“Wh-What?” The servant looked as if she had been struck, mouth dropping open as she immediately knew what the man meant. “No, please! They know nothing!”
“Show me,” Lone simply ordered, pointing his gun at her head. The servant knew only to comply, forlornly showing the way as tears began to stream down her face. Lone followed, gun raised, until they stood in front of a section of wainscoting that appeared more worn than areas around it. Pushing on a hand sized worn area, there was a click, and the false wall swung outwards to reveal a huddled mass of bodies. Owlishly, eyes turned out towards the light and the two figures, most immediately falling on the silver revolver still pointed at the servant. She began to beg, plead for their lives, claiming they would say nothing if released, never reveal his identity, until Lone shut her up with a sharp strike to her temple with his gun’s wooden handle. Ten pairs of eyes followed it as the barrel turned away from the servant, towards them, and most accepted the death they saw coming.
“You are all free,” Lone said simply, waving his gun at the young girls the man had used as playthings ever since his rise to power. “You’re ‘master’ is dead.” He allowed himself a small smile at seeing the dawning recognition and then excitement on their faces as they began to revel in their newfound hope. Glancing down at the servant, who was staring up at him from the ground where he had knocked her down, he said simply, “After all, it’s the most upstanding of us that hide the worst transgressions.”
Edit: words that auto correct got a hold of | The dimly lit chamber echoed with their voices.
"You always were like this. Always belittling me with your snarky comments!" said his royal highness, now not so high.
"What about you, never once a thank you for a lifetime of service, for unwavering loyalty." said the battered knight.
*R:* "Unwavering loyalty my royal bottom. How many times have I caught you on the job with her. Pray we are friends and she is a monster. And I'm thankless? You ungrateful lout. How quickly you forget the service medals or the paid holidays. I even knighted you."
*K:* "Pfft! You knight everybody with the ability to separate a horse from an apple. All in all, I'm happy that you're getting your comeuppance."
*R:* "And whats that going to be? Are you implying something?"
*K:* "Death comes in many surprises to tyrants."
*R:* "You forget your place, peasant."
*K:* "That is Sir Peasant the Knight to you."
*R:* "I think it's high time I show you your place and restore my dignity, in the eyes of my lords at least."
*K:* "If you ever leave here, of course."
*R:* "I always knew you would be the end of me. With your fat mouth and all blabbering on about our secrets."
*K:* "You forget you ruined my life too by sleeping with your duke's wife and blaming me. You have a lovely queen by the way."
*R:* "She was a hag as you well know. Besides, you went and blamed half the town for witchcraft, the rest for adultery"
*K:* "Well the tools were sharp, you know I have low pain tolerance."
*R:* "Wimp!"
*K:* "Knave!"
"QUIET!" The chamber went dead silent, that is after the torturer's shout echoed off the walls.
*T:* "If you two are done, shall we begin something *fun*?"
*R:* "And what fun would that be you dimwit?"
*T:* "I thought we may find something to do to pass the time, I'm tired of hanging upside down and I'm not even speaking."
*K:* "No wonder you were not knighted but you were always a good friend. You shouldn't have let us go."
"***You are correct, he shouldn't have.***" said a voice as smooth as silk. The queen readied her tools for the *fun*.
* * *
*I enjoy writing short prompts. If you are curious for more:* [r/spider_elephant](https://www.reddit.com/r/spider_elephant/)
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | *I’m only human.* The world around me is alien, strange and unfamiliar. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but it was around the time I first started seeing things clearly. I started getting letters in the mail—advertisements. Latex surgery at a discount price. Glasses prescription, free with rebate. Optometrist—in network.
*Maybe I'm foolish.* I started seeing things where they shouldn’t belong. I lay on the couch, my home engulfed in darkness. The crash of thunder boomed around me, and my greasy fingers grasped the torn threads of the blanket. I looked out into the street. A flash of lightning outlined the figure of a tall, hooded man, carrying a black briefcase. I blinked twice and pinched myself so hard I bled. Another flash of lightning lit the sky—he was gone.
*Got no way to prove it, so maybe I’m blind.* I tried to capture these moments in pictures, and I spread them across my bedroom floor. A child sat alone on a park bench. A pigeon pecked at ice cream on a winter morning. A subway passenger reclined with black sunglasses, reading yesterdays newspapers. Alone, I was untangling the web of lies that they make us see.
*Take a look in the mirror, and what do you see?* My baggy eyes were red from lack of sleep. How could I sleep, when the world around me was awake with lies? I stayed up at night, listening for them. I knew they would come for me, someday, to make me one of them. I can’t let them, can I?
*Do you see it clearer, or are you deceived?* I sat on the cold floor of the subway, biting my nails. I had to get out. They know I’m onto them, and they’re coming for me; they can hear my thoughts. I tried meditation, but I couldn’t escape the shallow ringing in my ears. Now I focus, concentrating on a song—my song.
*Some people got the real problems.* They’re everywhere, always watching. They’ve been around us for centuries. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this out. Now I need to be patient. I need to wait until I found one. I lay in wait in the subway, humming a song—my song.
*I'm only human after all.* He isn’t. Not with his untrimmed beard, green eyes, and baggy hoodie. Not with those blue earbuds, and his dark sunglasses. Not when he read my mind and started singing a song—my song.
*Don't put the blame on me.* It’s not my fault I had to use my knife to cut into him, watching him squeal. He confessed, he read my mind. It took three fingers from his right hand before he told me. I had to do what was necessary. Don’t you see now? Don’t you see the truth? They’re there, watching us, waiting.
*Don't put the blame on me.*
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | On my way home from another day. In my safe life. In my safe job. Another day trying to distract myself from the various fears that keep me in my rigid routine, lest I be subject to the whims and fancies of Fate and Chance. The most cruel mistresses sent to torture me. No, I maintained my own power. My own control. I needed nothing, and no one else. Not anymore.
As I boarded the train to my destination, I could feel my pulse quicken, and a cold sweat break out. I started singing a song in my head, a catchy tune from earlier today, letting my gaze flick through the nearly empty carriage before training it onto the ground. Until I heard a soft voice performing a perfectly matched duet. Faintly... The fear at the edge of my mind, always lingering. Despite my careful calculations and maintaining my rituals, they persist. Psychic activity had been a admittedly misplaced fear of mine, one I couldn’t quite dissuade. It felt too real. I looked next to me and saw her there, reading her book and looking too... innocent. Lips moving to the words in my head.
Once my song stopped abruptly, the psychic did too. But I could still hear her, and she began speaking to me in a whisper. “I know what you are... I know who you are... You can hear me. Can’t you?” I nodded my head imperceptibly, but the intent was clear. I whispered back, despite knowing they would hear me, words or no. A confirmation, and then dogged questioning, about who she is, where did she come from, how she found me, what she knew... I could feel myself slipping from the routine. Losing the tenuous control I had.
The young female psychic next to me looked startled as my questions grew in frequency, in intensity. But I could hear her in my head, she knew more than she let on. Her deer-in-the-headlights look couldn’t fool me. She knew what she was doing. I could hear her mocking me now, telling me all the failures of my life she could piece together from a glimpse into my mind, she didn’t even need to move her lips. What incredible power. Dangerous power. A weaker man would give into the insecurities she put into their heads. Not I. She moved toward the exit, leading me into a chase.
“Come back! Come back!” She began running now, but I knew she couldn’t be left to play those mind tricks on people, couldn’t let that power go unchecked. My chest heaved as a ran after her, not having had exerted myself this way in a long time. Fear and righteousness are powerful motivators. And eventually I triumphed. Staying on her trail, attuned to her every move... I wondered if I was maybe the psychic? Knowing exactly which turn she would take?
When I finally caught up to her, I barreled into her as she abruptly stopped. Obviously another trick, to knock me off balance. I didn’t know what nefarious purposes were behind trying to sway me from my strict control, but it seemed she had back up now. I was tackled to the ground, fists flailing to defend myself and screaming for help, head hitting concrete and everything fading to black.
———
“We have a 32 year old male, history of paranoid schizophrenia, CT was negative for head injury after falling on concrete, only minor abrasions. He was found attempting to attack a woman he had chased off the train.”
“Mr. Smith, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you. And we’ve seen you didn’t pick up your last refill of the Invega. Is there a particular reason why?” The clinician was patient when questioning the young man restless in his seat, internally preoccupied.
There was a long pause before the patient answered, grappling with something no one else could hear. “I don’t need that anymore. I have control. I have a routine. It keeps me safe. From the psychics. And other people trying to hurt me.” It sounded like he had practiced the “routine” speech. Maybe to concerned friends and family?
The clinician nodded, not in agreement, simply acknowledgment of what was said. Most of the regular clinicians were familiar with him, but this was the longest yet without him being hospitalized. A small sense of pride there, tempered with the sympathy for this chronic illness.
“And...?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, posture guarded.
“And...” the last part he confided as only a whisper, “My meds make me fat.” | What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | *Tap* *tap. Tap tap. Tap tap-a-tap-tap-tap.* The metal support bar in next to my seat had become my improptu drum set. That's the worst part about working in retail, you see, is all those godforsaken songs that implant themselves into your brain. I'd give anything to stop hearing Paul McCartney singing about christmas. Sure enough I still find myself humming the song, though low enough to ensure that I'm not heard. My right leg shifts under my left and I subtly adjust my body in a desperate attempt to achieve some comfort. "...a wonderful christmas time..."
*I didn't say that. Or at least I don't think I did. Not out loud, at least.*
Across from me sat a man, stocky andwide, adorned in thick winter clothing. He looked just about the same as all the other people around me. They all just sort of blend in to a homogenous flesh blob, I try to not pay them any attention. Except for him. I watch his face, his emotionless stare, but his lips...dry and flaky, but moving. Words, he's saying to himself, except they're not his...they're mine. Is he saying my thoughts? I shook my head, clearing my mind and replacing it with a dull pain.
*Clearly, this is what happens when you dont take your anxiety meds, man. Why do you do this to yourself?*
Leading to my stop, the subway began to screech and slow. I grabbed my jacket and put it on, trying to not pay attention to anyone else on the ride in hopes they'd pay the same respect. As I begin to step off, the same stocky man grabs me by the sleeve, shocking me at first but leaving me frozen in my place. Slowly turning to look at him, his concerned face greets me. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You seem like a fine kid. Things'll get better, and youll find yourself havin a wonderful christmas time." I didn't know what to say so, in common awkward fashion, I muttered out a *thank you*, and stepped off. He rattled out a crackly, smokers laugh, and that was the last I heard before the subway sped off.
​
​
I live in rural kentucky and have no clue how subways operate or terminology.
​
​
​ | What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | The human mind can be a tricky beast. We have come a tremendous way during our development as an alpha predator on Earth, but the hard lessons learned along the way led to some quirks that hung around far longer than their utility might have dictated. One such example, seeing patterns where there were none. This phenomenon is called Apophenia to the more scientifically inclined amongst us. Much in the way of random superstition and acts can be tied to this incredibly human tendency, which some would argue occurred over time and is inextricably tied to the evolution of man. This led some very smart people to have some very odd beliefs. For some this meant not walking under ladders and avoiding breaking mirrors. Even I will admit, though, that I have an odd one that is even stranger.
You see, for the longest time (in fact, for as long as I can remember) I had a sense of dread hanging over me. Well, dread might be a tad dramatic of a word, but humor me here. Your own mind was supposed to be a safe place. Contemplation reserved from the world, where you could be free to think thoughts without worrying about being judged. Or at least it was for most people. If I was in my own house, sure I felt free to wander and muse on the workings of the world. But if I was out in public? No. I was as locked in on the task at hand as one could be.
Why the odd behavior? Well, while doing my best to avoid sounding like I was crazy, I never felt *alone* in my own head. Still with me? Let me expound on that a bit. You know those late night Murder Mystery shows? 60 minutes. Unsolved Mysteries. Various shows stealing the idea of those shows and the shows that they themselves originally stole from?
Let's set the scene. You just returned home from a long day at work punching numbers into an Excel Document and waiting for the universe to explode. You make yourself a nice meal, sit down on the couch in your living room and flick on the television. On the screen? ‘Tonight on 60 Minutes: Black Masked Clown Shoes Killer’s Rampage’. You vaguely remember something about him that you saw on the news a few years ago when he was murdering his way through the suburbs turning his shoes another shade of red, so you decide to tune in. The first interview is with a lady who was nearly a victim herself. Apparently she had been walking to her car after a long shift and had heard something odd, but didn’t know where it came from.
She was out at nearly 2 AM, surely no one else was out this late? In her words, ‘I thought I was alone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling someone else was nearby. I darn near sprinted the rest of the way to my car and left to go home. Didn’t sleep a wink that night.’ The interviewer, wearing a serious Newscaster face that lingered somewhere between concern and interest (we all know the look) leans in and hits her with, ‘What happened the next day?’ She looks down, and then back up to the caster, cameras zooming in on her. ‘I saw on the news the next day that someone had been killed the previous night, and their body had been discovered in their car in that same parking lot. I wasn’t more than 20 feet away from that car when I had walked out to my car that night. I’m lucky to be alive.’
That’s the feeling I’m describing here, you should feel alone but you just *don’t*. Obviously an extreme example I’m tossing out here but this is such an odd concept to most people I describe this to that I had to weave a bit of a narrative to illustrate my point.
To this point in my life, I had done everything in my power to tell myself that what I was feeling didn’t make any sense. As I sat in a subway car heading home from the latest round of soul crushing work I had that feeling wash over me even more than usual. Pursuant to me trying to get over that feeling every time I was in public, I had come up with a sort of bag of tricks to battle the feeling when it hit me. One such strategy was think of the most bubbly song imaginable to get myself re-centered and get that thing rolling along and good and stuck inside of my head. The weapon of choice? Firework by Katy Perry. I know what you’re thinking, you’re a grown ass man dude. I’m with you, but even as said grown ass man, that song is the essence of bubbly pop perfection. I will never not become happier after hearing that song.
Feeling a lot better now that I had that song bouncing around in my brain, I looked around the train car. I had maybe missed one or two stops while I was calming myself down and I liked to have an idea of who I was riding with. That’s when I noticed one man in particular. Smart suit, polished shoes and a briefcase suggested he was a businessman of some sort, but he looked incredibly miscast as that. The clothes were good, but it almost looked like someone who wears a suit 2 or 3 times a year busting it out and having it not fit correctly. It just looked off. More interesting that the clothes was him bobbing his head to a song, and then I noticed him mouthing the lyrics to the soundtrack going on for him. He didn’t appear to be listening to any music, but he was occasionally mouthing lyrics to his mystery song. One such word was ‘Firework’, which was incredibly weird. What are the odds right? I thought about the unlikeliness of strangers randomly mouthing a sound clip from decades prior when all the sudden he stared straight at me.
Outside of my odd problem described above, I wasn’t an overly suspicious person. But his snap-stare was timed exactly with my thinking how odd a coincidence it was. Now, about to hit my stop all I could think about was how much of a coincidence it couldn’t be. I did my best not to freak out, but my thoughts were going a little haywire at this point. Confirming something very un-normal was happening was the mystery man in the suit looking like he was trying very hard to find something to say. It was here that I made a snap decision to test a theory that was beginning to form. I simply did my best to think ‘What the hell are you staring at dude?’ I have no idea how or why, but the guy seemed to reply in time, “It’s not what it looks like”. At this point, I was losing my shit.
Only after he finished saying it did a look of ‘Oh Shit’ cross his face. He went for something that looked like a radio in his briefcase and I began the process of getting the hell out of there. I wasn’t running, exactly, but I was also definitely in a mind to vacate the area as quickly as possible. Make myself scarce, you get the idea. I was only a few feet from the street above when 2 very stern looking gentlemen in suits put themselves in between me and the exit. About 10 feet behind me now was the guy from the car, wearing a look that told me that he knew he had messed up badly. Tail tucked firmly between his legs he walked up behind me and said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting some sort of explanation for this, right?” I almost didn’t even bother saying it, since apparently my mind was an open book to at least one other person in the room, but still responded “I think I’m probably owed one judging by the last 15 minutes.” The two gentlemen in front of me led the two of us outside and to a waiting car. He opened the door and I heard him distinctly, even though his lips didn’t move at all. “Get in, I’ll bring you up to speed on the way”.
| What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | "*Kiss me, baby*," Ruben bobbed his head to an imaginary beat and enjoyed the song in his memory. After resisting it for two days the pop melody drilled through his subconscious. Now he stood in a crowded subway car wishing he brought his earbuds along. He spotted a bright pink head of hair bopping out the same rhythm as his. "Kiss me again and again," he sang in his mind. The neon-pink head turned and Ruben saw the owner's face. The pale young woman's purple lips sang along with the lyrics in his head.
"*Huh. she doesn't have earbuds either*," Ruben noted to himself. The pink-haired woman continued to mouth the rest of the song while she shook her head. She moved slow enough that Ruben thought she could be replying to his observation, but he chalked that up to his growing anxieties. He decided she was singing and obviously dancing to herself. His subconscious felt uneasy enough to finally give up the earworm.
"*Are you ready to rock*?!" the voice in his head matched a famous singer. The correct answer to the question was, "I'm ready to rock!" along with a 'devil horns' gesture in the air. Ruben almost mimed the gesture as a habit but stopped himself when he noticed the girl respond. She made the two-pronged gesture with her hand and smiled directly at him.
"*I'm ready to rock*!" she mouthed the words to avoid attracting attention from the other passengers. Ruben's eyes opened wide.
"*YOU CAN HEAR MY THOUGHTS*???!" He shouted the question in his mind. The woman squinted at him in confusion. Then she shrugged and nodded as if to say, 'duh.'
"*What does that mean? You can? Why can't I read yours*?" The woman rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the crowd to get to him. Once she stood next to him she lifter hand chest height to introduce herself.
"Hi, I'm Rose," she smiled.
"I'm Ruben," he shook her hand. "What's going on?" he leaned closer and whispered the question.
"Okay, uh. Where are you lost?" She asked in a way that made Ruben feel dumb for not already knowing.
"You can hear my thoughts?"
"You can't?" Ruben made tight fists with his hands as he stared at her.
"Stop answering my questions with a question," he said in a stern tone. "Please," he added through gritted his teeth. Rose shook her head with a giggle.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant exactly what I asked. You know how when you talk you can hear your voice?" she asked. Ruben nodded. "That's what I meant. You're thinking out loud," she shrugged. "I thought you were doing it on purpose." Suddenly a parade of stern and disgusted women's faces played back in his mind.
"How do I turn it off?" Ruben asked.
"Practice. There's a very subtle difference in the way the thoughts feel. You know how sometimes you can tell if someone has you on speakerphone? It's like that. Keep practicing and you'll learn what the difference feels like." The subway slowed down and the conductor came on the intercom to announce the next stop. Rose pulled away from Ruben.
"How do I do that? I just think?" He asked. Rose shook her head and handed him a small pink business card with her number on it.
"You need to be with someone that can tell you when you're broadcasting and when you're not." She winked at him then followed the flow of bodies out of the car.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #337. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | I thought it was just a coincidence. However, the moment I thought that, the hooded man in front of me ceased lip-syncing the song playing in my head, looking somewhat agitated, as if he'd just made a terrible mistake.
On cue, however, the subway's breaks shrieked to a stop, and the man jostled his way out, ignoring the cussing of the offended passengers.
Without a second thought, I followed him.
The station we'd alighted into was empty, full of old, flickering lights and scribbled walls.
I scanned the surroundings, spotted him bolting through a tunnel-like corridor, his steps echoing loudly. I wouldn't let him escape. Now I was sure there was something odd going on.
I barreled as fast as my legs allowed through the twisting corridor, up many stairs, and down many more.
In time, however, I lost sight of him when I ran into a bifurcating corridor. I cursed under my breath, he couldn't have gone too far, and I knew he wasn't moving, for the sound of his steps had suddenly vanished.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused. In the distance, a peculiar noise, like that of ragged, shallow breaths, could be heard.
I had him.
I silenced my mind as much as I could, slinked toward him. The noises grew louder. In the middle of the corridor I found a door. The gasping came from beyond.
I opened it, heart thumping, unaware of what I'd say. And there he was, the hooded man, sitting on stairs, clasping his heart and breathing heavy.
In the brevity of a breath, the meld of curiosity and the odd loath I felt vanished. I ran to his side. "Are you all right?" I asked, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Meanwhile, I helped the man lay on the ground.
"It burns," he said, clutching at his heart, his eyes wid--.
My heart sunk to my stomach.
"911. What's your emergency?"
I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. That face, I knew that face very well.
For it was mine.
"Help me," the man said, his face growing pale.
"I am in the Fadenghar Station. There's a man having a heart attack. I need someone now. We are inside the emergency stairs I believe!"
And then, a sudden silence took over.
"We are sending someone right now."
I turned.
He was gone, nothing but his clothes remained. | What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. |
There’s always been just this… feeling. An odd sort of sensation, really. I don’t know how to explain it, just that it’s just been there. This sensation that someone, somewhere, just knows what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s silly, I know. A random thought here, a déjà vu there, that creepy “something out of the corner of my eye” type of sensation here and there throughout my life that just never, ever seemed to pan out. We all have them, right?
Of course we do. We all do. There’s been study after study of these sensations, there’s Wikipedia article after article about them, and thinking about them for too long can drive a person mad. So eventually, I just accepted it as fact and moved on. After all, we were all like that, right?
So I just moved on with my life. Awkward teenage years to college, to my boring adult life. All with this just slight nagging feeling at the back of my skull that something just wasn’t quite right. I got a regular, boring job as a bus driver, something that didn’t require a whole lot of talking to people; I still wasn’t all that very comfortable speaking around too many people, since I couldn’t quite ignore that feeling they knew what I was going to say. But driving them where they needed to go, in a nice casual pre-ordained pattern the same way day in and day out? That was for me, baby!
So began my routine. And still I noticed it, even when not trying to. When I was in line at McDonalds, getting ready to order my meal, the cashier was already ringing up my order before I even got up to her in line. That wasn’t anything unusual, right? After all, I eat here all the time. I’m sure she’s seen me here before. At the movie, on a rare outing to spend what little free funds I had for entertainment, the man didn’t even ask me what movie I wanted to see.
He just handed me a ticket to Deadpool 2 and grunted the theater number in my general direction. Of course, it WAS opening night, and like ninety percent of all their ticket sales were for Deadpool 2, so that wasn’t really much of a coincidence. Right?
Right?
Just coincidence that they had my popcorn ready for me as I got to the ticket counter too. Definitely a coincidence. But I’m really weird with my soda. Pop. Whichever part of the country you hail from. I’m weird, I know. But I enjoy mixing my drink. I like having some Sprite and some Dr. Pepper mixed together. I don’t know why, it’s something I picked up as a kid when you don’t really have taste buds yet that I’ve never really grown out of.
The drink I was handed was exactly fifty percent Sprite and fifty percent Dr. Pepper. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it? Nervous, I drained my drink well before the opening prequels had even finished, and had to visit the bathroom about thirty minutes into the movie.
I no longer had any doubts that something odd was going on when every single movie patron filed out of the movie and followed me into the bathroom.
After taking care of nature’s call, I abandoned the movie theater and sprinted toward the subway, intent on fleeing home if I was being pursued. A quick look back, however, slowed my steps; none had followed, they’d merely followed me to the bathroom. So maybe another coincidence in a long series of coincidences?
Could that happen? It hardly seemed like it.
Rattled, I decided my best course of action was simply to go home and get some rest. A quick hop onto the subway, and soon enough the gentle clack clack of the rails below me began to lull me to sleep. It had been so long since I’d been able to just relax…
What was that song my mother had used to sing to me as a child? It was from a movie, something about a rainbow… ah yes. Smiling to myself, I hummed the bars to the song under my breath as I fell lost in thought, my memories focused on the song and my mother’s singing voice.
Until I heard voices on the other end of the car singing. I couldn’t help listening, as they were quite loud and, if I were honest with myself, singing quite well. I paled as I realized what they were singing, but I couldn’t tear myself away from their words.
“Somewhere over the rainbow… way up high…And the dreams that you dream of… Once in a lullaby… “ | What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| What a coincidence I thought... because the song had been on radio all over the place. However, there is a deep psychological urge to try a different song just to see if the person would also recognize it.
So, I changed the tune. An 80’s tune “AHA” The uptempo would require a faster foot taping and a smile because of nostalgia.
It worked.
I then cut the music, head turned my eyes toward the woman and whispered in my head “Can you hear me? Turn eyes to the guy in the yellow jacket”
Her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly with a narrow eye lid movie star like gaze to me.
I paused.
We looked at each for a long time. I thought in my head this is the X Files in real life. “I’m not a government agent” I thought because I know people run from government facilities and stuff like that.
“You’re so cool!”
I thoughtAnd she gave a nod knowing she knew that thought too.
WHAT THE...
My life is awesome.
“We gotta be friends” ...I said in my head.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | On my way home from another day. In my safe life. In my safe job. Another day trying to distract myself from the various fears that keep me in my rigid routine, lest I be subject to the whims and fancies of Fate and Chance. The most cruel mistresses sent to torture me. No, I maintained my own power. My own control. I needed nothing, and no one else. Not anymore.
As I boarded the train to my destination, I could feel my pulse quicken, and a cold sweat break out. I started singing a song in my head, a catchy tune from earlier today, letting my gaze flick through the nearly empty carriage before training it onto the ground. Until I heard a soft voice performing a perfectly matched duet. Faintly... The fear at the edge of my mind, always lingering. Despite my careful calculations and maintaining my rituals, they persist. Psychic activity had been a admittedly misplaced fear of mine, one I couldn’t quite dissuade. It felt too real. I looked next to me and saw her there, reading her book and looking too... innocent. Lips moving to the words in my head.
Once my song stopped abruptly, the psychic did too. But I could still hear her, and she began speaking to me in a whisper. “I know what you are... I know who you are... You can hear me. Can’t you?” I nodded my head imperceptibly, but the intent was clear. I whispered back, despite knowing they would hear me, words or no. A confirmation, and then dogged questioning, about who she is, where did she come from, how she found me, what she knew... I could feel myself slipping from the routine. Losing the tenuous control I had.
The young female psychic next to me looked startled as my questions grew in frequency, in intensity. But I could hear her in my head, she knew more than she let on. Her deer-in-the-headlights look couldn’t fool me. She knew what she was doing. I could hear her mocking me now, telling me all the failures of my life she could piece together from a glimpse into my mind, she didn’t even need to move her lips. What incredible power. Dangerous power. A weaker man would give into the insecurities she put into their heads. Not I. She moved toward the exit, leading me into a chase.
“Come back! Come back!” She began running now, but I knew she couldn’t be left to play those mind tricks on people, couldn’t let that power go unchecked. My chest heaved as a ran after her, not having had exerted myself this way in a long time. Fear and righteousness are powerful motivators. And eventually I triumphed. Staying on her trail, attuned to her every move... I wondered if I was maybe the psychic? Knowing exactly which turn she would take?
When I finally caught up to her, I barreled into her as she abruptly stopped. Obviously another trick, to knock me off balance. I didn’t know what nefarious purposes were behind trying to sway me from my strict control, but it seemed she had back up now. I was tackled to the ground, fists flailing to defend myself and screaming for help, head hitting concrete and everything fading to black.
———
“We have a 32 year old male, history of paranoid schizophrenia, CT was negative for head injury after falling on concrete, only minor abrasions. He was found attempting to attack a woman he had chased off the train.”
“Mr. Smith, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you. And we’ve seen you didn’t pick up your last refill of the Invega. Is there a particular reason why?” The clinician was patient when questioning the young man restless in his seat, internally preoccupied.
There was a long pause before the patient answered, grappling with something no one else could hear. “I don’t need that anymore. I have control. I have a routine. It keeps me safe. From the psychics. And other people trying to hurt me.” It sounded like he had practiced the “routine” speech. Maybe to concerned friends and family?
The clinician nodded, not in agreement, simply acknowledgment of what was said. Most of the regular clinicians were familiar with him, but this was the longest yet without him being hospitalized. A small sense of pride there, tempered with the sympathy for this chronic illness.
“And...?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, posture guarded.
“And...” the last part he confided as only a whisper, “My meds make me fat.” | So here I am, sitting on this disgusting subway seat, and this song's playing in my head. It's old, something I heard in an old *Mash* episode. "*Cement mixer, put-tee, put-tee.*" That's all there is, but I can't get it out of my brain. And then I see this guy on the other side of the car and he's lip-synching *the exact same song.* I can see the p-sounds in his lips. But nobody *knows* that song, not anybody over sixty years old, anyway. But that's not the weird part. The weird part is that he was lip-synching in *perfect time* to the song in my head! There's no way he could do that, unless *he can hear it in my head!* So I try to play it cool for a minute, try to shut the song out. I can't. "What *can* I do, then?" I think. I remember this post I saw a while back that says something about, "if you think anybody's reading your mind, try mentally **screaming** and see who notices." So I let loose with one high-pitched mental screech. And I swear to God, guys. I swear to God this guy *flinched!* Not much, just a little jerk, but guys, I swear it happened. So now I *know* the guy can read my mind. I go full-on torture mode and I start tryin' to think of the nastiest shit. I think as hard as I can about this one really messed-up gif I saw a couple years ago, this girl on a conveyor belt machine thing with some lasers. You know, the nastiest shit I can think of. This guy gets up and does that walk-run thing to the bathroom. Mission accomplished. Guy spent the *rest of the ride in the bathroom.* Swear to God. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| *I’m only human.* The world around me is alien, strange and unfamiliar. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but it was around the time I first started seeing things clearly. I started getting letters in the mail—advertisements. Latex surgery at a discount price. Glasses prescription, free with rebate. Optometrist—in network.
*Maybe I'm foolish.* I started seeing things where they shouldn’t belong. I lay on the couch, my home engulfed in darkness. The crash of thunder boomed around me, and my greasy fingers grasped the torn threads of the blanket. I looked out into the street. A flash of lightning outlined the figure of a tall, hooded man, carrying a black briefcase. I blinked twice and pinched myself so hard I bled. Another flash of lightning lit the sky—he was gone.
*Got no way to prove it, so maybe I’m blind.* I tried to capture these moments in pictures, and I spread them across my bedroom floor. A child sat alone on a park bench. A pigeon pecked at ice cream on a winter morning. A subway passenger reclined with black sunglasses, reading yesterdays newspapers. Alone, I was untangling the web of lies that they make us see.
*Take a look in the mirror, and what do you see?* My baggy eyes were red from lack of sleep. How could I sleep, when the world around me was awake with lies? I stayed up at night, listening for them. I knew they would come for me, someday, to make me one of them. I can’t let them, can I?
*Do you see it clearer, or are you deceived?* I sat on the cold floor of the subway, biting my nails. I had to get out. They know I’m onto them, and they’re coming for me; they can hear my thoughts. I tried meditation, but I couldn’t escape the shallow ringing in my ears. Now I focus, concentrating on a song—my song.
*Some people got the real problems.* They’re everywhere, always watching. They’ve been around us for centuries. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this out. Now I need to be patient. I need to wait until I found one. I lay in wait in the subway, humming a song—my song.
*I'm only human after all.* He isn’t. Not with his untrimmed beard, green eyes, and baggy hoodie. Not with those blue earbuds, and his dark sunglasses. Not when he read my mind and started singing a song—my song.
*Don't put the blame on me.* It’s not my fault I had to use my knife to cut into him, watching him squeal. He confessed, he read my mind. It took three fingers from his right hand before he told me. I had to do what was necessary. Don’t you see now? Don’t you see the truth? They’re there, watching us, waiting.
*Don't put the blame on me.*
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | "*Kiss me, baby*," Ruben bobbed his head to an imaginary beat and enjoyed the song in his memory. After resisting it for two days the pop melody drilled through his subconscious. Now he stood in a crowded subway car wishing he brought his earbuds along. He spotted a bright pink head of hair bopping out the same rhythm as his. "Kiss me again and again," he sang in his mind. The neon-pink head turned and Ruben saw the owner's face. The pale young woman's purple lips sang along with the lyrics in his head.
"*Huh. she doesn't have earbuds either*," Ruben noted to himself. The pink-haired woman continued to mouth the rest of the song while she shook her head. She moved slow enough that Ruben thought she could be replying to his observation, but he chalked that up to his growing anxieties. He decided she was singing and obviously dancing to herself. His subconscious felt uneasy enough to finally give up the earworm.
"*Are you ready to rock*?!" the voice in his head matched a famous singer. The correct answer to the question was, "I'm ready to rock!" along with a 'devil horns' gesture in the air. Ruben almost mimed the gesture as a habit but stopped himself when he noticed the girl respond. She made the two-pronged gesture with her hand and smiled directly at him.
"*I'm ready to rock*!" she mouthed the words to avoid attracting attention from the other passengers. Ruben's eyes opened wide.
"*YOU CAN HEAR MY THOUGHTS*???!" He shouted the question in his mind. The woman squinted at him in confusion. Then she shrugged and nodded as if to say, 'duh.'
"*What does that mean? You can? Why can't I read yours*?" The woman rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the crowd to get to him. Once she stood next to him she lifter hand chest height to introduce herself.
"Hi, I'm Rose," she smiled.
"I'm Ruben," he shook her hand. "What's going on?" he leaned closer and whispered the question.
"Okay, uh. Where are you lost?" She asked in a way that made Ruben feel dumb for not already knowing.
"You can hear my thoughts?"
"You can't?" Ruben made tight fists with his hands as he stared at her.
"Stop answering my questions with a question," he said in a stern tone. "Please," he added through gritted his teeth. Rose shook her head with a giggle.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant exactly what I asked. You know how when you talk you can hear your voice?" she asked. Ruben nodded. "That's what I meant. You're thinking out loud," she shrugged. "I thought you were doing it on purpose." Suddenly a parade of stern and disgusted women's faces played back in his mind.
"How do I turn it off?" Ruben asked.
"Practice. There's a very subtle difference in the way the thoughts feel. You know how sometimes you can tell if someone has you on speakerphone? It's like that. Keep practicing and you'll learn what the difference feels like." The subway slowed down and the conductor came on the intercom to announce the next stop. Rose pulled away from Ruben.
"How do I do that? I just think?" He asked. Rose shook her head and handed him a small pink business card with her number on it.
"You need to be with someone that can tell you when you're broadcasting and when you're not." She winked at him then followed the flow of bodies out of the car.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #337. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | *Tap* *tap. Tap tap. Tap tap-a-tap-tap-tap.* The metal support bar in next to my seat had become my improptu drum set. That's the worst part about working in retail, you see, is all those godforsaken songs that implant themselves into your brain. I'd give anything to stop hearing Paul McCartney singing about christmas. Sure enough I still find myself humming the song, though low enough to ensure that I'm not heard. My right leg shifts under my left and I subtly adjust my body in a desperate attempt to achieve some comfort. "...a wonderful christmas time..."
*I didn't say that. Or at least I don't think I did. Not out loud, at least.*
Across from me sat a man, stocky andwide, adorned in thick winter clothing. He looked just about the same as all the other people around me. They all just sort of blend in to a homogenous flesh blob, I try to not pay them any attention. Except for him. I watch his face, his emotionless stare, but his lips...dry and flaky, but moving. Words, he's saying to himself, except they're not his...they're mine. Is he saying my thoughts? I shook my head, clearing my mind and replacing it with a dull pain.
*Clearly, this is what happens when you dont take your anxiety meds, man. Why do you do this to yourself?*
Leading to my stop, the subway began to screech and slow. I grabbed my jacket and put it on, trying to not pay attention to anyone else on the ride in hopes they'd pay the same respect. As I begin to step off, the same stocky man grabs me by the sleeve, shocking me at first but leaving me frozen in my place. Slowly turning to look at him, his concerned face greets me. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You seem like a fine kid. Things'll get better, and youll find yourself havin a wonderful christmas time." I didn't know what to say so, in common awkward fashion, I muttered out a *thank you*, and stepped off. He rattled out a crackly, smokers laugh, and that was the last I heard before the subway sped off.
​
​
I live in rural kentucky and have no clue how subways operate or terminology.
​
​
​ | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| *Tap* *tap. Tap tap. Tap tap-a-tap-tap-tap.* The metal support bar in next to my seat had become my improptu drum set. That's the worst part about working in retail, you see, is all those godforsaken songs that implant themselves into your brain. I'd give anything to stop hearing Paul McCartney singing about christmas. Sure enough I still find myself humming the song, though low enough to ensure that I'm not heard. My right leg shifts under my left and I subtly adjust my body in a desperate attempt to achieve some comfort. "...a wonderful christmas time..."
*I didn't say that. Or at least I don't think I did. Not out loud, at least.*
Across from me sat a man, stocky andwide, adorned in thick winter clothing. He looked just about the same as all the other people around me. They all just sort of blend in to a homogenous flesh blob, I try to not pay them any attention. Except for him. I watch his face, his emotionless stare, but his lips...dry and flaky, but moving. Words, he's saying to himself, except they're not his...they're mine. Is he saying my thoughts? I shook my head, clearing my mind and replacing it with a dull pain.
*Clearly, this is what happens when you dont take your anxiety meds, man. Why do you do this to yourself?*
Leading to my stop, the subway began to screech and slow. I grabbed my jacket and put it on, trying to not pay attention to anyone else on the ride in hopes they'd pay the same respect. As I begin to step off, the same stocky man grabs me by the sleeve, shocking me at first but leaving me frozen in my place. Slowly turning to look at him, his concerned face greets me. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You seem like a fine kid. Things'll get better, and youll find yourself havin a wonderful christmas time." I didn't know what to say so, in common awkward fashion, I muttered out a *thank you*, and stepped off. He rattled out a crackly, smokers laugh, and that was the last I heard before the subway sped off.
​
​
I live in rural kentucky and have no clue how subways operate or terminology.
​
​
​ | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | "*Kiss me, baby*," Ruben bobbed his head to an imaginary beat and enjoyed the song in his memory. After resisting it for two days the pop melody drilled through his subconscious. Now he stood in a crowded subway car wishing he brought his earbuds along. He spotted a bright pink head of hair bopping out the same rhythm as his. "Kiss me again and again," he sang in his mind. The neon-pink head turned and Ruben saw the owner's face. The pale young woman's purple lips sang along with the lyrics in his head.
"*Huh. she doesn't have earbuds either*," Ruben noted to himself. The pink-haired woman continued to mouth the rest of the song while she shook her head. She moved slow enough that Ruben thought she could be replying to his observation, but he chalked that up to his growing anxieties. He decided she was singing and obviously dancing to herself. His subconscious felt uneasy enough to finally give up the earworm.
"*Are you ready to rock*?!" the voice in his head matched a famous singer. The correct answer to the question was, "I'm ready to rock!" along with a 'devil horns' gesture in the air. Ruben almost mimed the gesture as a habit but stopped himself when he noticed the girl respond. She made the two-pronged gesture with her hand and smiled directly at him.
"*I'm ready to rock*!" she mouthed the words to avoid attracting attention from the other passengers. Ruben's eyes opened wide.
"*YOU CAN HEAR MY THOUGHTS*???!" He shouted the question in his mind. The woman squinted at him in confusion. Then she shrugged and nodded as if to say, 'duh.'
"*What does that mean? You can? Why can't I read yours*?" The woman rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the crowd to get to him. Once she stood next to him she lifter hand chest height to introduce herself.
"Hi, I'm Rose," she smiled.
"I'm Ruben," he shook her hand. "What's going on?" he leaned closer and whispered the question.
"Okay, uh. Where are you lost?" She asked in a way that made Ruben feel dumb for not already knowing.
"You can hear my thoughts?"
"You can't?" Ruben made tight fists with his hands as he stared at her.
"Stop answering my questions with a question," he said in a stern tone. "Please," he added through gritted his teeth. Rose shook her head with a giggle.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant exactly what I asked. You know how when you talk you can hear your voice?" she asked. Ruben nodded. "That's what I meant. You're thinking out loud," she shrugged. "I thought you were doing it on purpose." Suddenly a parade of stern and disgusted women's faces played back in his mind.
"How do I turn it off?" Ruben asked.
"Practice. There's a very subtle difference in the way the thoughts feel. You know how sometimes you can tell if someone has you on speakerphone? It's like that. Keep practicing and you'll learn what the difference feels like." The subway slowed down and the conductor came on the intercom to announce the next stop. Rose pulled away from Ruben.
"How do I do that? I just think?" He asked. Rose shook her head and handed him a small pink business card with her number on it.
"You need to be with someone that can tell you when you're broadcasting and when you're not." She winked at him then followed the flow of bodies out of the car.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #337. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | The human mind can be a tricky beast. We have come a tremendous way during our development as an alpha predator on Earth, but the hard lessons learned along the way led to some quirks that hung around far longer than their utility might have dictated. One such example, seeing patterns where there were none. This phenomenon is called Apophenia to the more scientifically inclined amongst us. Much in the way of random superstition and acts can be tied to this incredibly human tendency, which some would argue occurred over time and is inextricably tied to the evolution of man. This led some very smart people to have some very odd beliefs. For some this meant not walking under ladders and avoiding breaking mirrors. Even I will admit, though, that I have an odd one that is even stranger.
You see, for the longest time (in fact, for as long as I can remember) I had a sense of dread hanging over me. Well, dread might be a tad dramatic of a word, but humor me here. Your own mind was supposed to be a safe place. Contemplation reserved from the world, where you could be free to think thoughts without worrying about being judged. Or at least it was for most people. If I was in my own house, sure I felt free to wander and muse on the workings of the world. But if I was out in public? No. I was as locked in on the task at hand as one could be.
Why the odd behavior? Well, while doing my best to avoid sounding like I was crazy, I never felt *alone* in my own head. Still with me? Let me expound on that a bit. You know those late night Murder Mystery shows? 60 minutes. Unsolved Mysteries. Various shows stealing the idea of those shows and the shows that they themselves originally stole from?
Let's set the scene. You just returned home from a long day at work punching numbers into an Excel Document and waiting for the universe to explode. You make yourself a nice meal, sit down on the couch in your living room and flick on the television. On the screen? ‘Tonight on 60 Minutes: Black Masked Clown Shoes Killer’s Rampage’. You vaguely remember something about him that you saw on the news a few years ago when he was murdering his way through the suburbs turning his shoes another shade of red, so you decide to tune in. The first interview is with a lady who was nearly a victim herself. Apparently she had been walking to her car after a long shift and had heard something odd, but didn’t know where it came from.
She was out at nearly 2 AM, surely no one else was out this late? In her words, ‘I thought I was alone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling someone else was nearby. I darn near sprinted the rest of the way to my car and left to go home. Didn’t sleep a wink that night.’ The interviewer, wearing a serious Newscaster face that lingered somewhere between concern and interest (we all know the look) leans in and hits her with, ‘What happened the next day?’ She looks down, and then back up to the caster, cameras zooming in on her. ‘I saw on the news the next day that someone had been killed the previous night, and their body had been discovered in their car in that same parking lot. I wasn’t more than 20 feet away from that car when I had walked out to my car that night. I’m lucky to be alive.’
That’s the feeling I’m describing here, you should feel alone but you just *don’t*. Obviously an extreme example I’m tossing out here but this is such an odd concept to most people I describe this to that I had to weave a bit of a narrative to illustrate my point.
To this point in my life, I had done everything in my power to tell myself that what I was feeling didn’t make any sense. As I sat in a subway car heading home from the latest round of soul crushing work I had that feeling wash over me even more than usual. Pursuant to me trying to get over that feeling every time I was in public, I had come up with a sort of bag of tricks to battle the feeling when it hit me. One such strategy was think of the most bubbly song imaginable to get myself re-centered and get that thing rolling along and good and stuck inside of my head. The weapon of choice? Firework by Katy Perry. I know what you’re thinking, you’re a grown ass man dude. I’m with you, but even as said grown ass man, that song is the essence of bubbly pop perfection. I will never not become happier after hearing that song.
Feeling a lot better now that I had that song bouncing around in my brain, I looked around the train car. I had maybe missed one or two stops while I was calming myself down and I liked to have an idea of who I was riding with. That’s when I noticed one man in particular. Smart suit, polished shoes and a briefcase suggested he was a businessman of some sort, but he looked incredibly miscast as that. The clothes were good, but it almost looked like someone who wears a suit 2 or 3 times a year busting it out and having it not fit correctly. It just looked off. More interesting that the clothes was him bobbing his head to a song, and then I noticed him mouthing the lyrics to the soundtrack going on for him. He didn’t appear to be listening to any music, but he was occasionally mouthing lyrics to his mystery song. One such word was ‘Firework’, which was incredibly weird. What are the odds right? I thought about the unlikeliness of strangers randomly mouthing a sound clip from decades prior when all the sudden he stared straight at me.
Outside of my odd problem described above, I wasn’t an overly suspicious person. But his snap-stare was timed exactly with my thinking how odd a coincidence it was. Now, about to hit my stop all I could think about was how much of a coincidence it couldn’t be. I did my best not to freak out, but my thoughts were going a little haywire at this point. Confirming something very un-normal was happening was the mystery man in the suit looking like he was trying very hard to find something to say. It was here that I made a snap decision to test a theory that was beginning to form. I simply did my best to think ‘What the hell are you staring at dude?’ I have no idea how or why, but the guy seemed to reply in time, “It’s not what it looks like”. At this point, I was losing my shit.
Only after he finished saying it did a look of ‘Oh Shit’ cross his face. He went for something that looked like a radio in his briefcase and I began the process of getting the hell out of there. I wasn’t running, exactly, but I was also definitely in a mind to vacate the area as quickly as possible. Make myself scarce, you get the idea. I was only a few feet from the street above when 2 very stern looking gentlemen in suits put themselves in between me and the exit. About 10 feet behind me now was the guy from the car, wearing a look that told me that he knew he had messed up badly. Tail tucked firmly between his legs he walked up behind me and said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting some sort of explanation for this, right?” I almost didn’t even bother saying it, since apparently my mind was an open book to at least one other person in the room, but still responded “I think I’m probably owed one judging by the last 15 minutes.” The two gentlemen in front of me led the two of us outside and to a waiting car. He opened the door and I heard him distinctly, even though his lips didn’t move at all. “Get in, I’ll bring you up to speed on the way”.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| The human mind can be a tricky beast. We have come a tremendous way during our development as an alpha predator on Earth, but the hard lessons learned along the way led to some quirks that hung around far longer than their utility might have dictated. One such example, seeing patterns where there were none. This phenomenon is called Apophenia to the more scientifically inclined amongst us. Much in the way of random superstition and acts can be tied to this incredibly human tendency, which some would argue occurred over time and is inextricably tied to the evolution of man. This led some very smart people to have some very odd beliefs. For some this meant not walking under ladders and avoiding breaking mirrors. Even I will admit, though, that I have an odd one that is even stranger.
You see, for the longest time (in fact, for as long as I can remember) I had a sense of dread hanging over me. Well, dread might be a tad dramatic of a word, but humor me here. Your own mind was supposed to be a safe place. Contemplation reserved from the world, where you could be free to think thoughts without worrying about being judged. Or at least it was for most people. If I was in my own house, sure I felt free to wander and muse on the workings of the world. But if I was out in public? No. I was as locked in on the task at hand as one could be.
Why the odd behavior? Well, while doing my best to avoid sounding like I was crazy, I never felt *alone* in my own head. Still with me? Let me expound on that a bit. You know those late night Murder Mystery shows? 60 minutes. Unsolved Mysteries. Various shows stealing the idea of those shows and the shows that they themselves originally stole from?
Let's set the scene. You just returned home from a long day at work punching numbers into an Excel Document and waiting for the universe to explode. You make yourself a nice meal, sit down on the couch in your living room and flick on the television. On the screen? ‘Tonight on 60 Minutes: Black Masked Clown Shoes Killer’s Rampage’. You vaguely remember something about him that you saw on the news a few years ago when he was murdering his way through the suburbs turning his shoes another shade of red, so you decide to tune in. The first interview is with a lady who was nearly a victim herself. Apparently she had been walking to her car after a long shift and had heard something odd, but didn’t know where it came from.
She was out at nearly 2 AM, surely no one else was out this late? In her words, ‘I thought I was alone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling someone else was nearby. I darn near sprinted the rest of the way to my car and left to go home. Didn’t sleep a wink that night.’ The interviewer, wearing a serious Newscaster face that lingered somewhere between concern and interest (we all know the look) leans in and hits her with, ‘What happened the next day?’ She looks down, and then back up to the caster, cameras zooming in on her. ‘I saw on the news the next day that someone had been killed the previous night, and their body had been discovered in their car in that same parking lot. I wasn’t more than 20 feet away from that car when I had walked out to my car that night. I’m lucky to be alive.’
That’s the feeling I’m describing here, you should feel alone but you just *don’t*. Obviously an extreme example I’m tossing out here but this is such an odd concept to most people I describe this to that I had to weave a bit of a narrative to illustrate my point.
To this point in my life, I had done everything in my power to tell myself that what I was feeling didn’t make any sense. As I sat in a subway car heading home from the latest round of soul crushing work I had that feeling wash over me even more than usual. Pursuant to me trying to get over that feeling every time I was in public, I had come up with a sort of bag of tricks to battle the feeling when it hit me. One such strategy was think of the most bubbly song imaginable to get myself re-centered and get that thing rolling along and good and stuck inside of my head. The weapon of choice? Firework by Katy Perry. I know what you’re thinking, you’re a grown ass man dude. I’m with you, but even as said grown ass man, that song is the essence of bubbly pop perfection. I will never not become happier after hearing that song.
Feeling a lot better now that I had that song bouncing around in my brain, I looked around the train car. I had maybe missed one or two stops while I was calming myself down and I liked to have an idea of who I was riding with. That’s when I noticed one man in particular. Smart suit, polished shoes and a briefcase suggested he was a businessman of some sort, but he looked incredibly miscast as that. The clothes were good, but it almost looked like someone who wears a suit 2 or 3 times a year busting it out and having it not fit correctly. It just looked off. More interesting that the clothes was him bobbing his head to a song, and then I noticed him mouthing the lyrics to the soundtrack going on for him. He didn’t appear to be listening to any music, but he was occasionally mouthing lyrics to his mystery song. One such word was ‘Firework’, which was incredibly weird. What are the odds right? I thought about the unlikeliness of strangers randomly mouthing a sound clip from decades prior when all the sudden he stared straight at me.
Outside of my odd problem described above, I wasn’t an overly suspicious person. But his snap-stare was timed exactly with my thinking how odd a coincidence it was. Now, about to hit my stop all I could think about was how much of a coincidence it couldn’t be. I did my best not to freak out, but my thoughts were going a little haywire at this point. Confirming something very un-normal was happening was the mystery man in the suit looking like he was trying very hard to find something to say. It was here that I made a snap decision to test a theory that was beginning to form. I simply did my best to think ‘What the hell are you staring at dude?’ I have no idea how or why, but the guy seemed to reply in time, “It’s not what it looks like”. At this point, I was losing my shit.
Only after he finished saying it did a look of ‘Oh Shit’ cross his face. He went for something that looked like a radio in his briefcase and I began the process of getting the hell out of there. I wasn’t running, exactly, but I was also definitely in a mind to vacate the area as quickly as possible. Make myself scarce, you get the idea. I was only a few feet from the street above when 2 very stern looking gentlemen in suits put themselves in between me and the exit. About 10 feet behind me now was the guy from the car, wearing a look that told me that he knew he had messed up badly. Tail tucked firmly between his legs he walked up behind me and said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting some sort of explanation for this, right?” I almost didn’t even bother saying it, since apparently my mind was an open book to at least one other person in the room, but still responded “I think I’m probably owed one judging by the last 15 minutes.” The two gentlemen in front of me led the two of us outside and to a waiting car. He opened the door and I heard him distinctly, even though his lips didn’t move at all. “Get in, I’ll bring you up to speed on the way”.
| |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | "*Kiss me, baby*," Ruben bobbed his head to an imaginary beat and enjoyed the song in his memory. After resisting it for two days the pop melody drilled through his subconscious. Now he stood in a crowded subway car wishing he brought his earbuds along. He spotted a bright pink head of hair bopping out the same rhythm as his. "Kiss me again and again," he sang in his mind. The neon-pink head turned and Ruben saw the owner's face. The pale young woman's purple lips sang along with the lyrics in his head.
"*Huh. she doesn't have earbuds either*," Ruben noted to himself. The pink-haired woman continued to mouth the rest of the song while she shook her head. She moved slow enough that Ruben thought she could be replying to his observation, but he chalked that up to his growing anxieties. He decided she was singing and obviously dancing to herself. His subconscious felt uneasy enough to finally give up the earworm.
"*Are you ready to rock*?!" the voice in his head matched a famous singer. The correct answer to the question was, "I'm ready to rock!" along with a 'devil horns' gesture in the air. Ruben almost mimed the gesture as a habit but stopped himself when he noticed the girl respond. She made the two-pronged gesture with her hand and smiled directly at him.
"*I'm ready to rock*!" she mouthed the words to avoid attracting attention from the other passengers. Ruben's eyes opened wide.
"*YOU CAN HEAR MY THOUGHTS*???!" He shouted the question in his mind. The woman squinted at him in confusion. Then she shrugged and nodded as if to say, 'duh.'
"*What does that mean? You can? Why can't I read yours*?" The woman rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the crowd to get to him. Once she stood next to him she lifter hand chest height to introduce herself.
"Hi, I'm Rose," she smiled.
"I'm Ruben," he shook her hand. "What's going on?" he leaned closer and whispered the question.
"Okay, uh. Where are you lost?" She asked in a way that made Ruben feel dumb for not already knowing.
"You can hear my thoughts?"
"You can't?" Ruben made tight fists with his hands as he stared at her.
"Stop answering my questions with a question," he said in a stern tone. "Please," he added through gritted his teeth. Rose shook her head with a giggle.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant exactly what I asked. You know how when you talk you can hear your voice?" she asked. Ruben nodded. "That's what I meant. You're thinking out loud," she shrugged. "I thought you were doing it on purpose." Suddenly a parade of stern and disgusted women's faces played back in his mind.
"How do I turn it off?" Ruben asked.
"Practice. There's a very subtle difference in the way the thoughts feel. You know how sometimes you can tell if someone has you on speakerphone? It's like that. Keep practicing and you'll learn what the difference feels like." The subway slowed down and the conductor came on the intercom to announce the next stop. Rose pulled away from Ruben.
"How do I do that? I just think?" He asked. Rose shook her head and handed him a small pink business card with her number on it.
"You need to be with someone that can tell you when you're broadcasting and when you're not." She winked at him then followed the flow of bodies out of the car.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #337. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | I mean, it's a popular tune; radio has it on regular rotation... There may be others in the same car with the same tune... But she is so old... is that, 75...80? Her timing was perfect... Her gaze unwavering. Were her eyes tired, or--... No....that was pity. She knows... I f***ing did it... and she knows... The voices had gone; my thoughts were clean, I had cleaned them. The filthy rot was removed, I ...cut into it, I carved it out. She could not listen...---oh my God. I've told her. "She heard you"..."she heard, you piece of..." The fiery panic surged through my veins. I ripped out my ear buds, hard to breathe...my bluetooth... it's not.... it's not paired. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | I thought it was just a coincidence. However, the moment I thought that, the hooded man in front of me ceased lip-syncing the song playing in my head, looking somewhat agitated, as if he'd just made a terrible mistake.
On cue, however, the subway's breaks shrieked to a stop, and the man jostled his way out, ignoring the cussing of the offended passengers.
Without a second thought, I followed him.
The station we'd alighted into was empty, full of old, flickering lights and scribbled walls.
I scanned the surroundings, spotted him bolting through a tunnel-like corridor, his steps echoing loudly. I wouldn't let him escape. Now I was sure there was something odd going on.
I barreled as fast as my legs allowed through the twisting corridor, up many stairs, and down many more.
In time, however, I lost sight of him when I ran into a bifurcating corridor. I cursed under my breath, he couldn't have gone too far, and I knew he wasn't moving, for the sound of his steps had suddenly vanished.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused. In the distance, a peculiar noise, like that of ragged, shallow breaths, could be heard.
I had him.
I silenced my mind as much as I could, slinked toward him. The noises grew louder. In the middle of the corridor I found a door. The gasping came from beyond.
I opened it, heart thumping, unaware of what I'd say. And there he was, the hooded man, sitting on stairs, clasping his heart and breathing heavy.
In the brevity of a breath, the meld of curiosity and the odd loath I felt vanished. I ran to his side. "Are you all right?" I asked, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Meanwhile, I helped the man lay on the ground.
"It burns," he said, clutching at his heart, his eyes wid--.
My heart sunk to my stomach.
"911. What's your emergency?"
I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. That face, I knew that face very well.
For it was mine.
"Help me," the man said, his face growing pale.
"I am in the Fadenghar Station. There's a man having a heart attack. I need someone now. We are inside the emergency stairs I believe!"
And then, a sudden silence took over.
"We are sending someone right now."
I turned.
He was gone, nothing but his clothes remained. | I mean, it's a popular tune; radio has it on regular rotation... There may be others in the same car with the same tune... But she is so old... is that, 75...80? Her timing was perfect... Her gaze unwavering. Were her eyes tired, or--... No....that was pity. She knows... I f***ing did it... and she knows... The voices had gone; my thoughts were clean, I had cleaned them. The filthy rot was removed, I ...cut into it, I carved it out. She could not listen...---oh my God. I've told her. "She heard you"..."she heard, you piece of..." The fiery panic surged through my veins. I ripped out my ear buds, hard to breathe...my bluetooth... it's not.... it's not paired. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. |
There’s always been just this… feeling. An odd sort of sensation, really. I don’t know how to explain it, just that it’s just been there. This sensation that someone, somewhere, just knows what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s silly, I know. A random thought here, a déjà vu there, that creepy “something out of the corner of my eye” type of sensation here and there throughout my life that just never, ever seemed to pan out. We all have them, right?
Of course we do. We all do. There’s been study after study of these sensations, there’s Wikipedia article after article about them, and thinking about them for too long can drive a person mad. So eventually, I just accepted it as fact and moved on. After all, we were all like that, right?
So I just moved on with my life. Awkward teenage years to college, to my boring adult life. All with this just slight nagging feeling at the back of my skull that something just wasn’t quite right. I got a regular, boring job as a bus driver, something that didn’t require a whole lot of talking to people; I still wasn’t all that very comfortable speaking around too many people, since I couldn’t quite ignore that feeling they knew what I was going to say. But driving them where they needed to go, in a nice casual pre-ordained pattern the same way day in and day out? That was for me, baby!
So began my routine. And still I noticed it, even when not trying to. When I was in line at McDonalds, getting ready to order my meal, the cashier was already ringing up my order before I even got up to her in line. That wasn’t anything unusual, right? After all, I eat here all the time. I’m sure she’s seen me here before. At the movie, on a rare outing to spend what little free funds I had for entertainment, the man didn’t even ask me what movie I wanted to see.
He just handed me a ticket to Deadpool 2 and grunted the theater number in my general direction. Of course, it WAS opening night, and like ninety percent of all their ticket sales were for Deadpool 2, so that wasn’t really much of a coincidence. Right?
Right?
Just coincidence that they had my popcorn ready for me as I got to the ticket counter too. Definitely a coincidence. But I’m really weird with my soda. Pop. Whichever part of the country you hail from. I’m weird, I know. But I enjoy mixing my drink. I like having some Sprite and some Dr. Pepper mixed together. I don’t know why, it’s something I picked up as a kid when you don’t really have taste buds yet that I’ve never really grown out of.
The drink I was handed was exactly fifty percent Sprite and fifty percent Dr. Pepper. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it? Nervous, I drained my drink well before the opening prequels had even finished, and had to visit the bathroom about thirty minutes into the movie.
I no longer had any doubts that something odd was going on when every single movie patron filed out of the movie and followed me into the bathroom.
After taking care of nature’s call, I abandoned the movie theater and sprinted toward the subway, intent on fleeing home if I was being pursued. A quick look back, however, slowed my steps; none had followed, they’d merely followed me to the bathroom. So maybe another coincidence in a long series of coincidences?
Could that happen? It hardly seemed like it.
Rattled, I decided my best course of action was simply to go home and get some rest. A quick hop onto the subway, and soon enough the gentle clack clack of the rails below me began to lull me to sleep. It had been so long since I’d been able to just relax…
What was that song my mother had used to sing to me as a child? It was from a movie, something about a rainbow… ah yes. Smiling to myself, I hummed the bars to the song under my breath as I fell lost in thought, my memories focused on the song and my mother’s singing voice.
Until I heard voices on the other end of the car singing. I couldn’t help listening, as they were quite loud and, if I were honest with myself, singing quite well. I paled as I realized what they were singing, but I couldn’t tear myself away from their words.
“Somewhere over the rainbow… way up high…And the dreams that you dream of… Once in a lullaby… “ | I mean, it's a popular tune; radio has it on regular rotation... There may be others in the same car with the same tune... But she is so old... is that, 75...80? Her timing was perfect... Her gaze unwavering. Were her eyes tired, or--... No....that was pity. She knows... I f***ing did it... and she knows... The voices had gone; my thoughts were clean, I had cleaned them. The filthy rot was removed, I ...cut into it, I carved it out. She could not listen...---oh my God. I've told her. "She heard you"..."she heard, you piece of..." The fiery panic surged through my veins. I ripped out my ear buds, hard to breathe...my bluetooth... it's not.... it's not paired. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| I mean, it's a popular tune; radio has it on regular rotation... There may be others in the same car with the same tune... But she is so old... is that, 75...80? Her timing was perfect... Her gaze unwavering. Were her eyes tired, or--... No....that was pity. She knows... I f***ing did it... and she knows... The voices had gone; my thoughts were clean, I had cleaned them. The filthy rot was removed, I ...cut into it, I carved it out. She could not listen...---oh my God. I've told her. "She heard you"..."she heard, you piece of..." The fiery panic surged through my veins. I ripped out my ear buds, hard to breathe...my bluetooth... it's not.... it's not paired. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| "*Kiss me, baby*," Ruben bobbed his head to an imaginary beat and enjoyed the song in his memory. After resisting it for two days the pop melody drilled through his subconscious. Now he stood in a crowded subway car wishing he brought his earbuds along. He spotted a bright pink head of hair bopping out the same rhythm as his. "Kiss me again and again," he sang in his mind. The neon-pink head turned and Ruben saw the owner's face. The pale young woman's purple lips sang along with the lyrics in his head.
"*Huh. she doesn't have earbuds either*," Ruben noted to himself. The pink-haired woman continued to mouth the rest of the song while she shook her head. She moved slow enough that Ruben thought she could be replying to his observation, but he chalked that up to his growing anxieties. He decided she was singing and obviously dancing to herself. His subconscious felt uneasy enough to finally give up the earworm.
"*Are you ready to rock*?!" the voice in his head matched a famous singer. The correct answer to the question was, "I'm ready to rock!" along with a 'devil horns' gesture in the air. Ruben almost mimed the gesture as a habit but stopped himself when he noticed the girl respond. She made the two-pronged gesture with her hand and smiled directly at him.
"*I'm ready to rock*!" she mouthed the words to avoid attracting attention from the other passengers. Ruben's eyes opened wide.
"*YOU CAN HEAR MY THOUGHTS*???!" He shouted the question in his mind. The woman squinted at him in confusion. Then she shrugged and nodded as if to say, 'duh.'
"*What does that mean? You can? Why can't I read yours*?" The woman rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the crowd to get to him. Once she stood next to him she lifter hand chest height to introduce herself.
"Hi, I'm Rose," she smiled.
"I'm Ruben," he shook her hand. "What's going on?" he leaned closer and whispered the question.
"Okay, uh. Where are you lost?" She asked in a way that made Ruben feel dumb for not already knowing.
"You can hear my thoughts?"
"You can't?" Ruben made tight fists with his hands as he stared at her.
"Stop answering my questions with a question," he said in a stern tone. "Please," he added through gritted his teeth. Rose shook her head with a giggle.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant exactly what I asked. You know how when you talk you can hear your voice?" she asked. Ruben nodded. "That's what I meant. You're thinking out loud," she shrugged. "I thought you were doing it on purpose." Suddenly a parade of stern and disgusted women's faces played back in his mind.
"How do I turn it off?" Ruben asked.
"Practice. There's a very subtle difference in the way the thoughts feel. You know how sometimes you can tell if someone has you on speakerphone? It's like that. Keep practicing and you'll learn what the difference feels like." The subway slowed down and the conductor came on the intercom to announce the next stop. Rose pulled away from Ruben.
"How do I do that? I just think?" He asked. Rose shook her head and handed him a small pink business card with her number on it.
"You need to be with someone that can tell you when you're broadcasting and when you're not." She winked at him then followed the flow of bodies out of the car.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #337. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. |
There’s always been just this… feeling. An odd sort of sensation, really. I don’t know how to explain it, just that it’s just been there. This sensation that someone, somewhere, just knows what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s silly, I know. A random thought here, a déjà vu there, that creepy “something out of the corner of my eye” type of sensation here and there throughout my life that just never, ever seemed to pan out. We all have them, right?
Of course we do. We all do. There’s been study after study of these sensations, there’s Wikipedia article after article about them, and thinking about them for too long can drive a person mad. So eventually, I just accepted it as fact and moved on. After all, we were all like that, right?
So I just moved on with my life. Awkward teenage years to college, to my boring adult life. All with this just slight nagging feeling at the back of my skull that something just wasn’t quite right. I got a regular, boring job as a bus driver, something that didn’t require a whole lot of talking to people; I still wasn’t all that very comfortable speaking around too many people, since I couldn’t quite ignore that feeling they knew what I was going to say. But driving them where they needed to go, in a nice casual pre-ordained pattern the same way day in and day out? That was for me, baby!
So began my routine. And still I noticed it, even when not trying to. When I was in line at McDonalds, getting ready to order my meal, the cashier was already ringing up my order before I even got up to her in line. That wasn’t anything unusual, right? After all, I eat here all the time. I’m sure she’s seen me here before. At the movie, on a rare outing to spend what little free funds I had for entertainment, the man didn’t even ask me what movie I wanted to see.
He just handed me a ticket to Deadpool 2 and grunted the theater number in my general direction. Of course, it WAS opening night, and like ninety percent of all their ticket sales were for Deadpool 2, so that wasn’t really much of a coincidence. Right?
Right?
Just coincidence that they had my popcorn ready for me as I got to the ticket counter too. Definitely a coincidence. But I’m really weird with my soda. Pop. Whichever part of the country you hail from. I’m weird, I know. But I enjoy mixing my drink. I like having some Sprite and some Dr. Pepper mixed together. I don’t know why, it’s something I picked up as a kid when you don’t really have taste buds yet that I’ve never really grown out of.
The drink I was handed was exactly fifty percent Sprite and fifty percent Dr. Pepper. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it? Nervous, I drained my drink well before the opening prequels had even finished, and had to visit the bathroom about thirty minutes into the movie.
I no longer had any doubts that something odd was going on when every single movie patron filed out of the movie and followed me into the bathroom.
After taking care of nature’s call, I abandoned the movie theater and sprinted toward the subway, intent on fleeing home if I was being pursued. A quick look back, however, slowed my steps; none had followed, they’d merely followed me to the bathroom. So maybe another coincidence in a long series of coincidences?
Could that happen? It hardly seemed like it.
Rattled, I decided my best course of action was simply to go home and get some rest. A quick hop onto the subway, and soon enough the gentle clack clack of the rails below me began to lull me to sleep. It had been so long since I’d been able to just relax…
What was that song my mother had used to sing to me as a child? It was from a movie, something about a rainbow… ah yes. Smiling to myself, I hummed the bars to the song under my breath as I fell lost in thought, my memories focused on the song and my mother’s singing voice.
Until I heard voices on the other end of the car singing. I couldn’t help listening, as they were quite loud and, if I were honest with myself, singing quite well. I paled as I realized what they were singing, but I couldn’t tear myself away from their words.
“Somewhere over the rainbow… way up high…And the dreams that you dream of… Once in a lullaby… “ | I thought it was just a coincidence. However, the moment I thought that, the hooded man in front of me ceased lip-syncing the song playing in my head, looking somewhat agitated, as if he'd just made a terrible mistake.
On cue, however, the subway's breaks shrieked to a stop, and the man jostled his way out, ignoring the cussing of the offended passengers.
Without a second thought, I followed him.
The station we'd alighted into was empty, full of old, flickering lights and scribbled walls.
I scanned the surroundings, spotted him bolting through a tunnel-like corridor, his steps echoing loudly. I wouldn't let him escape. Now I was sure there was something odd going on.
I barreled as fast as my legs allowed through the twisting corridor, up many stairs, and down many more.
In time, however, I lost sight of him when I ran into a bifurcating corridor. I cursed under my breath, he couldn't have gone too far, and I knew he wasn't moving, for the sound of his steps had suddenly vanished.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused. In the distance, a peculiar noise, like that of ragged, shallow breaths, could be heard.
I had him.
I silenced my mind as much as I could, slinked toward him. The noises grew louder. In the middle of the corridor I found a door. The gasping came from beyond.
I opened it, heart thumping, unaware of what I'd say. And there he was, the hooded man, sitting on stairs, clasping his heart and breathing heavy.
In the brevity of a breath, the meld of curiosity and the odd loath I felt vanished. I ran to his side. "Are you all right?" I asked, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Meanwhile, I helped the man lay on the ground.
"It burns," he said, clutching at his heart, his eyes wid--.
My heart sunk to my stomach.
"911. What's your emergency?"
I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. That face, I knew that face very well.
For it was mine.
"Help me," the man said, his face growing pale.
"I am in the Fadenghar Station. There's a man having a heart attack. I need someone now. We are inside the emergency stairs I believe!"
And then, a sudden silence took over.
"We are sending someone right now."
I turned.
He was gone, nothing but his clothes remained. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
| I thought it was just a coincidence. However, the moment I thought that, the hooded man in front of me ceased lip-syncing the song playing in my head, looking somewhat agitated, as if he'd just made a terrible mistake.
On cue, however, the subway's breaks shrieked to a stop, and the man jostled his way out, ignoring the cussing of the offended passengers.
Without a second thought, I followed him.
The station we'd alighted into was empty, full of old, flickering lights and scribbled walls.
I scanned the surroundings, spotted him bolting through a tunnel-like corridor, his steps echoing loudly. I wouldn't let him escape. Now I was sure there was something odd going on.
I barreled as fast as my legs allowed through the twisting corridor, up many stairs, and down many more.
In time, however, I lost sight of him when I ran into a bifurcating corridor. I cursed under my breath, he couldn't have gone too far, and I knew he wasn't moving, for the sound of his steps had suddenly vanished.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused. In the distance, a peculiar noise, like that of ragged, shallow breaths, could be heard.
I had him.
I silenced my mind as much as I could, slinked toward him. The noises grew louder. In the middle of the corridor I found a door. The gasping came from beyond.
I opened it, heart thumping, unaware of what I'd say. And there he was, the hooded man, sitting on stairs, clasping his heart and breathing heavy.
In the brevity of a breath, the meld of curiosity and the odd loath I felt vanished. I ran to his side. "Are you all right?" I asked, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Meanwhile, I helped the man lay on the ground.
"It burns," he said, clutching at his heart, his eyes wid--.
My heart sunk to my stomach.
"911. What's your emergency?"
I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. That face, I knew that face very well.
For it was mine.
"Help me," the man said, his face growing pale.
"I am in the Fadenghar Station. There's a man having a heart attack. I need someone now. We are inside the emergency stairs I believe!"
And then, a sudden silence took over.
"We are sending someone right now."
I turned.
He was gone, nothing but his clothes remained. | |
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head. | Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
|
There’s always been just this… feeling. An odd sort of sensation, really. I don’t know how to explain it, just that it’s just been there. This sensation that someone, somewhere, just knows what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s silly, I know. A random thought here, a déjà vu there, that creepy “something out of the corner of my eye” type of sensation here and there throughout my life that just never, ever seemed to pan out. We all have them, right?
Of course we do. We all do. There’s been study after study of these sensations, there’s Wikipedia article after article about them, and thinking about them for too long can drive a person mad. So eventually, I just accepted it as fact and moved on. After all, we were all like that, right?
So I just moved on with my life. Awkward teenage years to college, to my boring adult life. All with this just slight nagging feeling at the back of my skull that something just wasn’t quite right. I got a regular, boring job as a bus driver, something that didn’t require a whole lot of talking to people; I still wasn’t all that very comfortable speaking around too many people, since I couldn’t quite ignore that feeling they knew what I was going to say. But driving them where they needed to go, in a nice casual pre-ordained pattern the same way day in and day out? That was for me, baby!
So began my routine. And still I noticed it, even when not trying to. When I was in line at McDonalds, getting ready to order my meal, the cashier was already ringing up my order before I even got up to her in line. That wasn’t anything unusual, right? After all, I eat here all the time. I’m sure she’s seen me here before. At the movie, on a rare outing to spend what little free funds I had for entertainment, the man didn’t even ask me what movie I wanted to see.
He just handed me a ticket to Deadpool 2 and grunted the theater number in my general direction. Of course, it WAS opening night, and like ninety percent of all their ticket sales were for Deadpool 2, so that wasn’t really much of a coincidence. Right?
Right?
Just coincidence that they had my popcorn ready for me as I got to the ticket counter too. Definitely a coincidence. But I’m really weird with my soda. Pop. Whichever part of the country you hail from. I’m weird, I know. But I enjoy mixing my drink. I like having some Sprite and some Dr. Pepper mixed together. I don’t know why, it’s something I picked up as a kid when you don’t really have taste buds yet that I’ve never really grown out of.
The drink I was handed was exactly fifty percent Sprite and fifty percent Dr. Pepper. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it? Nervous, I drained my drink well before the opening prequels had even finished, and had to visit the bathroom about thirty minutes into the movie.
I no longer had any doubts that something odd was going on when every single movie patron filed out of the movie and followed me into the bathroom.
After taking care of nature’s call, I abandoned the movie theater and sprinted toward the subway, intent on fleeing home if I was being pursued. A quick look back, however, slowed my steps; none had followed, they’d merely followed me to the bathroom. So maybe another coincidence in a long series of coincidences?
Could that happen? It hardly seemed like it.
Rattled, I decided my best course of action was simply to go home and get some rest. A quick hop onto the subway, and soon enough the gentle clack clack of the rails below me began to lull me to sleep. It had been so long since I’d been able to just relax…
What was that song my mother had used to sing to me as a child? It was from a movie, something about a rainbow… ah yes. Smiling to myself, I hummed the bars to the song under my breath as I fell lost in thought, my memories focused on the song and my mother’s singing voice.
Until I heard voices on the other end of the car singing. I couldn’t help listening, as they were quite loud and, if I were honest with myself, singing quite well. I paled as I realized what they were singing, but I couldn’t tear myself away from their words.
“Somewhere over the rainbow… way up high…And the dreams that you dream of… Once in a lullaby… “ | |
[WP] Sixty years ago a Demi-God tasked you with sending anonymous packages to people on the day they were to die. These packages contained random items critical to their survival yet no context. If the recipient figured it out, they could cheat death. Today, you received your very own package. | Everyone get a package eventually.
Some receive a weapon, others a tool like a rope.
I got a phone. Considering I have a phone, I was confused.
Would I be mugged and having this particular phone to give them calm them down and allow me to live?
Would I be stabbed but since it was in my pocket it would stop the knife?
I spent all day thinking of the possibilities, night falls and I hear a knock on the door.
“Jules! I brought some snacks!” It’s my best friend,Stephan,shouting through the door. I smile to myself. Stephan can help me, he always does. I get up and walk to the door. Just as I am opening it, I hear a loud bang. I look at the partly open door, and see a new hole. I start to get dizzy, I look down and my abdomen is covered in blood. I fall to the ground, and Stephan steps in, wiping off his weapon.
“.....you know.... you meant so much to me. I cared so much for your happiness.. for your problems... but not once....” he kneels down and looks me in the eyes “not once do you call me.. ask me how I’m doing.. I lost everything!!! My wife!!! My child!! Their funeral is tomorrow!”
I’m so confused, the adrenaline is wearing off and the pain is setting in
“You wanted to be alone... I was going to the funeral you know that..I loved them too..” I somehow manage to say
“I JUST WANTED YOU TO CALL ME!!! TO CALL ME AND ASK HOW I AM, TO SAY YOU CARE!!!”
He pressed the gun to my temple and sighed
“I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
And everything went black
| *Ding Dong.* The doorbell chimes and you grimace, heaving yourself up from your recliner chair. On the third swing you get your legs under you and kick the footrest under and come unsteadily to your feet. As you step away it pops out and catches you in the shins. Cursing, you hobble to the front door and yank it violently open. The Postie is standing on your veranda gaping like a stunned mullet with a large brown paper wrapped package.
You aren't expecting anything and with with trembling hands slowly reach out and take it. The pain in your shin is gone and instead is replaced my a tightening of your chest.
"Argh, excuse me...Mis...you." The post officer lamely finishes . "You have to sign for it." She produces a little touch screen device and you bravely attempt to squiggle your initials before giving up and marking it with an X. As you shuffle back into the lounge room all you can hear is a high pitched whinging in your ears. You mute the TV but the sound continues.
You place the box on the coffee table in front of you and stare at it. It's neatly wrapped in brown paper with the edges crisply folded. You'd never really had time for any of that with your packages. Just whacked them in a box with the preprepared address sticker and dropped them that at the post office. This package though was handwritten to boot. You pick the box up and shake it. You hear a faint rattle inside. Attempting to rip the paper off you realise that the string is actually holding it together and isn't even decorative. There's no sticky tape and by the time you've sawn through the string with your teeth the boxes crisp edges have crumpled under your ham fists.
It's a shoe box. For a pair of kids black school shoes. You open the lid and find a diorama inside. Collapsing into your recliner you throw your arms up. The box was supposed to contain items to cheat death. Over the 60 years you've been putting together boxes nothing like this has ever come up. You lift the lid again and stare at a solar system orbiting an earth with a massive playground sticking out of it. You gingerly touch the planets and feel around the stars but there are no hidden objects. Tossing your head back you stare up at the water stains on your ceiling and began to see gas giants in their shapes. Shaking your head you glance back at the box and push the lid down.
Obviously its someone's first box. Lucky for them you already know the game. Something in that box is a clue to cheating death, you just have to think about it.
Your boxes seem straight forward in comparison. A slow watch to avoid the three car pile up, an inflatable duck to avoid a holiday drowning, a set of new false teeth so prevent choking on a meatball. All practical things that could have saved lives if used as intended. But this. This was not a clue. What were you supposed to do? Wear it as a helmet? Sell it to a disgruntled home invader? Befriend the local magpies with it? You open the lid again and search for comets. Nope it wasn't alluding to an imminent extinction and you couldn't find anything crime or bird related to it.
You stand up and walk around the table. Trying to look at it from every possible angle. You even drop some of your dinner, Hawaiian pizza, in it and have to glow off some glitter before eating the rest of the slice. But still you have no inspiration. The evening drags on and your list of possible events with a thick red line through has grown to three pages long. You yawn and knuckle your eyes open. Fearing that with sleep you'll miss a vital clue.
With a jolt you wake up to find yourself asleep on the shag carpet next to the coffee table. Your face is wet from the drool that's pooled under you face and as you wipe it away just as your groggy mind hits on SPACE. Not interstellar space but the space between every thing. You need space to live! You fist pump the air heroically and check your watch. 11.45pm. Not a moment to soon. You rush to the garage and strap the diorama into the passenger seat before remembering that if you are to live you'll be needing snacks and clean clothes. You rush back inside and load a bag with mismatching clothing that was sitting in a pile in the corner before flinging the contents of the middle kitchen shelf on top.
As the engine roars to life you glance at the clock. 11.59pm twinkles at you as you burn rubber reversing out of your garage. Space. You keep reciting it as a mantra in your head as you chuck the car into gear and speed down your street. You're chasing space. | |
[WP] Sixty years ago a Demi-God tasked you with sending anonymous packages to people on the day they were to die. These packages contained random items critical to their survival yet no context. If the recipient figured it out, they could cheat death. Today, you received your very own package. | Oh fuck this I’m calling him!
Hello Marvin speaking.
What the fuck is this Marvin?
What?
You send me a package! A fucking butter knife. What the fuck?
Oh hey Pete. Yeah, sorry about that. Nothing I can do about it I’m afraid.
You prick. A butter knife? How the fuck do I stop my death with a butter knife? I know why your doing this, it’s because of Saturday. My engagement drinks.
It’s not.
It fucking is Marvin! You know I can’t invite you to events in my life, how the fuck do I explain an eight foot Demi God to my fiancé? Fuck my family think I’m a book editor.
You could say I’m Samoan, have you ever seen a Samoan rugby player? Some of those guys grow quite tall and..
FUCK MARVIN!!!
Ok ok I’m sorry. It’s just you never call me and it’s like ever since you’ve met her we just have a working relationship. We never just chill out. Remember our halo nights? Now they were fun!
How were you going to do it?
Do what?
Kill me Marvin!? You sent me a fucking butter knife. How was that going to help me stop my death.
I was thinking maybe, ye know.
What Marvin!?
Maybe you might get trampled by a heard of dairy cows or something.
Dairy cows?
I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight.
I live in New York Marvin.
I know I know, I suck at this.
Fucking dairy cows? You silly bastard.
This is why I hired you Pete! I can’t do it like you do.
I want more money.
What?
Marvin you tried to arrange my death!
Ok ok I’ll send an email.
And I want more vacation time.
Pete I can’t do that. The vacations are done and submitted by January 31st.
Marvin!
Ok ok. Hey Halo night this week?
Promise to cancel my death?
Yeah yeah I promise Pete. Consider it done.
Ok.
Great! I’ll bring craft beer.
| *Ding Dong.* The doorbell chimes and you grimace, heaving yourself up from your recliner chair. On the third swing you get your legs under you and kick the footrest under and come unsteadily to your feet. As you step away it pops out and catches you in the shins. Cursing, you hobble to the front door and yank it violently open. The Postie is standing on your veranda gaping like a stunned mullet with a large brown paper wrapped package.
You aren't expecting anything and with with trembling hands slowly reach out and take it. The pain in your shin is gone and instead is replaced my a tightening of your chest.
"Argh, excuse me...Mis...you." The post officer lamely finishes . "You have to sign for it." She produces a little touch screen device and you bravely attempt to squiggle your initials before giving up and marking it with an X. As you shuffle back into the lounge room all you can hear is a high pitched whinging in your ears. You mute the TV but the sound continues.
You place the box on the coffee table in front of you and stare at it. It's neatly wrapped in brown paper with the edges crisply folded. You'd never really had time for any of that with your packages. Just whacked them in a box with the preprepared address sticker and dropped them that at the post office. This package though was handwritten to boot. You pick the box up and shake it. You hear a faint rattle inside. Attempting to rip the paper off you realise that the string is actually holding it together and isn't even decorative. There's no sticky tape and by the time you've sawn through the string with your teeth the boxes crisp edges have crumpled under your ham fists.
It's a shoe box. For a pair of kids black school shoes. You open the lid and find a diorama inside. Collapsing into your recliner you throw your arms up. The box was supposed to contain items to cheat death. Over the 60 years you've been putting together boxes nothing like this has ever come up. You lift the lid again and stare at a solar system orbiting an earth with a massive playground sticking out of it. You gingerly touch the planets and feel around the stars but there are no hidden objects. Tossing your head back you stare up at the water stains on your ceiling and began to see gas giants in their shapes. Shaking your head you glance back at the box and push the lid down.
Obviously its someone's first box. Lucky for them you already know the game. Something in that box is a clue to cheating death, you just have to think about it.
Your boxes seem straight forward in comparison. A slow watch to avoid the three car pile up, an inflatable duck to avoid a holiday drowning, a set of new false teeth so prevent choking on a meatball. All practical things that could have saved lives if used as intended. But this. This was not a clue. What were you supposed to do? Wear it as a helmet? Sell it to a disgruntled home invader? Befriend the local magpies with it? You open the lid again and search for comets. Nope it wasn't alluding to an imminent extinction and you couldn't find anything crime or bird related to it.
You stand up and walk around the table. Trying to look at it from every possible angle. You even drop some of your dinner, Hawaiian pizza, in it and have to glow off some glitter before eating the rest of the slice. But still you have no inspiration. The evening drags on and your list of possible events with a thick red line through has grown to three pages long. You yawn and knuckle your eyes open. Fearing that with sleep you'll miss a vital clue.
With a jolt you wake up to find yourself asleep on the shag carpet next to the coffee table. Your face is wet from the drool that's pooled under you face and as you wipe it away just as your groggy mind hits on SPACE. Not interstellar space but the space between every thing. You need space to live! You fist pump the air heroically and check your watch. 11.45pm. Not a moment to soon. You rush to the garage and strap the diorama into the passenger seat before remembering that if you are to live you'll be needing snacks and clean clothes. You rush back inside and load a bag with mismatching clothing that was sitting in a pile in the corner before flinging the contents of the middle kitchen shelf on top.
As the engine roars to life you glance at the clock. 11.59pm twinkles at you as you burn rubber reversing out of your garage. Space. You keep reciting it as a mantra in your head as you chuck the car into gear and speed down your street. You're chasing space. | |
[WP] Sixty years ago a Demi-God tasked you with sending anonymous packages to people on the day they were to die. These packages contained random items critical to their survival yet no context. If the recipient figured it out, they could cheat death. Today, you received your very own package. | Oh fuck this I’m calling him!
Hello Marvin speaking.
What the fuck is this Marvin?
What?
You send me a package! A fucking butter knife. What the fuck?
Oh hey Pete. Yeah, sorry about that. Nothing I can do about it I’m afraid.
You prick. A butter knife? How the fuck do I stop my death with a butter knife? I know why your doing this, it’s because of Saturday. My engagement drinks.
It’s not.
It fucking is Marvin! You know I can’t invite you to events in my life, how the fuck do I explain an eight foot Demi God to my fiancé? Fuck my family think I’m a book editor.
You could say I’m Samoan, have you ever seen a Samoan rugby player? Some of those guys grow quite tall and..
FUCK MARVIN!!!
Ok ok I’m sorry. It’s just you never call me and it’s like ever since you’ve met her we just have a working relationship. We never just chill out. Remember our halo nights? Now they were fun!
How were you going to do it?
Do what?
Kill me Marvin!? You sent me a fucking butter knife. How was that going to help me stop my death.
I was thinking maybe, ye know.
What Marvin!?
Maybe you might get trampled by a heard of dairy cows or something.
Dairy cows?
I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight.
I live in New York Marvin.
I know I know, I suck at this.
Fucking dairy cows? You silly bastard.
This is why I hired you Pete! I can’t do it like you do.
I want more money.
What?
Marvin you tried to arrange my death!
Ok ok I’ll send an email.
And I want more vacation time.
Pete I can’t do that. The vacations are done and submitted by January 31st.
Marvin!
Ok ok. Hey Halo night this week?
Promise to cancel my death?
Yeah yeah I promise Pete. Consider it done.
Ok.
Great! I’ll bring craft beer.
| "This is it huh? Hit or miss? Guess my time has come."
I approached the packaged covered in red and green with a ribbon on top.
"What is this?"
This is different from what i use to deliver to other people. Its a lot bigger than i anticipated, a lot bulkier.
I just stood there, unable to move. Am i really going to die? What will happen if i just do nothing? These are the thoughts i kept thinking on a loop for hours now.
I snapped back into reality again but still unable to move. I noticed that today has been awfully quiet, normally cars would be passing by, neighbors would go out and walk a few distance but that is not the case. Seems like its just me and this huge package infront of me.
"Huh?"
I thought i heard something, i tried to turn but my body is frozen. I swear it sounded like footsteps.
"Hellooo? Anybody there?"
I tried to shout but no sound is comming out. I feel my throat drying up, knees feeling weak, arms becomming heavy.
Again i hear something, it sounded like laughing, like someone is laughing. It has only been 5 hours now, still no sign of everyone, no cars but there are still airplanes so i guess it wasn't the end of the world and i am not the only one alive.
After some time, i feel my legs and arns responding again. I move towards the package to finish this once and for all. To find out what's inside and to hell with it.
I slowly reached the package with my left arm, shaking and as i was about to rip the package open, my phone rang. It was a voice message from my dad
'Mar ry ecs mast'
Before i even knew what it mean, it started rainning confettis, everyone in the neighborhood suddenly appear, cars started honking from afar, the package unwrapped itself and my family appearing before me shouting
'MERRY CHRISTMAS!'
It wasn't the 'package' after all.
That was a waste of everybody's time.
End-
| |
[WP] Humanity has developed a trade off: stay 25 forever but become sterile, or age until you die and be able to have children. | Everyone was given a year to decide. At 25 you could decide to live forever at the cost of children, or live on and bring up a family with the consequence of death.
Rosemary stared at the clock, at 8am she had to go and present herself at the Life Centre. She had spent the last 364 days deciding whether she wanted to live forever and today was the decision date, the even of her 26th birthday. Rosemary was dressed and waiting for her house AI to tell her that her car had arrived and tried not to be nervous, the truth was she was still undecided.
"You're car has arrive Miss Greenbay" said the silky voice of her AI.
"Thank you Blue" she told the house and quickly left. Rosemary sat in the car as it drove her to the Centre, wringing her hands in anxiety. Too soon she arrived and was ushered into one of the comfortable rooms on the second floor.
"Now Miss Greenbay" said the young doctor, an immortal. "I see in your files that you've attended counselling and the workshops that show you the pros and cons of both life choices. You've also lived with both mortal and immortal families for 2 months each" she said as she flipped through the file. "It appears then you are still undecided?" she asked. Rosemary nodded miserably.
"I'm sorry, i've really tried but i'm just not sure" she explained.
The doctor leaned forward and held her hand,
"What is stopping you?" she asked kindly.
"I've met immortals that regret it, and mortals that regret it. It seems whatever someone picks they yearn for the other. The immortals can't have children, but you also can't die, you will be alive for the death of the Sun, the Galaxy, even the universe! The mortals will have the joy of children but also the release of death. Mortals often live much more fully as they know they will die but they also fear death, and fear making connections with others because they will die." Rosemary explained in a rush, wanting to explain her thinking to the doctor.
The doctor nodded sagely. "It is a very difficult decision, Regret is often the cause of depression in both mortals and immortals. Mortals only have to live with their decision until they die while immortals live with it forever."
The doctor picked up a coin and looked at Rosemary, "heads, you live forever, tails you stay mortal" she said. Rosemary nodded and watched with bated breath as the doctor flipped the coin high in the air and deftly caught it.
"As I flipped the coin, some part of you wished for it land on one over the other" the Doctor said, "which was it?."
Rosemary sucked in a breath.
"Heads" she said with surprise. "I wanted it to be heads!"
"Okay" the doctor said with a smile and put the coin in her pocket. "That's what we needed to know".
Rosemary went through the rest of the meeting in a daze as the Doctor explained the procedure. She signed the documents and let the doctor led her up to the third floor.
The stopped outside a door but before the Doctor opened it she leaned in.
"The death of the universe is so far in the future" she said "but you will have companions every step of the way." The doctor opened the door where a scary looking machine waited, along with another doctor, and nudged her inside. "We may yet find a way to keep the universe alive, or even create a new one." she said with a smile.
The Doctor shut the door, leaving her with the new doctor. "Okay Miss Greenbay" said the new doctor, flashing her a smile. "You just sit on the seat there while I set the machine up. The procedure doesn't hurt apart from when I put the IV's in so we can chat all the way through it." The man got to work putting an IV in each hand and connecting them to machines, along with clicking large parts of the machine in place around her body. As he worked they talked about careers, hobbies, thoughts about the future and stories about growing up.
"I've just completed a degree at university" Rosemary told him, "In environmental technology"
"A very thoughtful option to take" he said approvingly. "Even though many of us can't die not all lifeforms have that choice and we need to keep the planet healthy for them, as well as us." he leaned forward so he could see her properly past the machines. "I know a few immortals who have been up in the arctic, and although we can't die from it, its very uncomfortable to be cold and hungry. A few of them that were testing the limits of immortality and ended up going into a hibernative state from the cold!" he said with a chuckle. He told Rosemary about other experiments immortals were doing as he started up the machines and distracted her with tales of electric shocks and drifting in space without oxygen (causing another hibernative state for the poor immortal involved). The liquid being pushed into her body felt pleasantly warm and made her feel a bit giddy but she knew it was making her sterile and stripping her of the right to die.
Eventually the procedure was done and the Doctor unhooked her from the machines and led her to another room to rest. Rosemary laid back and though to herself.
'I can't die', the notion made her a little worried 'I could be tortured, ripped to pieces, put in prison forever... My body can't die but my mind could be driven insane by hundreds of things' she started to hyperventilate and the Doctor soothed her
"Don't think about all the things that can go wrong, think of all the things you'll see! other planets, stars being born and dying, how humans evolve, what we learn! We can fix bodies" he said and then looked at her square in the eye "and if we need to... we will find a way to die, if the time comes".
(There is so much you could add to a world like this. How society treats mortals and immortals, how certain disabilities might be seen when you could live forever, how people would treat each other, the laws and politics of Earth, having to think about the future in a different way because its no longer some abstract thing you'll never experience but an eventuality.) | 25th December 3018
​
To whomever will be left to read this.
Maybe in a hundred years we won't even celebrate the birth of Christ but the birth of the last child.
My name is X and I am one of the potents. Nowadays the number of humans able to have children is in continuing to diminish. Forever life exists amongst us. Since the first cross-species successful DNA-mutation has come to happen forever life was no longer a dream.
A way was found to link the property of sea clams to regenerate telomeres in human DNA making their bodies not age. First it was forbidden by law but soon a referendum was formed in France which made it legal under the right to live constitutional law. This started a major outburst in whole Europe soon all european nations having it legal. USA followed, China, Japan, Russia and soon the whole world.
First flasks of "e-life" ( that's how it was called ) were distributed amongst the rich, this revolutionary cure for death being way too expensive for the second and bellow classes of society. One month later, in 24th of February 2070 an urgent summit was held by the United Nations and the cure for death was made accessible for all social classes for a price of 15 euros a flask ( in present, e-life costs 1 euro ).
​
The population will soon be divided in two factions which will later transform in "Sterils " and "Potents". As you can imagine, the Church was opposed to this claiming that eternal life is only God-given. Soon major conflicts arose with civil wars bursting in many countries between the two factions. Conflicts were starting to cause more and more victims, extremists appearing stating that those with eternal life can still die.
Not much passed and due to increasing conflicts the Vatican was forced to accept e-life stating that indeed eternal life should only be God-given but maybe God gave us the knowledge to do this.
Funny thing is that even though humans can now live forever, the population is actually decreasing due to unnatural deaths.
| |
[WP] "Your city needs you," says the mayor, on bended knees begging for your help. "Please, you're our only hope." Only hope? Did everyone forget that you're the super-villain? | I smiled and chuckled at his helpless words. Just last week I had my mugshot taken and now I had the mayor prostrating before me. It felt pretty good, as if there were some kind of justice in this world. I scoffed at him, "my city needs me? I'm your only hope? What's in it for me?"
"A pardo-"
"Say no more, I'll do it"
That was all I was looking for. The mayor was so desperate that he would pardon me from prison.
"What's the job, I want this to be over quickly, and by the way, you could have chosen the jock in the cell over one, he actually has powers unlike me."
". . ."
"What?! Cat's got your tongue? Spit it."
"The prisoner in the cell next to you died fighting the threat."
It should have phased me, Dismas was arguably more dangerous than me, but a mans gotta save face sometimes, "Hmph. I knew he was pathetic anyway. Now- what is it, what's the deal?"
"It's some kind of terrorist organization."
"What about Golden boy, the one who locked me away?"
"Captured"
"Tyran"
"Beheaded"
"Quincy?"
"Dead"
"Pl-"
"DEAD- Don't you understand? They're ALL DEAD, WHY DO YOU THINK I'M HERE."
"I'm flattered sir, but why the hell should I do it if all these guys got whupped."
"I can erase your permanent record."
"And?"
"And. . . I'll hook you up with an offshore account with billions."
"And?"
"Look, Richter, Razor, I don't care what you call yourself nowadays, I'll give you whatever the hell you want if you can deal with those terrorists. We don't have time for this."
"Alright, sounds good to me."
I loaded up into the government transport.
"We're headed to my private airfield, there's a jet waiting there ready to brief you of the situation, we've held off on you because you don't have any powers, but you're still dangerous nonetheless, so we figured, why the hell not. We can ship you all to certain doom with a slight chance of succeeding."
The governor scratched his face, he looked pale and wasn't looking straight at me.
"Do you have something to tell me sir?"
He didn't answer.
"SIR"
"NO, I'm sorry- no nothing, you get the briefing in the helicopter."
We pulled up to the airfield. I saw the bodies of the caped heroes who once 'served justice' being carried on stretchers into ambulances. Their bodies ridden with bullet holes and throats slit, but otherwise in pristine condition. Then I boarded the jet, as I left the mayor shook hands with some shady person- masked, he had a professional stature and calm expression. This was no doubt a killer, I could spot that kind of person from anywhere- I *am* that person. I was surrounded by four or five people dressed in marine corps uniforms. A man smoking a rather loaded cigar pulled out a file and began to read off a scenario. His gun was safety off.
It sounded extraordinarily familiar. "You're going to be dropping in Iraq in order to clear a terrorist organization compound." *They are heavily equipped and are well trained.* Those were the next words, but I knew them, this was the same briefing as I had gotten twenty years ago when I was in service to the marines. We deployed in Iraq in this same fashion, except maybe the plane was bigger. I raised my hand "what is the organization name" The soldier hesitated.
After a moment he gave a flimsy answer, "The group known as VRT has resurfaced, you know the one from twenty years ago when the military occupied Iraq."
"Oh trust me *I know*" The soldiers looked towards each other. I gave a convincing laugh to set them at ease. Something about this whole situation felt so strange. I severely doubted that some second rate terrorist organization could take out Golden Boy and the rest.
*The details,* for a hitman such as myself it was all in the details. Earlier the mayor scratched his face and looked away, clearly hiding something. The bodies they were carrying away. They were dead but it looked like there was no struggle, as if they didn't expect a fight. The shady guy the mayor shook hands with. The recycled briefing. Even the gun in his holster wasn't on safety. This was all just a setup. There was no catastrophe, it was just to get rid of *us* the heroes and the villains, the people who posed the largest potential threat to the people. Childs play, the government was so terrible at everything that they couldn't even put together a consistent story.
I didn't have any weapons on me, but you know what they say *ask and you shall receive*. "Hey you, man with the cigar. I need a gun if I'm going to be handling some terrorists, any will do- how bout the pistol right in your holster, that'll do fine." he looked uneasily around at the people around him who all nodded to give me the gun. He pulled the gun out of its holster, it looked like a 1911, which gave me seven shots.
They really wanted to make this easy. I had five for the people around me and one for the driver. One extra bullet? What am I, a joke? I took the gun from his hand and immediately pointed it at him, everybody drew their holstered weapons.
I laughed, the laugh of a madman. This took timing. I would just pretend to be crazy and they were going to put their guns away, that's when I would strike. I even made a big show of putting the gun on safety, "HAAHAHAHAHAH, ohhh- I got you fools good. You should have seen the look on your faces- like this . . . HAHAHAHAHAH" Nobody else was laughing, but they seemed convinced. They put the weapons down slowly, cautiously. As I flailed around in my laughter I switched the gun back to live.
Then the last gun was holstered *bullet time*.
I swiftly brought up the gun.
*Pop*
*Pop*
*Pop*
*Pop*
*Pop*
. . .
*Pop*
That was six.
All five of the marines in the cabin had clean gunshot wounds bored straight through their skull. You could see straight through their head as blood spilled onto the seats. The pilot was a bit messy though. Not my cleanest kill. The helmet he had looked smashed in and the gunshot didn't pierce. He was actually still alive, so I gave him a quick and satisfying *thunk* to knock him out.
I turned the jet around and returned to the airfield.
The mayor came to greet the jet.
"Well done! That one was quick! . . . hello?"
He stepped into the jet, and I was beginning to think I had gotten just the right amount of bullets.
*Click*
He looked straight into the barrel of the gun, "Oh shi-"
*Pop*
​
​ | The mayor looked desperate. The sad, sullen kind of desperate that I so badly empathized with. The kind of desperate that brought men with power to their knees in an instant.
I frowned behind my mask.
"Please, Clockwork Prince, he's tearing people apart. Your Gift is the only thing that can get close. He's some kind of Striker, and it's bad enough I'm coming here to beg you to help myself."
"What could I possibly do that your thugs couldn't do themselves? All I do is eat your useless tech, I'm not a miracle worker. Definitely not the guy you call when you're in a bind."
The mayor, sweating profusely, loosened his tie, one hand trying to hold up his pants. My power had taken his glasses, belt buckle, phone, and watch. Their components whirled as some inscrutable fragments within my usual cloud of technical debris, slowly whirling behind my back.
"He's a robot, we think. Or some sort of android. Whatever he is, he doesn't need to breathe. He's got a mean right hook and he's ripped through every squad we have on rotation."
Oh. A robot. Or at least cybernetics. Makes sense. "Yeah, that sounds like a problem I can solve."
An understatement - this wouldn't even take a full minute to fix. If he got within 20 feet of me he'd be immediately torn into his component parts.
"We're prepared to offer you a sizeable reward. Absolution for your previous major crimes, a way out of the city, please - just take him out."
I smiled, even though I knew he couldn't see my face.
"I'll see what I can do."
***
Ongoing section of a book I've been writing, wip | |
[WP] "Your city needs you," says the mayor, on bended knees begging for your help. "Please, you're our only hope." Only hope? Did everyone forget that you're the super-villain? | I smiled and chuckled at his helpless words. Just last week I had my mugshot taken and now I had the mayor prostrating before me. It felt pretty good, as if there were some kind of justice in this world. I scoffed at him, "my city needs me? I'm your only hope? What's in it for me?"
"A pardo-"
"Say no more, I'll do it"
That was all I was looking for. The mayor was so desperate that he would pardon me from prison.
"What's the job, I want this to be over quickly, and by the way, you could have chosen the jock in the cell over one, he actually has powers unlike me."
". . ."
"What?! Cat's got your tongue? Spit it."
"The prisoner in the cell next to you died fighting the threat."
It should have phased me, Dismas was arguably more dangerous than me, but a mans gotta save face sometimes, "Hmph. I knew he was pathetic anyway. Now- what is it, what's the deal?"
"It's some kind of terrorist organization."
"What about Golden boy, the one who locked me away?"
"Captured"
"Tyran"
"Beheaded"
"Quincy?"
"Dead"
"Pl-"
"DEAD- Don't you understand? They're ALL DEAD, WHY DO YOU THINK I'M HERE."
"I'm flattered sir, but why the hell should I do it if all these guys got whupped."
"I can erase your permanent record."
"And?"
"And. . . I'll hook you up with an offshore account with billions."
"And?"
"Look, Richter, Razor, I don't care what you call yourself nowadays, I'll give you whatever the hell you want if you can deal with those terrorists. We don't have time for this."
"Alright, sounds good to me."
I loaded up into the government transport.
"We're headed to my private airfield, there's a jet waiting there ready to brief you of the situation, we've held off on you because you don't have any powers, but you're still dangerous nonetheless, so we figured, why the hell not. We can ship you all to certain doom with a slight chance of succeeding."
The governor scratched his face, he looked pale and wasn't looking straight at me.
"Do you have something to tell me sir?"
He didn't answer.
"SIR"
"NO, I'm sorry- no nothing, you get the briefing in the helicopter."
We pulled up to the airfield. I saw the bodies of the caped heroes who once 'served justice' being carried on stretchers into ambulances. Their bodies ridden with bullet holes and throats slit, but otherwise in pristine condition. Then I boarded the jet, as I left the mayor shook hands with some shady person- masked, he had a professional stature and calm expression. This was no doubt a killer, I could spot that kind of person from anywhere- I *am* that person. I was surrounded by four or five people dressed in marine corps uniforms. A man smoking a rather loaded cigar pulled out a file and began to read off a scenario. His gun was safety off.
It sounded extraordinarily familiar. "You're going to be dropping in Iraq in order to clear a terrorist organization compound." *They are heavily equipped and are well trained.* Those were the next words, but I knew them, this was the same briefing as I had gotten twenty years ago when I was in service to the marines. We deployed in Iraq in this same fashion, except maybe the plane was bigger. I raised my hand "what is the organization name" The soldier hesitated.
After a moment he gave a flimsy answer, "The group known as VRT has resurfaced, you know the one from twenty years ago when the military occupied Iraq."
"Oh trust me *I know*" The soldiers looked towards each other. I gave a convincing laugh to set them at ease. Something about this whole situation felt so strange. I severely doubted that some second rate terrorist organization could take out Golden Boy and the rest.
*The details,* for a hitman such as myself it was all in the details. Earlier the mayor scratched his face and looked away, clearly hiding something. The bodies they were carrying away. They were dead but it looked like there was no struggle, as if they didn't expect a fight. The shady guy the mayor shook hands with. The recycled briefing. Even the gun in his holster wasn't on safety. This was all just a setup. There was no catastrophe, it was just to get rid of *us* the heroes and the villains, the people who posed the largest potential threat to the people. Childs play, the government was so terrible at everything that they couldn't even put together a consistent story.
I didn't have any weapons on me, but you know what they say *ask and you shall receive*. "Hey you, man with the cigar. I need a gun if I'm going to be handling some terrorists, any will do- how bout the pistol right in your holster, that'll do fine." he looked uneasily around at the people around him who all nodded to give me the gun. He pulled the gun out of its holster, it looked like a 1911, which gave me seven shots.
They really wanted to make this easy. I had five for the people around me and one for the driver. One extra bullet? What am I, a joke? I took the gun from his hand and immediately pointed it at him, everybody drew their holstered weapons.
I laughed, the laugh of a madman. This took timing. I would just pretend to be crazy and they were going to put their guns away, that's when I would strike. I even made a big show of putting the gun on safety, "HAAHAHAHAHAH, ohhh- I got you fools good. You should have seen the look on your faces- like this . . . HAHAHAHAHAH" Nobody else was laughing, but they seemed convinced. They put the weapons down slowly, cautiously. As I flailed around in my laughter I switched the gun back to live.
Then the last gun was holstered *bullet time*.
I swiftly brought up the gun.
*Pop*
*Pop*
*Pop*
*Pop*
*Pop*
. . .
*Pop*
That was six.
All five of the marines in the cabin had clean gunshot wounds bored straight through their skull. You could see straight through their head as blood spilled onto the seats. The pilot was a bit messy though. Not my cleanest kill. The helmet he had looked smashed in and the gunshot didn't pierce. He was actually still alive, so I gave him a quick and satisfying *thunk* to knock him out.
I turned the jet around and returned to the airfield.
The mayor came to greet the jet.
"Well done! That one was quick! . . . hello?"
He stepped into the jet, and I was beginning to think I had gotten just the right amount of bullets.
*Click*
He looked straight into the barrel of the gun, "Oh shi-"
*Pop*
​
​ | She must take me for a fool. How dare she even come here after all I have been through because of them. “So, I am to rise up and fight the righteous battles for the city that cast me out? I am to forget the pain and humiliation given to me at the hands of him and your people to save you all and for what? Out of the kindness of my own heart?”
“I know you may not like these people and maybe they did not like you, but it is not their fault. People are afraid of what they don’t understand I think you can realize that.”
“Of course I realize that,” I say rising to my feet as I begin pacing the room. “I just don’t accept it.”
Did she honestly believe she could convince me to save them? I had been shunned for my abilities, ridiculed for my altered appearance, things I had no control over made those people hate me. But he was embraced. They praised him like a god. He was their savior. That should have been enough for them, worshipping him should have made them content. But no, it wasn’t enough. A hero with no villain is only a man. So they made him a hero.
“They’re sorry for what they did to you, Isaac, they were small minded.”
“No, they’re not.”
“Then I am sorry on their behalf.”
“That’s not good enough!”
I slammed my fist into the wall, punching a hole clean through. The mayor dropped her head in disappointment. I did not pity her. I did not pity any of them. I never fought him, not once, but they let him tear me apart. Time and again I was beaten for nothing. They couldn’t legally have me arrested or thrown in prison because I had done nothing wrong and they knew it. The constant assault on me satisfied their bloodlust.
“I won’t help you, Irene. You made this monster, you will have to deal with him yourself.”
She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, they too were pleading with me for help. I’m surprised she could hold my gaze for so long, no one ever could stare that long into my black, lifeless eyes. She opened her mouth to beg me some more but quickly closed it.
“Please, Isaac. You of all people know how powerful he is. We don’t stand a chance.”
“I know.” | |
[WP] The Solar system is a machine built by an ancient race, a prison meant to restrict the one in its center. After billions of years, the machine is breaking down and its prisoner is gaining their powers back. The Sun awakens. | It was an ordinary day, otherwise. People were milling about, acting as normal. Being oblivious as I was, I wasn't the first to notice it. Probably one of the last, honestly, too caught up in the messages on my phone and the weight of my backpack heavy on my shoulders. I was texting my girlfriend, telling her that I loved her and that I'd talk to get after my lecture. I'm glad I told her one last time before everything went awry.
But even I couldn't ignore the pointing and staring for too long. Eventually I looked up in the sky, not seeing what the deal was for a minute. After all, I had trained myself over years to not look at the sun. We all knew doing so was bad for you, but then I looked, and I saw, and I'll never forget that moment.
The sun had eyes. And as I looked on, hand shielding my eyes from the intensity, a mouth appeared. It had a face and it was grinnng maniacally, like it had just told the darkest joke known to man and was waiting for the reaction.
That was all I saw before it went dark, and all hell broke loose. | Captain Roop Cornelis emerged from the depths of his tiring ship to a round of emotional applause. Half the crew gazed back in awe at the man who had just steered them towards their largest feat yet - the Jupiter evacuation. Eerie silences filled in the spaces where past members once stood, the valiant Duchesses of Darla who had sacrificed their lives to save the Galilean children. The focus centred far beyond the walls of the galaxy, upon the promised planet of Proxima - a land of opportunity, a land of new beginnings.
Io had been a breeze, a few hiccups upon entry with volcano Prometheus still allowed the crew to locate and clear out two Galilean communities in a matter of days. Unfortunately, Europa was lost, but this gave Cornelis more time on Ganymede where a total of five entire communities were rescued. As a result, before entering the thin atmosphere of Callisto, the Captain was able to mull over two major feats:
\- Not a single drop of Darlian blood had been spilt.
\- The crew were way ahead of schedule.
That was before though - no one could have predicted the chaos of Callisto. What should have taken weeks took years and whereas blood had yet to be spilt before, on Callisto it poured.
Tears filled the eyes of the remaining Duchesses as tired roars broke out throughout the battered de Graaf. Rumours of legendary victories had followed Captain Cornelis throughout his life, yet these had always been mere whispers - the latest campaign had provided everyone with the facts. The bearded legend had now gained status as a messiah, yet his rugged face told a thousand other tales. His stare remained fixated on the glistening ball of fire in the distance.
Ever since a child of Earth, Roop Cornelis had been obsessed with time. When he was six years old, his father was given two months to live. Ever since then, Cornelis' life has been one constant countdown to death. In a way, this made him more fearless in the face of it, but also, constantly aware of it. The old broken stopwatch which nestled in his greying beard brought him bliss, for it was the only way for him to momentarily escape the passing of life.
The cheers came to an abrupt end as the Captain raised his rusty fist. The fight was far from over - the Moons of Saturn loomed ahead in the darkness. Jupiter may have been a success, but it was a damaging one. How much longer could Cornelis and the Duchesses of Darla go on for? How much longer until the surfaces of the moons engulfed them and the Sun machine crept up to claim back its rightful galaxy?
*
[r/SinisterScripts](https://www.reddit.com/r/SinisterScripts)
​ | |
[WP] The Solar system is a machine built by an ancient race, a prison meant to restrict the one in its center. After billions of years, the machine is breaking down and its prisoner is gaining their powers back. The Sun awakens. | The creaking is shouting loudly throughout. The gears had not been oiled for centuries. We had been waiting for the shipment to arrive. But it has still yet to come.
For the past several years the stretching of metal has been a sound to live with. We surely await our doom. We work overtime everyday to keep the prison sealed. I heard an area at 35.3606° N, 138.7278° E had a breach. Forces from several points are reapplying there to deal with it. Leaving the rest of us stretched thin. I was sitting on my heavy chair when the floor shook underneath me.
It was quite a big sunquake so I got on my knees and crawled under the doorframe. It went on for about 20 minutes when suddenly a loud noise screamed in my ears. I’ve heard explosions before, but never this loud. My guess, the sunquake burst a pipe or something and set off a chain reaction underground until it reached the primary air pump. It took 10 sec for alarms to start going off. I looked at the wall while my head exploded because of the noise. Code yellow, oxygen breach, so I need to get my suit on.
Code red, breach in the main wall. Code white, all walls breached, there is just one not on yet. Code Blue, if that goes off it means the prisoner escaped.
I sprinted as fast as I could on the unsafe floor. First thing first, I got my suit on, and doubled up on my gloves. Next precaution was to check for survivors, it Code white said otherwise. I had to go straight for the welding ship. It was a big, slow ship at 40 TUs. I started it up. I sat down on the cold seat, I put in the keys and turned them. I quickly backed out. I got out of the work zone and looked for the breach.
The explosion shouldn’t have gone through the walls that it did. But it left a giant gaping hole in the walls. I wouldn’t be able to fix this with the welder. I checked my suit for any holes or anything that could get me killed. Then I checked the radar on the ship, it kept track of the prisoner. The prisoner was coming towards my position. It would be here in about 5 min. The hole was about 20 TUs in size but too wide to weld back together. I looked around for other ships coming to my area and there was none. Now that I finally looked I realized that everything was burning. There was no survivors. It was clear from that point on I was by myself.
I sent a distress call. All though it was automated, I wanted someone to hear MY voice before I died a hopefully heroic death. No one responded.
I hesitantly turned the throttle up. I was going toward the breach with my ship. My legs shook as I got up from my seat into the welding machine at the other end of the ship. The transport chair that takes you between parts of the ship was broken. I’d have to run about 30 TUs to get to the welder. I hadn’t had a physical in 3 years. I’ve grown quite plump in this job. The amount of stress has left me eating my problems away.
The hallway was long and dull. The crisp air made it hard to breath. I sprinted down the hall and felt like Hassan Raquish on his famous 100 meter sprint. Except I would run about 10 times the length. I reached the welder and buckled in. I clicked some buttons in panic and one of them was the right one.
The welder disengaged from the primary ship. I watched as the primary ship slowly collided with the walls. It stuck in just like I hoped. I looked at my radar. I watched as it blipped closer and closer, but then suddenly disappeared.
A new alarm frayed. It was louder than any other. I watched as the monster’s long fingers easily pushed the ship out of the hole. It slowly made the opening larger. I watched as the dark beast crawled it’s way through the hole. Twisting and turning around. Cutting its self on the construed metals. Opening its eyes to finally look at me. This would be last moment alive. This is my last sight.
But it stares longer.
It refused to look away.
“Get it over with!” My tear filled eyes said as much as my mouth. I wanted a decision from it. Either go back in, leave, or kill me. I shifted in my chair nervously. My whole body shook.
I slammed my hands on my controls. This anguish I could not handle. I was ready to accept death, I was ready to walk on some fluffy clouds for once and see someone who new me and cared for me.
Suddenly I flew forward. I hit the throttle. I didn’t mean to. But now I was flying straight towards the monster.
It’s eyes opened wide. It shifted nervously, it twisted and turned and tried to avoid the toil. It cut itself on the cool metal. I stared at me with fear. For once I was feared, feared by death its self. I laughed as it backed into its prison. I laughed as it’s arms got stuck on the sides of the wall. I laughed and laughed.
It truly feared me. I backed it into its corner.
But they have saying for backing an animal into a corner. I didn’t recall it when I throttled forward.
The prisoner lunged forward to
my ship. It’s teethed we’re long and strong. I watched as it quickly closed on my ship.
I laughed, as I knew it attacked me because it was afraid of me. Death feared me. I sat in my light chair. It would be the best feeling of my life. | Captain Roop Cornelis emerged from the depths of his tiring ship to a round of emotional applause. Half the crew gazed back in awe at the man who had just steered them towards their largest feat yet - the Jupiter evacuation. Eerie silences filled in the spaces where past members once stood, the valiant Duchesses of Darla who had sacrificed their lives to save the Galilean children. The focus centred far beyond the walls of the galaxy, upon the promised planet of Proxima - a land of opportunity, a land of new beginnings.
Io had been a breeze, a few hiccups upon entry with volcano Prometheus still allowed the crew to locate and clear out two Galilean communities in a matter of days. Unfortunately, Europa was lost, but this gave Cornelis more time on Ganymede where a total of five entire communities were rescued. As a result, before entering the thin atmosphere of Callisto, the Captain was able to mull over two major feats:
\- Not a single drop of Darlian blood had been spilt.
\- The crew were way ahead of schedule.
That was before though - no one could have predicted the chaos of Callisto. What should have taken weeks took years and whereas blood had yet to be spilt before, on Callisto it poured.
Tears filled the eyes of the remaining Duchesses as tired roars broke out throughout the battered de Graaf. Rumours of legendary victories had followed Captain Cornelis throughout his life, yet these had always been mere whispers - the latest campaign had provided everyone with the facts. The bearded legend had now gained status as a messiah, yet his rugged face told a thousand other tales. His stare remained fixated on the glistening ball of fire in the distance.
Ever since a child of Earth, Roop Cornelis had been obsessed with time. When he was six years old, his father was given two months to live. Ever since then, Cornelis' life has been one constant countdown to death. In a way, this made him more fearless in the face of it, but also, constantly aware of it. The old broken stopwatch which nestled in his greying beard brought him bliss, for it was the only way for him to momentarily escape the passing of life.
The cheers came to an abrupt end as the Captain raised his rusty fist. The fight was far from over - the Moons of Saturn loomed ahead in the darkness. Jupiter may have been a success, but it was a damaging one. How much longer could Cornelis and the Duchesses of Darla go on for? How much longer until the surfaces of the moons engulfed them and the Sun machine crept up to claim back its rightful galaxy?
*
[r/SinisterScripts](https://www.reddit.com/r/SinisterScripts)
​ | |
[WP] The Solar system is a machine built by an ancient race, a prison meant to restrict the one in its center. After billions of years, the machine is breaking down and its prisoner is gaining their powers back. The Sun awakens. | **Date April 23rd, 2655** *in orbit of Sol, research station Alpha-001.*
"What developments have been noted Chief?" asks Admiral Nachev.
"Sir, energy output continues to surge. We predict the star will go supernova in less than thirty-six hours," Chief Bashir responds, obviously flustered.
The Admiral sighs deeply, "That...that doesn't give us very much time to evacuate."
Chief Bashir looks down pensively, "Sir, the situation is more dire than we expected. Solar radiation is increasing at an incredible rate. If the rate of growth continues, it's feasible that the atmosphere of Earth could be stripped away in less than 12 hours."
The Admiral stiffens, his jaw clenched. "Why the hell didn't you lead with that bit!?" he screams. He calms himself and continues, "Do you see any way to slow the rate of growth?"
Chief Bashir wrings his hands and says, "Sir, it's possible that a neutrino particle beam could reverse the phase induction of the star, resulting in a Magnus Radiation effect. This could theoretically buy us a few days."
"Chief, I'm not going to pretend I understood anything you just said—but I don't need to, make it so," The Admiral gives a sharp salute, and walks away.
Bashir turns and walks back to his console and send out the order, they'll need all hands on deck working on this problem.
**A few hours later**
"Alright," says Bashir, "I think that should do it. The neutrino emitters are online, and the phase induction processor is working at peak efficiency. Get the Admiral on the subnet communicator, we need his clearance before beginning."
Admiral Nachev's face flashes onto the screen, "Yes Chief? Tell me you have good news. By the Eight I need some good news right about now."
"Yes Sir," replies Bashir, "The neutrino beam is ready to fire, everything went well, we expect no complications."
"Very well Chief, you may proceed. Oh, and Chief? Good luck—the fate of Humanity rests in your station's hands." Giving one last salute, he hangs up.
Bashir turns to look at his colleagues, "In case this doesn't work...In case we don't make it out alive...I just want to say that you have been the best damned crew I have ever had the pleasure of working with."
Bashir walks up to the control panel and says, "That being said, we're *not* going to fail!" With that, he presses the initiation trigger.
Beams of startling color pour out of the neutrino emitters, merging into a single ray of light. The beam contacts the Sun shortly after being fired, waves like ripples in a pool of water expand out from the center of contact.
Bashir manages to look away from the incredible display, observing the instrumentation. "Down 1%. 2%. 2.5%! We've done it!" the control room explodes into cheers and laughter.
Bashir continues to monitor the readout, what he sees rips the smile from his face. "2%....1.5%...1%...By the Eight..."
The crowd of scientists and engineers are shocked into silence by what they see from the observation port. Massive tendrils of plasma rip out from the Sun, they writhe like tentacles, whipping in all directions. In the center of the neutrino beam, an eye the size of a hundred Earths opens. In that moment, information poured into Bashir's brain.
*A massive monster of incredible proportions, ripping its way through system after system. It consumes star after star, devouring planets, consuming asteroid fields. It is content. Something changes, small things fly around it. It tries to hit the small things, but they are too fast. Something happens, a wall of energy surrounds it, compresses it.*
*Billions of years of torment, of imprisonment. Hunger, deep and abiding. There is nothing but hunger.*
The creature blinks, and reality comes smashing back into Bashir. "I need to warn the Admiral!" He runs to the terminal, tries to contact the Admiral—the interference is too great. He turns and watches as the tentacled monster floats towards Mercury. He watches as the creature destroys the planet with little more than a swipe of a tentacle.
The Sol system is doomed, he realized. He hoped that Humanity wouldn't soon follow.
_________________
/r/SirLemoncakes | Captain Roop Cornelis emerged from the depths of his tiring ship to a round of emotional applause. Half the crew gazed back in awe at the man who had just steered them towards their largest feat yet - the Jupiter evacuation. Eerie silences filled in the spaces where past members once stood, the valiant Duchesses of Darla who had sacrificed their lives to save the Galilean children. The focus centred far beyond the walls of the galaxy, upon the promised planet of Proxima - a land of opportunity, a land of new beginnings.
Io had been a breeze, a few hiccups upon entry with volcano Prometheus still allowed the crew to locate and clear out two Galilean communities in a matter of days. Unfortunately, Europa was lost, but this gave Cornelis more time on Ganymede where a total of five entire communities were rescued. As a result, before entering the thin atmosphere of Callisto, the Captain was able to mull over two major feats:
\- Not a single drop of Darlian blood had been spilt.
\- The crew were way ahead of schedule.
That was before though - no one could have predicted the chaos of Callisto. What should have taken weeks took years and whereas blood had yet to be spilt before, on Callisto it poured.
Tears filled the eyes of the remaining Duchesses as tired roars broke out throughout the battered de Graaf. Rumours of legendary victories had followed Captain Cornelis throughout his life, yet these had always been mere whispers - the latest campaign had provided everyone with the facts. The bearded legend had now gained status as a messiah, yet his rugged face told a thousand other tales. His stare remained fixated on the glistening ball of fire in the distance.
Ever since a child of Earth, Roop Cornelis had been obsessed with time. When he was six years old, his father was given two months to live. Ever since then, Cornelis' life has been one constant countdown to death. In a way, this made him more fearless in the face of it, but also, constantly aware of it. The old broken stopwatch which nestled in his greying beard brought him bliss, for it was the only way for him to momentarily escape the passing of life.
The cheers came to an abrupt end as the Captain raised his rusty fist. The fight was far from over - the Moons of Saturn loomed ahead in the darkness. Jupiter may have been a success, but it was a damaging one. How much longer could Cornelis and the Duchesses of Darla go on for? How much longer until the surfaces of the moons engulfed them and the Sun machine crept up to claim back its rightful galaxy?
*
[r/SinisterScripts](https://www.reddit.com/r/SinisterScripts)
​ | |
[WP] The Solar system is a machine built by an ancient race, a prison meant to restrict the one in its center. After billions of years, the machine is breaking down and its prisoner is gaining their powers back. The Sun awakens. | **Date April 23rd, 2655** *in orbit of Sol, research station Alpha-001.*
"What developments have been noted Chief?" asks Admiral Nachev.
"Sir, energy output continues to surge. We predict the star will go supernova in less than thirty-six hours," Chief Bashir responds, obviously flustered.
The Admiral sighs deeply, "That...that doesn't give us very much time to evacuate."
Chief Bashir looks down pensively, "Sir, the situation is more dire than we expected. Solar radiation is increasing at an incredible rate. If the rate of growth continues, it's feasible that the atmosphere of Earth could be stripped away in less than 12 hours."
The Admiral stiffens, his jaw clenched. "Why the hell didn't you lead with that bit!?" he screams. He calms himself and continues, "Do you see any way to slow the rate of growth?"
Chief Bashir wrings his hands and says, "Sir, it's possible that a neutrino particle beam could reverse the phase induction of the star, resulting in a Magnus Radiation effect. This could theoretically buy us a few days."
"Chief, I'm not going to pretend I understood anything you just said—but I don't need to, make it so," The Admiral gives a sharp salute, and walks away.
Bashir turns and walks back to his console and send out the order, they'll need all hands on deck working on this problem.
**A few hours later**
"Alright," says Bashir, "I think that should do it. The neutrino emitters are online, and the phase induction processor is working at peak efficiency. Get the Admiral on the subnet communicator, we need his clearance before beginning."
Admiral Nachev's face flashes onto the screen, "Yes Chief? Tell me you have good news. By the Eight I need some good news right about now."
"Yes Sir," replies Bashir, "The neutrino beam is ready to fire, everything went well, we expect no complications."
"Very well Chief, you may proceed. Oh, and Chief? Good luck—the fate of Humanity rests in your station's hands." Giving one last salute, he hangs up.
Bashir turns to look at his colleagues, "In case this doesn't work...In case we don't make it out alive...I just want to say that you have been the best damned crew I have ever had the pleasure of working with."
Bashir walks up to the control panel and says, "That being said, we're *not* going to fail!" With that, he presses the initiation trigger.
Beams of startling color pour out of the neutrino emitters, merging into a single ray of light. The beam contacts the Sun shortly after being fired, waves like ripples in a pool of water expand out from the center of contact.
Bashir manages to look away from the incredible display, observing the instrumentation. "Down 1%. 2%. 2.5%! We've done it!" the control room explodes into cheers and laughter.
Bashir continues to monitor the readout, what he sees rips the smile from his face. "2%....1.5%...1%...By the Eight..."
The crowd of scientists and engineers are shocked into silence by what they see from the observation port. Massive tendrils of plasma rip out from the Sun, they writhe like tentacles, whipping in all directions. In the center of the neutrino beam, an eye the size of a hundred Earths opens. In that moment, information poured into Bashir's brain.
*A massive monster of incredible proportions, ripping its way through system after system. It consumes star after star, devouring planets, consuming asteroid fields. It is content. Something changes, small things fly around it. It tries to hit the small things, but they are too fast. Something happens, a wall of energy surrounds it, compresses it.*
*Billions of years of torment, of imprisonment. Hunger, deep and abiding. There is nothing but hunger.*
The creature blinks, and reality comes smashing back into Bashir. "I need to warn the Admiral!" He runs to the terminal, tries to contact the Admiral—the interference is too great. He turns and watches as the tentacled monster floats towards Mercury. He watches as the creature destroys the planet with little more than a swipe of a tentacle.
The Sol system is doomed, he realized. He hoped that Humanity wouldn't soon follow.
_________________
/r/SirLemoncakes | It was an ordinary day, otherwise. People were milling about, acting as normal. Being oblivious as I was, I wasn't the first to notice it. Probably one of the last, honestly, too caught up in the messages on my phone and the weight of my backpack heavy on my shoulders. I was texting my girlfriend, telling her that I loved her and that I'd talk to get after my lecture. I'm glad I told her one last time before everything went awry.
But even I couldn't ignore the pointing and staring for too long. Eventually I looked up in the sky, not seeing what the deal was for a minute. After all, I had trained myself over years to not look at the sun. We all knew doing so was bad for you, but then I looked, and I saw, and I'll never forget that moment.
The sun had eyes. And as I looked on, hand shielding my eyes from the intensity, a mouth appeared. It had a face and it was grinnng maniacally, like it had just told the darkest joke known to man and was waiting for the reaction.
That was all I saw before it went dark, and all hell broke loose. | |
[WP] The Solar system is a machine built by an ancient race, a prison meant to restrict the one in its center. After billions of years, the machine is breaking down and its prisoner is gaining their powers back. The Sun awakens. | **Date April 23rd, 2655** *in orbit of Sol, research station Alpha-001.*
"What developments have been noted Chief?" asks Admiral Nachev.
"Sir, energy output continues to surge. We predict the star will go supernova in less than thirty-six hours," Chief Bashir responds, obviously flustered.
The Admiral sighs deeply, "That...that doesn't give us very much time to evacuate."
Chief Bashir looks down pensively, "Sir, the situation is more dire than we expected. Solar radiation is increasing at an incredible rate. If the rate of growth continues, it's feasible that the atmosphere of Earth could be stripped away in less than 12 hours."
The Admiral stiffens, his jaw clenched. "Why the hell didn't you lead with that bit!?" he screams. He calms himself and continues, "Do you see any way to slow the rate of growth?"
Chief Bashir wrings his hands and says, "Sir, it's possible that a neutrino particle beam could reverse the phase induction of the star, resulting in a Magnus Radiation effect. This could theoretically buy us a few days."
"Chief, I'm not going to pretend I understood anything you just said—but I don't need to, make it so," The Admiral gives a sharp salute, and walks away.
Bashir turns and walks back to his console and send out the order, they'll need all hands on deck working on this problem.
**A few hours later**
"Alright," says Bashir, "I think that should do it. The neutrino emitters are online, and the phase induction processor is working at peak efficiency. Get the Admiral on the subnet communicator, we need his clearance before beginning."
Admiral Nachev's face flashes onto the screen, "Yes Chief? Tell me you have good news. By the Eight I need some good news right about now."
"Yes Sir," replies Bashir, "The neutrino beam is ready to fire, everything went well, we expect no complications."
"Very well Chief, you may proceed. Oh, and Chief? Good luck—the fate of Humanity rests in your station's hands." Giving one last salute, he hangs up.
Bashir turns to look at his colleagues, "In case this doesn't work...In case we don't make it out alive...I just want to say that you have been the best damned crew I have ever had the pleasure of working with."
Bashir walks up to the control panel and says, "That being said, we're *not* going to fail!" With that, he presses the initiation trigger.
Beams of startling color pour out of the neutrino emitters, merging into a single ray of light. The beam contacts the Sun shortly after being fired, waves like ripples in a pool of water expand out from the center of contact.
Bashir manages to look away from the incredible display, observing the instrumentation. "Down 1%. 2%. 2.5%! We've done it!" the control room explodes into cheers and laughter.
Bashir continues to monitor the readout, what he sees rips the smile from his face. "2%....1.5%...1%...By the Eight..."
The crowd of scientists and engineers are shocked into silence by what they see from the observation port. Massive tendrils of plasma rip out from the Sun, they writhe like tentacles, whipping in all directions. In the center of the neutrino beam, an eye the size of a hundred Earths opens. In that moment, information poured into Bashir's brain.
*A massive monster of incredible proportions, ripping its way through system after system. It consumes star after star, devouring planets, consuming asteroid fields. It is content. Something changes, small things fly around it. It tries to hit the small things, but they are too fast. Something happens, a wall of energy surrounds it, compresses it.*
*Billions of years of torment, of imprisonment. Hunger, deep and abiding. There is nothing but hunger.*
The creature blinks, and reality comes smashing back into Bashir. "I need to warn the Admiral!" He runs to the terminal, tries to contact the Admiral—the interference is too great. He turns and watches as the tentacled monster floats towards Mercury. He watches as the creature destroys the planet with little more than a swipe of a tentacle.
The Sol system is doomed, he realized. He hoped that Humanity wouldn't soon follow.
_________________
/r/SirLemoncakes | The creaking is shouting loudly throughout. The gears had not been oiled for centuries. We had been waiting for the shipment to arrive. But it has still yet to come.
For the past several years the stretching of metal has been a sound to live with. We surely await our doom. We work overtime everyday to keep the prison sealed. I heard an area at 35.3606° N, 138.7278° E had a breach. Forces from several points are reapplying there to deal with it. Leaving the rest of us stretched thin. I was sitting on my heavy chair when the floor shook underneath me.
It was quite a big sunquake so I got on my knees and crawled under the doorframe. It went on for about 20 minutes when suddenly a loud noise screamed in my ears. I’ve heard explosions before, but never this loud. My guess, the sunquake burst a pipe or something and set off a chain reaction underground until it reached the primary air pump. It took 10 sec for alarms to start going off. I looked at the wall while my head exploded because of the noise. Code yellow, oxygen breach, so I need to get my suit on.
Code red, breach in the main wall. Code white, all walls breached, there is just one not on yet. Code Blue, if that goes off it means the prisoner escaped.
I sprinted as fast as I could on the unsafe floor. First thing first, I got my suit on, and doubled up on my gloves. Next precaution was to check for survivors, it Code white said otherwise. I had to go straight for the welding ship. It was a big, slow ship at 40 TUs. I started it up. I sat down on the cold seat, I put in the keys and turned them. I quickly backed out. I got out of the work zone and looked for the breach.
The explosion shouldn’t have gone through the walls that it did. But it left a giant gaping hole in the walls. I wouldn’t be able to fix this with the welder. I checked my suit for any holes or anything that could get me killed. Then I checked the radar on the ship, it kept track of the prisoner. The prisoner was coming towards my position. It would be here in about 5 min. The hole was about 20 TUs in size but too wide to weld back together. I looked around for other ships coming to my area and there was none. Now that I finally looked I realized that everything was burning. There was no survivors. It was clear from that point on I was by myself.
I sent a distress call. All though it was automated, I wanted someone to hear MY voice before I died a hopefully heroic death. No one responded.
I hesitantly turned the throttle up. I was going toward the breach with my ship. My legs shook as I got up from my seat into the welding machine at the other end of the ship. The transport chair that takes you between parts of the ship was broken. I’d have to run about 30 TUs to get to the welder. I hadn’t had a physical in 3 years. I’ve grown quite plump in this job. The amount of stress has left me eating my problems away.
The hallway was long and dull. The crisp air made it hard to breath. I sprinted down the hall and felt like Hassan Raquish on his famous 100 meter sprint. Except I would run about 10 times the length. I reached the welder and buckled in. I clicked some buttons in panic and one of them was the right one.
The welder disengaged from the primary ship. I watched as the primary ship slowly collided with the walls. It stuck in just like I hoped. I looked at my radar. I watched as it blipped closer and closer, but then suddenly disappeared.
A new alarm frayed. It was louder than any other. I watched as the monster’s long fingers easily pushed the ship out of the hole. It slowly made the opening larger. I watched as the dark beast crawled it’s way through the hole. Twisting and turning around. Cutting its self on the construed metals. Opening its eyes to finally look at me. This would be last moment alive. This is my last sight.
But it stares longer.
It refused to look away.
“Get it over with!” My tear filled eyes said as much as my mouth. I wanted a decision from it. Either go back in, leave, or kill me. I shifted in my chair nervously. My whole body shook.
I slammed my hands on my controls. This anguish I could not handle. I was ready to accept death, I was ready to walk on some fluffy clouds for once and see someone who new me and cared for me.
Suddenly I flew forward. I hit the throttle. I didn’t mean to. But now I was flying straight towards the monster.
It’s eyes opened wide. It shifted nervously, it twisted and turned and tried to avoid the toil. It cut itself on the cool metal. I stared at me with fear. For once I was feared, feared by death its self. I laughed as it backed into its prison. I laughed as it’s arms got stuck on the sides of the wall. I laughed and laughed.
It truly feared me. I backed it into its corner.
But they have saying for backing an animal into a corner. I didn’t recall it when I throttled forward.
The prisoner lunged forward to
my ship. It’s teethed we’re long and strong. I watched as it quickly closed on my ship.
I laughed, as I knew it attacked me because it was afraid of me. Death feared me. I sat in my light chair. It would be the best feeling of my life. | |
[WP] You have the ever useful ability to respawn when you die. Unfortunately, your corpse does not dissapear so you have become a master at hiding your deaths. Unluckily, the latest death of yours was quite well documented. | "Dude I told you it wouldn't come out. I honestly don't care anymore, just wrap it and write this off as masochism or something." Carlos still had a lot to learn.
"But...this is like, gallons." He said as he grimaced at my couch.
"Do you value this relationship, Carlos?"
"Yeah, your real life Deadpool, sort of. But this...this is fucked. Just try to stay alive for like a month at a time or I can't keep helping you. Like, I'm down for sidekick, not housekeeper."
He had a point. The day before I coerced my friend into cleaning up the crime scene in my basement, I blew my face off for the fiftieth time. I thought about taking care of it myself but even for me it's still depressing seeing this. Misery loves company.
"I have money you wanna get some booze?" Carlos knows my medicine.
"Yeah you gonna go just go, or?"
"You need to leave the house anyway man, just go with and we'll get some food or something."
"Fine. But I'll kill myself in front of you if we drink tequila again."
"Fine."
"Word."
We drove around completely housed until 1:45 a.m. so we could get more liquor. Even though I'm basically immortal I try not fuck around with cops but booze cruising is fun, so. I don't wanna have to do the deed in jail though. I prefer the painless route.
So, before I go to far into this I should explain the mechanisms of my situation. My mom, dad, and I lived in my moms family home in Montana since I was born. Dad ran off when I was 15, mom got into heroin, and overdosed when I was 18. I got the house in the will and just lived alone and worked on and off whenever i wanted money. A year later I decided I couldn't do it anymore. I made some money, bought a pistol and killed myself in my basement. Roughly a day later I wake up on the floor next to my dead body on my couch. Long story short I tried to find a loophole for about a year until I realized I can't fucking die.
I can't sleep because now I have to think about my fucked up life for the rest of eternity. Almost every night for two months now I've been shooting myself on the couch before morning, waking up by the couch and making my friend Carlos help my deal with the bodies. Luckily Carlos is the most morbid person on Earth and enjoys human anatomy. We've been cutting me up and putting my various parts into bags and just driving them to his families property and sinking them in a pond. The pond's getting full, and now on top of everything I worry about Carlos getting arrested for aiding and abetting a serial suicide killer.
"Alright hurry in though it's almost the hour of the pig, I wanna get home."
Carlos ran into the bar to get our second bottle of the night. Sometimes a forget how lucky I am to have met this kid. I don't think I could do this alone. If he was a chick I'd be set, but I have a hunch this would scare most of them off if the alcoholism doesn't.
"Hand's up bitch! Right the fuck now hands up!"
What the fuck is he doing, hell no, hell no. I jump out of the car and run into the bar. Where is he? I look to the back of the bar, there's three people. The bartender's crying with a gun to her head and Carlos is on the ground covering his face. Some crackhead from around the way is robbing the bar. Fuck, what do I do. I can't let Carlos get hurt. Fuck the bartender just get Carlos. I get his attention without the skinpeeler noticing me.
I mouth to him, "I'm gonna throw glass, run out the back." Carlos understands.
I chuck a glass at the opposite side of the room of the methhead. He turns to see and Carlos gets up ad sprints towards the backdoor. The crackhead catches on surprisingly fast and starts shooting at Carlos. Carlos get pinned behind a pony wall praying not to get hit. I have to do something. I throw pool ball at the bar and hide behind the pool table. Carlos slips out the backdoor. The crazy fuck runs towards me screaming. I scramble to find something to throw and hit him with, but as soon as I stood up I'm shot. Usually I don't mind a bullet or two, it helps me start fresh. But this time I'm fucked.
I wake up to Carlos grabbing random shit from my room.
"Put on a coat on we have to go. The cops were called dude, they have your body. There's an investigation going on at the bar. We're going to my house, you can stay in the guest house until we figure something out."
"You made it! Fuck, I thought we were done. Fuck, everyone thinks I'm dead! I don't have money dude. Even if I did I can't fly. I don't wanna go to Canada?!"
"I really don't know, but for now let's go before someone gets here."
"I'm bringing my gun."
"No! No you are not. Not now, we'll come back for it."
"No, the cops will probly fucking take it, and I need it in case."
"In case what?"
"In case they find me at your place, then I can go bang and show up at my place and run away again. I don't know Carlos, what else?"
"Alright grab it. Don't do it in front of me."
​
​ | 30 years to the day, someone found a genie and wished life was more like a game. Life on earth changed. Everyone gained three lives. Death tolls rose among young teens and kids that lived too recklessly and the world population was halved in a matter of months. You could always gain more lives, whether through personal achievements or collecting strange floating icons that appeared as the extra lives did. The rules were determined by a group of hardcore gamers, through trial, error, and observation.
1. When you die, you respawn in the closest safe location. (relative to state of mind)
2. Your corpse vanishes when you respawn unless you're out of lives.
3. Death due to old age, or other natural causes is permanent. Anything beyond this and you respawn in healthy condition.
4. Icons grant lives, as well as personal achievements. (This encouraged a lot of self-improvement in everyone)
5. Active and passive status effects will appear near your life counter.
6. Going to sleep is the equivalent of saving your game.
I was thirteen when this all started. Students in school, teachers, family, etc... Everyone discovered marks on their bodies that signified their remaining lives. I started with a faded black eight on the bottom of my foot, and status effects would appear and disappear on my leg. I thought it was odd that I started with eight, but lives began to fluctuate so fast no one gave me an odd look about it. I did try collecting lives, but my number never seemed to go up. So I gained the nickname, "Glitch". They joked about not wanting to catch what I had that kept me from gaining lives.
Then it happened.
My first death.
I was out hiking on a trail and found my way off a cliff. It was a long fall and the sudden stop made me splatter like a sack of spaghetti and chicken bones. I let out a faint wheeze and closed my eyes. I woke up with a sharp gasp for air shaking my head a bit to check my surroundings and I saw it. A corpse on the ground mangled by trees, and broken by the rocks. I thought it was an unfortunate hiker that lost his last life, but as I got closer I realized it was me.
Some people noticed the body doesn't immediately vanish, like the "game" was trying to keep up and the body stuck around for a bit. I decided the proper thing to do was bury it. It'd eventually vanish, but at least I could say I gave myself a proper burial. It seemed reasonable at the time, I mean I did just die and respawn next to myself.
After burying it, and collecting my thoughts and went home. I checked my mark and it hadn't changed. It was still an 8. I thought, "Maybe I did gain a life somewhere. I don't always check it. Then again I've done pretty good about not dying." I shrugged it off and went back a week later to check the grave because why not?
The body was still there. Still mangled, still broken, and smelling something awful. My head was spinning. "I've got eight lives, why not give it a test.", the voice in my head was rather convincing as I walked up the trail back onto the cliff and jumped off. I took in a sharp gasp of air again, just like last time and there it was, a second corpse similar to the first.
It was at this point I decided to puke. The rotting smell finally got to me. I wiped my mouth clean with a water bottle in my pack and took off my shoe. It was still an eight. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I knew I hadn't gained any lives that week, because I didn't see a point if my number didn't go up. Best solution was to burn the bodies. Again; traumatic experiences can illogical solutions. And after a while, I began to realize this eight was actually the symbol for infinity ∞. Imagine my luck... Unlimited lives, but my bodies don't vanish. I decided to keep it a secret because there were probably a lot of people that would exploit my 'gift' to their gain, or I'd be even more ostracized than I was before.
I got better at disposing the bodies with time, because accidents happen. The trick was often getting the bodies from A to B without people noticing. That is until my latest death.
It was a freak accident like something out of a cartoon. I was walking along my usual route to work and then it hit me. I heard the scream and looked up only to see the beautifully stained spruce wood of a piano before I opened my eyes and found myself in the middle of the forest, not too far from my first death. All I could muster were two words, "Well, shit..."
Apparently there was a well organized dealer who decided to take a load of meth to determine his limits. He opened the window and pushed his piano out because he was out of his mind and when I got back to the city I discovered that he went through a lot of effort to make it look like an accident. Now he's being investigated for second degree murder, and I'm being questioned about my dead body and my status in this "game" that started 30 years ago. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Honestly, until this moment, the hardest part about having this superpower was making sure no one knew about it. As far as anyone knew, I just was a master strategist, and a ridiculously good fighter. If anyone knew that going to sleep made a checkpoint I could respawn at if I died, the magic would be gone, and villains could make contingencies that I could not stop.
So, I remained quiet. Only telling one person about this ability, my caretaker after my parents were gunned down. As far as anyone knew, I survived that fateful night in that alley by fluke, that my parents were gunned down, and I got away. The truth is that was not my first encounter with that criminal, but rather my twelfth, and despite all my attempts, I couldn't save my parents.
So I confided in my new guardian what happened, and he helped me become the worlds greatest hero. "The Worlds Greatest Detective", they called me. Honestly, if they knew I just stayed awake long enough to see criminals master plans before killing myself to go stop it, that title would have never been given to me. Hell, people thought my rule of No Killing was because of fear of becoming the criminals. No, it was actually a fear of more people having abilities like mine - if I killed them, then they get another chance at success. Better to avoid that possibility completely than risk it.
The most surprising thing though was how people were never even suspicious. I mean I beat up Superman! Multiple times! A normal human shouldn't be able to do that. What they do not know is that for every victory, there were over 300 failed attempts, after which I had every single action figured out, memorised, and a contingency set up.
Its not like I was completely unstoppable though. I do not know how he figured it out, but Bane could have killed me, instead, he broke my back, leaving me useless for months. Then Darkseid's Omega Beams couldn't figure out how to kill me, so they just sent me hurtling through time instead. Then I lost my memory fighting the Joker, effectively removing me from the fight for justice once again. Jason's death was because the explosion that killed him, knocked me out, preventing me from going back and saving him.
So understandably, I eventually realised that one day I would die of natural causes, and the possibility it would bring towards eternal torment of living out my last day. I started to set up contingencies, hundreds of them, in the hope that one of them would be able to end my abilities and let me die.
The first one was the simplest, and honestly I was depressed when it didn't work. Get the Spectre to kill me. I mean he's God's Wrath, one of the strongest beings in the universe. If anyone could kill me, it would be him. It didn't work. He did remember doing it though, so at least I could have someone working with me, as much as it annoyed him.
So over the next 10 years, I set to work implementing my many different contingencies to cure me of my abilities. None of them worked. It was then that I thought, "If only I hadn't destroyed the Lazarus pits, I could have used one to get more time".
And then it hit me. I dont know why I didn't think of this, but honestly it was the best plan I had. The only plan. I created this message for you Terry. Because I need you to work on a cure for me, while I freeze myself using Victor's tech. If I am cryogenically frozen, I am not dead, and I dont return to the start of the loop. Thank God Spectre remembers everything, because I will need someone to make sure that duplicate ideas aren't attempted. You'll find a complete list of attempts I already made with this message. I wish you luck.
Bruce | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Time.
Time is a funny, fickle, and ultimately, cruel thing. It can push you forward, it can slow you down and apparently it can damn you for an eternity for messing with its innards.
The bargain I made was a devilish one, that much was true. I wanted the power to crush my enemies and, if I were ever bested, the chance to avenge myself. I got my wish. I got my wish, I got my power, and I earned my curse. I called it a bargain because at the time I hadn't had to trade anything. I used a potion of wit and believed I had simply outsmarted the god-like creature spirit that dropped this "boon" onto my shoulders. The truth was, the price wasn't gold or items or even my soul.
It was my sanity. Reliving the same day, over and over, did not look good on me - and I wasn't about to lie down and accept it.
All my life, adventuring had been to procure power and glory. Failing never bothered me, as I'd simply toss myself off a cliff or bring a dagger to my throat. Wake up the beginning of the day and that failure didn't repeat itself. I wasn't a paladin and I certainly wasn't a priest. No, I wasn't above doing the dirty work to fulfill my goals.
So from where I'm standing, among the corpses and rough blood-drawn ritual marks, the answer seems simple. My life was going to end, just as the men, women and children in this slum of a frontier village ended. Ending in a slow, last-drawn breath and a pitiful drop into a black ocean? Not the way I intended to go out.
If I had to live to avoid this curse, I was going to live forever. After all, being a lich was like trading one curse for another.
Eternity for a bit of evil? Now THAT'S a bargain. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Eight minutes thirty two seconds. Josh just needed to find a way to inject the compound before his time was up.
Eight years of research and two years constantly reliving his last day alive had pushed him to the breaking point of his sanity but finally he had what he needed.
He rummaged around through the storage room looking for a syringe, it had to be here somewhere.
"There has to be one here for christsake. I won't die again, I'd rather die forever!" He screamed at himself out loud while digging through the cabinet.
"Hey! You there, what are you doing? You're not allowed in here!" a doctor shouted spotting him from across the room in the hall.
Josh pointed the gun he had concealed in his jacket pocket at the doctors head. "Get you're fucking ass in here or I'll blow your goddamn brains out!" he growled at the doctor. "Get me a clean empty syringe that can hold 30mL, and get it now!"
The doctor with a confused terrified look on his face pointed at the storage cabinet next to the medical storage cage. "There in there." he said meekly.
One minute and fifty five seconds.
"Grab it now and give it to me. Move quick you piece of shit!" Josh shouted still aiming the gun.
The doctor approached him carefully with the syringe in hand and gave it to Josh who quickly statched it and began to draw in the compound. He dropped the gun to the floor and turned to the doctor.
"Thank you, I'd explain if I could but I'm out of time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Josh said as he injected the compound into his thigh.
Five seconds. Finally, after hundreds of days he had a cure. Josh could finally be at piece. A smile crept across his face and a tear
down his cheek as he felt the cure moving through his veins. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground and he lost all feeling in his body and the world went white.
No one would know the true extent of Josh's powers, just that he was a man who had saved the world countless times until he grew old and died. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | 5 years. I estimate I relived the same day for around 5 years, although there's no way to be certain. Used to be that my power was a gift, but now at the end of my natural life, it has turned sour. As if every time I rewound out of a lethal situation was recorded by some cosmic hand, and I was repaid in full amount. That's the price for defying the natural order, my critics would say. That's the hero's price, my sympathizers would say. But me? I just got plain old shit luck.
You see, it was hard enough to lay down one day, knowing I'd probably get up again, after a long life filled with action and adventure. I was the number one hero, I was unkillable, but life brought me low by aging me, just like everyone else. So it was an extra strong punch in the gut when I first realized that not only could evil henchmen and lasers not kill me, but old age couldn't either without resetting my clock to a full day before my death. Not only was I made to lie here and repeat the same day over and over, but I had to wallow in the fact that all of my heroics had ended in this shameful frailty. That I, in the grand scheme of things, had been a fly, trying to chip away a mountain.
And with that one dreadful thought came my salvation. A normal fly trying to chip away an entire mountain? No way. But an *immortal* fly doing the same? That could work. Just so happened that this here fly was immortal, and not easily intimidated by mountains. And so began my journey.
Every day I'd think back as far as I could through my life, looking for any hint or clue as to my weakness, or a chink in my inconceivably incredible power. But ultimately I found no weakness, which to my surprise was in fact a weakness. The thing is, I had timed my rewind power before, and even though I couldn't control how far before my death it placed me, I found that it was consistent, as it would always place me a full 24 hours before whatever incident killed me. No villain was vile enough, and no ne'er do well ingenious enough to crack the fault in my power, all because they overlooked it's consistency.
Up until the day that would not stop repeating itself, I always used my rewound time wisely in order to find away to avert my impending death, which would allow me to live for a few more months until some criminal or other would make an attempt on my life, at which point I'd simply use my power to circumvent my own death and catch the crook. Until the final day of my never ending death, I *always* found a way to live.
But now I have found my way out, and so I am writing this note to you. I don't know who you are, or even *when* you are, because I do not know if my powers of rewinding will erase the existence of this letter. So in a few minutes, these words may not exist anymore. But if there's one thing that I've learned in this world, is that nothing lasts forever, except me.
And now that I've made you read my pitiful account of my thoughts and plights, I'll tell you how I plan to do it.
You don't become a hero without learning a thing or two about self defense, and when you are as busy as I was, you also learn the quickest ways to kill a man. In my experience, the quickest way is a certain pressure point on the hand. You squeeze in just the right way and your assailant is dead in minutes from the blockage in their heart that you have helped cause.
That's what I plan to do to myself. I'll squeeze my hand as soon as I finish rewinding after my next death, which will send me back a day. On that day, I will kill myself again, rewinding myself back another day, and again and again and again. I'll keep doing it as long as I have to in order to get back to before the day I first acquired my powers. It's a little known secret that I received my powers from a malfunction in a lab I worked in where we were studying quantum immortality. Once I rewind past that day, I'll do what I've always wanted to do, ever since receiving my "gift". I'll take a day off, and live out my life as a normal man, with no second chances. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | “Aaaaawwwwwwww shit.”
Turning away from the bathroom mirror, George shuffled himself around in a circle, an old wooden cane being the only thing that allowed him even this limited movement.
“MaaaAAAAARRGGEE!” he bellowed, lips puckering due to a lack of dentures. “It happened again!”
From the other room over he heard a creaky old woman’s voice.
“What happened, George?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, trying to walk himself back into the bedroom. “Marge, I died yesterday. Today. Last today, I mean. The today before this.”
“Are you talking about that no-good time-rewinding hocus pocus of yours?” Marge asked. She was rather thick and squat when compared to George’s tall, wiry body, and lying in bed she just looked like a wrinkled old face stuck to a big beach ball hidden under the covers.
“Of course I am!” George picked up his dentures with a shaky hand and stuck them into his gums, chewing slowly. “Remember when I was younger? It’s happening again, with old age, instead of super-spies, or super villains or anything actually cool.”
“Did we try to stop it?” Marge queried, trying to sit up in bed.
“Yes,” sighed George, “five times. First we went to a priest. Then we went to a psychic. Then I pulled up some of my old government contacts and tried to get their help. Then I had NASA shoot me up into space with a rocket in the hopes that THAT would somehow help. As for the very last time, I don’t want to talk about it.”
George shuddered.
“I can still hear that little goat screaming and the chants in the cemetery, all ringing in my ears,” he spoke quietly.
“Ya whaaaat?” Marge yelled, turning in her hearing aids.
“I said I’m tired of living, gall darned it all, Margaret!” George stomped to the dresser and tried to put some pants on. “I thought that immortality would be all right, but that was when I was a young li’l whippersnapper. I thought I’d grow old with grace and dignity. But look at me now!”
He stepped in front of the mirror and snapped his overalls into place, taking in his reflection with disgust and defeat. A five o’clock shadow hung to his sagging chin, which itself was an ashen grey.
He sighed.
“I just ended up turning into a senile, wrinkly, achy old son of a bitch.”
Margaret was up now, pulling a red velvet bathrobe around her. She now looked like a big red fuzzy Christmas ornament.
“So whadda we gonna do?”
George frumpled his mouth, making little angry old man noises. “I’ve tried everything. I can’t think of anybody else we can go to. God, this is awful. It’s like Groundhog’s Day but I’M OLD and EVERYTHING FUCKING SUCKS!”
His legs started shaking underneath him. George stumbled to the side of the bed, collapsing his rear onto the mattress before he fell over. Margaret sat next to him. Her tiny stump legs didn’t even reach the floor.
“George, honey,” she crooned, hugging his arm. “I’m sure we can find a way to kill you yet. I swear, I’ll see you dead, if it’s the last thing I do.”
George gazed down at his wife, feeling a rush of affection.
“Aw, Marge, do you really mean that?”
“Cross my heart, honey,” she promised with a warm smile. “And hope to die.”
George hadn’t been entirely honest when he said that there was NOTHING else to do. There was a small chance that, if George appeared before the one who bestowed his powers upon him in the first place, he could have his power-turned-curse removed. But it seemed impossible. They only had twenty-one hours to reach the other side of the globe before George died and everything reset. But they weren’t deterred. George and Margaret gathered up their things, bundled up in coats, and waddled out to the car.
The jungles of India awaited them.
| Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It is here, in the painfully ironic twilight of my life, that I wake up once again to face my death. We've met countless times before, death and I, and though I do not have the scars to prove it, the memory of every last breath I've taken remains. I close my eyes and count the slowing beats of my heart. I think as hard as my brain allows in its final moments. I search for a way out as the world around me slips and fades away, a glimmer of hope to be found in the blackness of eternity. And still I open my eyes to the same setting sun, in this half-empty hospital room, hours away from a fate I know I will escape.
How long have I been in this bed, trapped in this fragile shell, nothing but a vestige of the man the world came to hail as the greatest superhero to ever live? They thought I could see the future. They believed I knew anything that was to come. But I was never more than an ordinary man cursed to die and live, only to die again in an uncertain future. Trial and error, the force behind all of humanity's achievements, was the only power I ever had. And not then, and not now, did I learn why or how. I only did with this *gift* what I thought was best. Still, I would be lying if I said I did not doubt myself at every turn, that I never feared that I would one day not wake up again. And yet I continued on this path, until there was no kindness behind my actions. I only wanted to die. I can feel my blood slow down in my veins, my heart can no longer keep me going. I close my eyes again, knowing full well they would soon be open to see this final day go by.
I always felt everyone had the power to change their future, and the only thing preventing them from doing do was the fact that, unlike me, they would eventually die (and remain dead). Sometimes I would come back to see things changed that I had no hand in doing. People and places that were so far away from the situation, untouched by whatever ripples my power caused on the fabric of time and space, somehow missing, or a drastic change in their personalities or locations. Even if I came back in time, people would sometimes choose a different path, one that would change their lives but not mine. Then again, is it really change if they never knew there was another reality so different than the one they experienced? How many realities have I destroyed with this cursed life? How many dreams were denied because I would not stay dead? I find it cruel to be responsible for this, and yet have no way to give my life in penance, no way to stand from my deathbed and make amends to those who are no longer remembered because of my actions. I'm too tired to cry over this, too tired to stay awake. I count the heartbeats away, swallowing my shame as the sun, and this life, disappears into the mountains.
Sometimes I would be visited. Old friends, other heroes who fought alongside me, paying their respect, reminiscing about those days we fought together. Old enemies, villains that know not how many times they have killed me already, telling me how much they wish that they had done so. Sometimes I would spend another final day alone, with my thoughts. But today… today something was different somehow. I held on longer than usual. The day has gone, and night had veiled the world. The moon hid behind clouds thick with rainwater, a flash of lightning in the distance. The hospital had turned quiet, the city outside became still. I could hear nothing but the wind and thunder, and my own steady heart. The door creaked open, and something entered the unlit room. It was but a shadow moving in the darkness, a silhouette I could not focus on, but knew to be there. Weak as I was, I propped myself up and squinted toward it.
“Who goes there?” I spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. My voice came out raspy and strained, almost distant.
I've been looking everywhere for you.
I had met psychics and telepaths many times before, and was used to them speaking into my mind, but this was not at all like that. The words I could hear as if whispered straight into my ear, voiceless but clear.
“Who are you?” I asked. “I don't think we've met before.”
*Oh, but we have. You may not remember, but I know all of your lives, and all of your deaths. I can see them, hear them. And I can take them away.*
I thought I died again when my heart skipped a beat. I sat there, dumbstruck, at what I was sure was a promise of release. I pulled myself together, still feeling the unseen threat the dark stranger brought with him.
“If that's true then you must know you offer the impossible. You wouldn't be the first,” I said with a painful scoff that turned into a fit of coughing. I took a deep breath as I ceased to hack away at my deteriorated lungs, and continued. “Not even I have any power over time.”
*Time is merely a consequence of motion. Everything is bound by it. Every plant and animal, every particle and atom. This Earth and all the worlds beyond its walls. The universe itself is nothing but motion. You cannot travel through it. You can only follow its course, like a river unable avoid the sea. The only thing that is free from it, is the soul. It alone remains unchained, free to cross the threshold and find balance beyond.*
“No such thing,” I said. “I've died enough times to know that souls are nothing but a concept we made up.”
*What is a soul, but a collection of memories and experiences? Information that is reunited through death, separated into life. And my, so much information does your soul possess.*
“I don't know anything anyone else does,” I replied, already done with this specter and it's monologue. One too many in a single lifetime, imagine thousands. “If you're here to kill me, you know it's useless. If you're here to chat, I must ask you to leave. I'm tired and I've been alive too long for comfort. Let me sleep.”
*What if I told you I could take your soul? Yours is wrong. Yours is different. It refuses to return to its origin. It obeys a will of its own and ignores the one that created it. It returns, to you, and it tells you what it would not forget. That's all there is. If you give me your soul, it can't come back, and you will die.*
The words enticed me. “You seem to know more about this power than I do - than anyone does.” I paused, hesitated, then moved on. “What are you? You're not human, that much is clear.”
*I am what I was made into. As real as any other. And here I hold the answer.*
From the shadows a slender, pale hand emerged. Its long fingers looked like bones, on its palm a light glowed dimly. It was white, as white as I always imagined heaven to be, and small and almost round. A crystal, or some sort of rock. There was something inside it, a mist that caught the light shining within. And voices that called me by my real name, a name long forgotten.
“Are you trying to fool me?” I laughed, clearer this time. “What's your angle? You're too interested in my 'soul’ to not have some strange motive.”
*True, but once you're dead… will it matter?*
He had me there. What was there to lose? Worst case scenario, I come back to the loop. Best case, I end up trapped forever, inside a voodoo stone by this whispering devil.
“Alright, then,” I declared. “Do what you will, demon.”
I suddenly felt sleepy, more so than ever before. The light from the stone in the stranger's hand became warm and cozy, like being in a box under the morning sunlight. I closed my eyes, and still I could see its light, feel the peace it brought. I felt a tug inside my mind, like a monkey had crawled on my shoulder and began to unravel the threads of my memory. One by one, each death flowed out of me, all the pain gone in a moment, replaced by nothing at all. A numbness that crawled up and down my body and left me motionless where I lay.
*Let it go. Let it flow back to its source. Allow your soul to leave behind this empty husk and become what it was meant to be.*
The stranger's voice lulled me further to sleep. I did as he said, and before I knew it…
***
The nation is in mourning today. The world's greatest hero passed away last night at the general hospital. At 97 years, most of which were dedicated to the protection of humankind, he has taken his final breath. Join us tonight at the seven o'clock news segment for a special program highlighting his many achievements, in honor of his tireless work towards peace. Good night.
-----------
I guess I'm super late to the party. Sorry this is a bit rushed, too, since I'm in the middle of a family wedding preparations tonight (forgive the grammar and stuff, too, because I've been writing bits between breaks). Done with the excuses. Hope you enjoyed. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It's like a hiccup, maybe a sneeze.
No, that's stupid.
It's like . . . Christ . . . It's like the last 5 seconds of a hand-job, that moment of no return.
Ha, yeah, no, no I have it; it's like a no-budget porn where a woman I've wanted forever sneaks up on me and wraps her hand around my cock out of the blue. No rhyme or reason behind what started it, but my wife goes to voicemail and I'm telling myself it isn't cheating if I just don't cum.
"One more stroke and I'll put an end to it," I'd be saying to myself . . . As I tacked on increasingly emphatic, maybe desperate, versions of "This time."
Just enjoy the moment, right, consequences aren’t here yet.
Ecstasy and reality aren’t the best of bedfellows.
I don't believe I could whip up better analogy. 97 years on a calendar, 107 years of experience. I never claimed to be gathering any depth or wit in all that time. Fucks sake, if anything I just honed "existential crisis" into a verb.
I was in my early 20’s when it started, just a dumb fucking kid. Wasn’t long before the army tossed me on the grounds I was hearing things. They decided I wasn't stable. I was a fucking hero, as far as I was concerned. I couldn't die, assholes, that’s pretty fucking heroic.
Things first went sideways after some asshole behind me was dicking around with a Garand in the field. As assholes do, I could hear him talking in a goofy voice, making the boys laugh at how fantastically clever he was. I turned around and threw my finger at him, at the top of my lungs I hollered, “I hear a BTO is looking for a date to the bubble dance, and you look lonely!”
Maybe I did that a little too suddenly.
I was losing blood faster than the flood of epithets I was hurling at him. The lights went out, and I went . . . I went in a direction somehow. No direction I ever knew, though. I was swept to an open ground with endless crowds. No God, no angels, just a lot of confusion. The sounds of men, women and children crying, swearing and begging coming from all around me. It took me a minute to realize I was contributing to that din.
Then something went off kilter for me, I could feel it going wrong. Near as soon as I took my first attempt at moving through the crowd, I lost my balance. Best I can describe it, I just slipped right through and popped out where I died, only before I died.
Looking back, this whole death process is something that countless numbers of people are tossed through. You run any operation enough times and, well, even absurd chance becomes something of a certainty.
Right, so probability is a funny thing, and it’s as real a thing as it is a funny one. I died, and I missed. Next thing I know I’m standing where I was, hearing the same asshole make the same asshole sounds. I turned a bit slower and spoke a bit more measured this go ‘round, and boom, he’s on KP and I’m the BTO.
A few more instances similar, and I’d get braver and more reckless in battle. I got benched despite the successes. I tried to explain death, the din of the afterlife, then I got sacked.
I relished it in my new impunity back in the real world, did great things, experiencing life as a pseudo-immortal. I kept a low profile through it all. In my 30’s my father died. That’s when I started thinking, worrying. That’s when I realized what was coming.
Then I grew older.
Then my body had nothing left.
Over, and over it had nothing left.
I tried everything.
I acquiesced.
Not to get dark on you, but I barely register my children tearing up over my frail body. I’m deaf to their comfort. Every time, the next being in just a moment, there’s the same brief glimpse of the crowd of billions. Though, it is larger than it was the first time I saw it. It’s unchanged, save its size. They just exist in a different nowhere than I do.
All of this has no climax, no moral, no lesson to take away.
I am become Murphy’s Law. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | 7:00:00 AM, Tuesday.
I got up, I did the usual morning routine of getting up and convincing myself it was worth trying “today.” What even is “today” anymore? Both “tomorrow” and “yesterday”, but not quite “the next day.” I force myself a few steps out of my small room at the retirement home. The nurse notices me, as she always does, and rushed to get me a wheelchair. I can walk, yeah, but apparently it’s “bad for me” and I can “fall and get hurt.” I’ve stopped caring. However, I’m feeling extra melancholy “today”, so I sit in her wheelchair and allow her to cart me to the cafe for breakfast.
Wait. A new face? A woman. Likely in her thirties? Twenties? Certainly too young for me. Shame, she’s cute. But I’m still confused- she was never here before.
As soon as the nurse leaves my side, I inch my way over, slowly. Very slowly. God, I miss muscles. I cart over to her, grab the sleeve of her sweater, and tug a bit. She turns with a smile, which quickly fades to confusion.
“You- you’re here?” She stammered.
“No,” I responded. “I’m a figment if your imagination, and you’re going insane.”
She laughed a bit. Well, at least she has a sense of humor. But her confusion and fear never left.
“I’ve been looking for you! I’ve been trying to find you for so long! You’re-“
“Hey, hey, why don’t you keep it down? I’m not very keen on telling the world where I sleep.”
She nodded, and swallowed hard.
“Sir, I have a question for you- how did you do it? How did you do so well when you were still- you know- him?”
I didn’t want to share my secret. But at this point, the embrace of death is warmer than my pajamas, and she’ll forget “tomorrow” anyway.
“Well, lady, the truth is I lost a lot. But I, uh, kind of can’t lose. When I “lose”, time says no, and I retry.” I look around to be sure the only ones in earshot are senile old bats, and continue. “I’ve relived days more times than I’ve lived through days for the first time. I can’t seem to just die already.”
Her eyes widened, and a sentence that shook my core uttered from her lips- “You mess with time, too?”
“What- do you mean, lady?”
She smiles. “Miste- er, sir. I get confused with time. I haven’t figured out what triggers it, but I bounce around timelines, over and over, but I never see the same one twice. The only constant? You were there! In every single timeline!”
I was a bit baffled by her explanation. I didn’t REALLY believe her, but compared to me, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
She withdrew a picture of me. It looked like it was taken in the early 1900’s or so.
“Would you sign this for me? Just as a token for me to remember meeting you?”
I stared blankly for a minute, and my thoughts started to drift, but when I came back to, I was holding a marker.
“Well, uh, who am I making it out to?” I asked.
“Christina Miller.”
Now, you see, that’s when I got really confused. That was my last name. I started thinking, feverishly, about who she could be- my daughter? I doubt it. I was usually safe, when I actually got any. My niece? My cousin? My-
Oh, fuck. My hearts beating a little too hard. Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating. I dropped the marker on the picture, leaving a large black dot, and my vision blurred.
7:00:00 AM, Tuesday.
I woke up, and whispered a curse to myself. I did the usual hustle to the cafe-
Nope. No woman. Son of a bitch. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Damn it. I knew I should have thrown away that lamp when I came across it. When the genie first appeared, I thought my greatest wish - immortality - was finally about to be granted. Unfortunately, the genie was bound by a million rules. I couldn't ask to live forever. I couldn't even ask to extend my life. It took me a few days but my smart ass came up with a way to finally get what I wanted. I asked for a 24 hour reset to my life every time it ended. Looking back, I can't fathom my own stupidity. I lived the rest of my life in the most epic and dangerous way possible, knowing that I would always have a second chance. I became a hero of legend, virtually a superhero. But now I lie on my deathbed at 97, dying for the first time and the millionth. My family mourns my imminent passing, not knowing that I have been trying to die my final death for the past 10 years (or 3650 iterations of the same day, to be precise). I regret even touching that lamp all those years ago. If only I knew what a curse immortality would be.
​
Wait a minute. I slapped myself on the forehead. Of course! I can't believe how long it took me to figure it out. I've been doing this all wrong. I've been trying to die permanently, knowing that I specifically wished for a 24 hour reset every time I died. For 10 years, I've just kept re-spawning in relatively the same position in space and time, depending on how long it took me to die in the previous iteration. Then I would try various things so that I could die permanently. Didn't someone once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results? What I need to do is reverse my decision to touch the stupid lamp in the first place.
​
Instead of waiting to die after re-spawning, I just need to kill myself right away. This would bring me another 24 hours back in time, to a total of 48 hours. I just need to keep doing this until I get to the lamp. Genius!
​
I wonder what I'm going to wish for this time... | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. I lay in this bed looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. I panic.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what that sound came from. I don’t know why I’m here.
“My name is...”
Nothing comes to mind.
It now become apparent to me that I’m in some sort of hospital room. I look at my right arm and see a morphine drip attached. Immediately, I’m overcome with fear. Since I was young I was able to have these “dreams” of the future. Where I experience an uncanny clairvoyance of all the events that will take place the next day. Most often these “dreams” are nightmares, where I die, fall into a pit, or get eaten by a monster chasing me. As a result of the mild trauma, I wake up and always avoid whatever caused my death. This morphine drip is what ends me. Slowly. Painlessly. Effortlessly. Time and time again I’ve had this “dream”. Where I wake up, and slowly fall into a painless and thoughtless slumber, only for it all to repeat.
Unending.
Uncaring.
I wake up, stare blankly at the same ceiling, and wait until the morphine overcomes all my senses. Only to wake up again. Stare at the same ceiling again, and slowly wait for my death. My days have long been this cycle of waking and dying. The morphine provides a level of comfort incomparable to any sensation I know of. It’s placating. It’s like being embraced by all your former lovers at once. It’s making it physically impossible to struggle enough to pull the IV out. I try, and try, and try, but my arms no longer have the strength to remove the IV. My body is no longer my own. My body is in a aware coma, no longer able to move, but still able to perceive.
I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. I look up see an unfamiliar ceiling, and panic. I don’t know where I am. I know this thing attached to my hand is killing me, but no matter how much I struggle I can not move any closer to it. My fingers tremble at my feeble attempts to move them. At least I can still vibrate them. Am I still sleeping? Or am I awake? Am I still in that nightmare? My mind is aware, but my body is unmoving. Try punching in a dream. I struggle again, knowing that my fingers can’t move I stare intensely at the IV hoping that I’ll develop some telepathy to be able to yank it out. Nothing.
I stare blankly at the ceiling. At least I can still move my eyes. I start to count the dots in the ceiling, but I immediately realize that I already know that there’s 39,567 dots. I don’t know why I know that. I think I’ve done this before.
I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. I look around the room, there’s no one here. No curtains, no roommate, no nurses, no doctors. Just me, the IV drip, and the dots on the ceiling.
I want to live. I want to continue. I want to survive. I want to spend Christmas with my family. I want tomorrow to come. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to die again. I don’t want to be alone again.
I wake to the sound of moaning and despair. This time I know it’s my own. I know the IV drip is going to kill me. I know the amount of dots on the ceiling. I know I’m in a hospital, but who am I? What is my name? Surely, it must be here somewhere. If only I could move to find it. It must be hidden under the bed or in the closet. Maybe if that telepathy worked out I could retrieve it. I know I can’t stop the morphine, but I at least want to know who I am? There must be something in this room that indicates who I am. I can’t just be patient #, I must have a name. I look below at my chest this time. No tags. I look ahead to see my diagnostic chart, too far away. I can’t read the doctor’s far flung attempts at writing, it’s literally three squiggles. I guess my name is “3~”. Though, probably not. Even without any memories, I still have enough common sense to realize people don’t put numbers in names. I tremble my hands more. Nothing. I tremble my other hand. Nothing. I tremble my whole body hoping I can do anything. Nothing. I struggle, and struggle, and notice that the bed is moving a little too. It’s almost imperceivable, but the bed is slowly inching towards the diagnostic board.
I continue to struggle. Even if I must die again, it would be better if I knew who I am the
The bed vibrates a little more ever so closer to the diagnostic board, I think I can see it! I can make out the first few letter:”S”. I vibrate more.
My bed inches just close enough to read the entire name. My name is Solaire of Astor’s and I’m an immortal undead, bound to this dead bed.’ms the nnek or
I wake up to the sound of moaning and despair.
J | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. |
The sounds began to leak in, slowly at first, but gradually growing louder until settling into the soft humdrum and mumble of the environment. First, the oxygen concentrator, with the slow and steady inflation and deflation of the pumps that provided air to his old and failing lungs. Once, those lungs were powerful enough to create mighty gusts that blew his enemies off their feet but now… now without the plastic tubing fixed firmly in his nostrils, they were barely strong enough to let him breathe.
His eyes, too, were failing. Having gone from X-Rays, laser beams, and vision that could see through the veil of the underlying universe itself to a fuzzy, cataract-ridden mess which rendered the world a cloudy, yellowing series of blurs.
The rest of the world settled in, and Joe Hailey rose from his bed, joints aching and protesting as he slowly moved his legs, one at a time, to the bed’s side and prepared for the mighty battle that had become basic movement. His walker lay folded against the nightstand, and with an old, gnarled hand, he heaved and strained; rising to his feet, before his body settled into the familiar hunchbacked posture that now defined him. Superspeed has been replaced with a walker-assisted shamble, and his powers of flight had long since abandoned him. There was no more Mighty Mister Hailey, only Old Man Joseph.
Joe shuffled out of his bedroom and began making his way to his study. Photographs of publicity stunts and newspaper clippings hung, framed, on the walls, serving as testament to his career. From the lowly bank robbers to the self-fashioned supervillains, no job was too big or too small for the Mighty Mister Hailey. It had been a good run, including a book he wrote in his seventies shortly after retirement—“Average Joe” wasn’t as popular as “Out In the Open”, an autobiography written by the first openly gay hero, the Nightwatchman, but it had done well enough on its own. Besides, if Joe was being honest with himself, it wasn’t about the recognition anyway. It was about…. Well, it was about a lot of things. The Thrill, at first. And then, probably about halfway through the writing process, reliving the glory days if he was being honest with himself. But as time had moved inexorably forward, and the glory days began to fade from public memory, the book had become more about closure than anything else. It was funny how something like that could change so much with time, without ever changing at all.
Joe laid his hand on the door handle to his study, gently easing the door open. He stood in the doorframe, lost in thought for a moment.
It had been a good book, too, he reflected. A kind of tell-all kind of story, detailing everything from his relationships (both professional and… less professional) to his adventures to his powers. That part had been troublesome. His editor had really pushed him to get into the gritty details of how his abilities worked, but Joe had been adamant. A hero’s abilities were personal. Private. It was one thing to talk about bedroom exploits—practically everyone had sex. That was neither new nor surprising. But not everyone had powers, and explaining them to the general public- writing them down in a book that just anyone could pick up and read, that wasn’t just private, it was a strategic faux pas. Maybe to the general public where a hero got their powers and how those powers worked made for good pulp fiction, but to a hero those kinds of details were immensely private and personal. It was kind of a dark joke amongst those in the industry that the only thing worse than a hero’s end was often their beginning.
Joe coughed, his wracking lungs bringing him out of his memories and back into the present. He began making his way, slowly, to the desk tucked away at the back of the room. Books filled the shelves of looming bookcases which reached from floor to ceiling, like a miniature one-room library. And , like a library, it was divided into sections. On his left were books of facts—medical textbooks, historical records, science manuals, and everything in between. If it was something that was absolutely known to be factual and real, it was catalogued into the “Facts” section, which itself was further divided into appropriate categories. On the right was “Otherworldly”—anything magical, anomalous, or arcane went over here. Spells, potions, incantations. Ancient scrolls and transcriptions of tablets engraved by societies long since lost to time and history lined these shelves, collected over the years on adventures that would make great books themselves. And at the back of the room, tucked against the wall, was his writing desk, flanked on each side by books of a more ambiguous nature. Books that he had a feeling would be useful, but wasn’t sure how or why, and didn’t know how to categorize. These included autobiographies—both his and other heroes’—fairytales, and reference guides in case he had need to seek out a particular newspaper on a given date. The bulk of these shelves were dedicated to the latter, scribbled in an increasingly sloppy and difficult hand as the years wore on. Decades of Joe’s life had been committed to building this room, to collecting these books, and this was it. This was as far as it went.
Joe settled into the large leather-backed chair, reached for his reading glasses, and sought out one of his reference guides. A small rotary phone sat on the desk, and a laptop computer with was tucked away in one of the drawers. The laptop probably made many of his reference guides obsolete, but occasionally he thanked his younger self for having the foresight to write something down. Not everything was online, but between his notes, the Internet, and the phone it was relatively easy to seek out and gain access to any given document he might find important.
Joe’s own past was filled with its fair share of tragedy, but true to form, his ending—if he had one—was potentially more tragic. An array of metaphysical, magical, and superhuman abilities had been his weaponry in his youth, but his real power was the toolkit from which those weapons were built. The real secret to his success, to everything, was the simple, incredible fact that he, the Mighty Joe Hailey, was, in fact, immortal.
Sort of.
He could die, of course. No sense in dodging bullets and avoiding punches if he couldn’t, but when Joe died he came back to life. Starting the day over, like the past and the death it brought was a dream that he was waking up from. The first time it happened, he had been ecstatic. In youthful foolishness he had flaunted his ability—taking no care to avoid traps or exercise patience. Spike pit? Poison arrows? Laser beams? Each one was easy to avoid the second time around, and with an infinite number of second times there was hardly any point in a first time. Even the deaths of friends and loved ones could be washed away with the aide of a gun and a bullet.
Tomorrow Boy. That’s what he called himself back then. No point in hiding it—what’s the worst a bad guy could do with that knowledge? Kill him?
He was young, and he was stupid. It was Doctor Manifesto that had changed that. The first villain to think, “Go for the legs.” The injury still bothered him, even now, many decades later. So did the memory. The Silverlight Specter’s screams. Manifesto’s psychotic laughter. The Longest Night, Joe called it. It was his first, real loss, and it had hit him hard. He spent years trying to find a way to undo that night, and had picked up a few extra perks along the way. That was the beginning of his collection—too many false starts and wrong journeys. Of course, he reinvented himself during this time. Tomorrow Boy was gone, streamlined into the more mature, grounded Midnight Hour. Years he could barely remember for all the drinking he had done. Relying on just a few side perks he’d picked up elsewhere to hide who he really was, so that no one would get the drop on him like that again. So many of his notes from that time read less like references to actual leads and more like the whiny lyrics to that Falling Boy band the kids were listening to these days. It had taken many more years, and many more losses, before he finally accepted that all things had to come to an end.
And that was the real beginning. Mister Mighty was a fresh start for Joe, and the beginning of the healing process. That’s where the book he wrote started—he’d made up a benign backstory for this persona. A farmboy… something about a meteor. It wasn’t important. Mister Mighty was what was important. So much so that as he grew into middle age he lost the mask and transitioned into Mighty Joe, and then, in his silver years, Mister Mighty Hailey.
But that search never stopped. Even after he’d come to accept the fact that he couldn’t bring Specter back, he kept looking. All he did was shift his focus a little bit.
All things needed to come to an end.
\[End of Part 1\]
​
Depending on interest, I may or may not do a part 2. Or edit and revise this version of the concept. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | First, you must be wandering, how does one realize that they could rewind time upon death, and of all things, decided to use that to fight crime?
​
It happened by chance. Years ago, I was a police detective. I had a dream, a wild dream, where I remembered being chasing a gangster into a warehouse, then loud bang happened. That morning, I woke up sweating bullets.
​
Dream became reality, and before I knew it, I was back on my bed, heart beat racing. The day went by again - eerie details resembling the past two "days" of my life happened, with minor variations. It felt like a hunch. And when I ended up again, in the same warehouse, I knew something was not right. And this time around, it wasn't me on the floor.
​
The court ruled in my favor - although I didn't get off scot-free either. They found a gun on his body - which justified my use of violence, but since I shot him on a hunch, I was dismissed from service. This was the first incident that I witnessed my powers - although it wasn't years, and many incidents later, that I finally caught on: the uncertain ability to reborn yourself isn't something most would be willing to test out. I became a vigilante - then a famous hero. The rest is history. I credit my success to "sixth-sense", and no one really questioned it. I'm sure my arch-nemesis had some doubts, but without going through it yourself, it's not something most people would think of to begin with. I lived a fairly happy life, until it wasn't happy anymore.
​
When I was 95, I was diagnosed with lungs cancer. Being an old man with years to live - I refused treatments. I've always knew that my power doesn't meant immortality - that old age would get me, sooner or later. It wasn't surprising however - in the end, that this curse wouldn't leave me.
​
Two years later, on my death bed, I was barely even conscious. I leapt in and out of consciousness - until the very last day. I didn't even realize that my time was up - I was barely awake long enough to acknowledge the situation. It went on for eternity - until one fateful day, I found myself woken up 5 days earlier - you see, this power have a loophole. If I died repeatedly enough, I can travel beyond 24 hours. I travel backward 24 hours every time I die - but there isn't anything that would prevent me from dying between that 24 hours, and get sent back even further. Given how critical ill I was, it was only a matter of \*time\* before I get sling back to the world of the living.
​
The first time it happened, I wasn't surprised. I've had many theories about my curse, why it happened, and how to... finally die. One was hoping that natural cause would be exempted. Another would be a limit on how many times it can happen - both have been ruled out in this experiment.
​
I traveled back a bit further - before my diagnosis, and start treating the disease. My next option - was hoping that once I pass a certain age, the curse would be gone for good. I lived to 102 this time - before finally giving up, the toll of time on my body was not going to give another inch.
​
There, I lived, again, for eternity.
​
I've forgotten how many times I've leap in and out of conscious sometimes a few days before, sometimes a few days after, once, I was even flung out to 105 years of age, before regaining conscious briefly for a few hours, and then getting flung back into the dark vortex.
​
My memory remains relatively intact - once you're unconscious, you don't really make new memories, which help my immortal leaping brain quite a bit. But eventually, I succumbed to madness. I was always living in a world of pain, both physically and mentally. The worst thing was to see, to remember the pain of my loved ones every time I woke up - and it built up.
​
I'm 105 years old - yet again. I have a few hours - to test my last theory - the one solution I've been avoiding, the most plausible solution to my problem. That this entire situation have an origin - a cause - and I can leap backward so far out, that it would undo my curse to begin with. But to have your entire life - pain, glory, and all the people you've met and connected, to get torn away, to never even existed - was something I've tried so hard to avoid.
​
But this is all I've got left. I guess this is fate's way of telling me that I've lived a fake life - a life with glories that I didn't earn on my own. And now it's going to force me to strip it all away - with my own hand. I close my eyes, and take a leap forward - or should I say, backward. The greatest leap in my life. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Nine thousand, nine hundred ninety eight.
That's how many trips through my last day I have taken.
In my youth, I died in a car crash. My father tried to take me in a drunk rage after he lost a custody battle. He didn't see the sedan backing out of the perfect, cookie cutter driveway. The perfect family was torn asunder that day. The kids didn't survive impact. The adults were crippled. All this I heard while I drifted off to what I assumed to be my final sleep. I did not want to die. I pleaded with the powers that be for a do over.
Never did I expect to get it.
I woke up the morning of the crash with all the knowledge of the pain and suffering. It rocked my young world. That night, I ran away before Dad came. I wandered away for quite a while. I'm surprised no adults asked why I was out alone. Or kidnapped me. But I returned home safely, and went to sleep in the warm embrace of my sheets.
I found my mother dead in the living room the following morning. She was shot, multiple times. The image is burned into my mind even today. From that day, my young self wanted justice. But... It is hard to attain as a young orphan. Father was given the chair, leaving me to raise myself in an orphanage. No one wants the kind of baggage I possessed, so I grew up distant not only from potential families, but from my brothers in arms as well. I actually hung myself one day. Just got so mad and fed up, had to do it.
And to my extreme surprise, I woke up the morning of my suicide, completely fine. I started testing the limits. Everything that killed me seemed to just put me back at waking up that day. Then, an idea struck. I could use this ability I was given to guarantee the justice my broken self so desired. When I finally was turned out of the orphanage, I bluffed my way into the FBI, spying and killing myself to pass all the exams and quickly became a legend within the rookies and top of my class. Through meticulous planning, and many deaths, I took on missions even seasoned vets would have trouble with. It must've looked crazy. Here was this rookie from nowhere with no parents or past to speak of bagging terrorists and lowlifes left and right, with no regard for his safety. I must have looked like some sort of god. I basked in the glory. Like a lizard in the sun. I was a fool to think there were no strings attached.
Now I sit, in hospice care, watching similar events play out for a foreseeable eternity.
Nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine.
Dammit, must've slipped again. One more till a magic number. I think. I lost faith in special things happening on nice big even numbers at around a thousand. That was ages ago. Now I'll just sit here and ponder what made me wish for such a stupid curse.
"Sir, a cloaked man is here to see you."
This is new.
"Who is he?" I asked with a revitalized interest. "Didn't say. But got security to bend over backwards to make this appointment." Things are getting interesting. "Send him in." I smirked for the first time in what felt like years. The man did not sugarcoat it. "Nine thousand, seven hundred twenty three. For a man of your legacy, that number of wakes should be nothing." I laughed. "Thought it was closer to ten thousand. But cut it, why are you here and how do you know?" The man smiled.
"Let's just say, I know someone who can help." | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It has been many years since I have been able to fear death. In truth, I now welcome death to come and find me and bring me eternal peace. I have grown tired of having death find those I love before finally coming to me.
I have died many times, I remember the pain of each death. But nothing will ever compare to the emotions of the first time. The fear of the unknown, the faces of my brothers in arms in the Great War, looking down upon me in that ditch, the things I cared about most flashing before my eyes, believing I will never accomplish so many of my dreams. I miss that feeling.
But now, I have been forced to live my life over many times. Anything I’ve done in the past to bring upon me a premature death, I am forced by this awful curse to go back and amend it. Every cigarette, every sip of alcohol, any injury that led to a disease being introduced to my body. By the time I made it to 60 I had lived well over 150 years. I have seen my wife and close friends die more times than I wish to count, always the same horribly painful deaths and there is no avoiding it.
When I made it to 65 and died of lung cancer, I was brought back to 18, before the war, when I smoked my first cigarette. I tried jumping in front of a train, I felt every bone in my body shatter. Only to find myself around my high school buddies at that graduation party again.
I lived avoiding all the pleasantries of life, for fear of having to come back and do it all again. Of course I died many times again in the war, bullet wounds, grenades, mustard gas, each time hoping that I will finally be given the chance to be free of this curse. So here I sit, 97 years old, full of memories from many lives. Wondering when death will finally catch up to me in this life and if I have made any errors that will force me to relive all the horrors. Maybe 100 will be the magic number, I can only hope. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | "Why? Why won't you end this?"
In youthful days the old man laying on his sickbed had been known by many names. He had been known as Gehrn Stormblade, Gehrn the Mighty, Titanslayer, Savior of Barrowglen. But he lay there now as no more than who he had been born as: Gehrn of Windwhistle Valley. A miner's son who had made a deal so he could adventure through the world.
*Was it worth it?*
Ghern turned to the voice, a feathery whisper on dry dessicated breath. Beside his bed sat a gaunt pale man wearing satin finery, black with a lily white trim. A thin crown of platinum sat on his head, accented with a blazing ruby in the center. The gem glowed with an inner light, but it paled next to the blue flames that burned in the man's empty sockets.
Gehrn nodded tersely to the Ystevl, the God of Death. "For what I have accomplished? Yes. Yes it was."
The deity nodded solemnly. *The expected answer. I hope that it remains true for you in the years to come.*
Ghern scowled and started to say something, but suddenly his face went taut, eyes rolled back to their whites, body seizing. He went limp, cold, his gaze vacant.
As Gehrn lay still on his bed, the air around him began to shimmer. Outside his windows, trees moved against the wind, people walked backwards. Gehrn groaned and moved to a sitting position, now a few minutes younger than he had been.
*Welcome back* Ystevl said somberly.
Gehrn scowled. "Why are you even here, Ystevl. You got what you wanted."
The God of Death tilted his head. *Have I? I don't recall taking anything from our deal.*
"You got the souls of my fallen foes!" Gehrn coughed spastically, the effort of yelling taxing him. "My immortality in trade for adding to your realm! Don't act like you didn't benefit from it."
*Oh, yes, of course.* Ystevl waved his hand nonchalantly. *The souls of the fallen, given to the Lord of the Realm of Fallen Souls. Yes, of course, how vastly have I reaped of that which would have been mine anyway. Such a good deal, there.*
Ystevl shifted on the chair, leaning forward towards Gehrn and breaking his regal loom for a more casual lean-in. *I never needed a champion to gather my souls for me, Gehrn.*
Gehrn seethed internally, the charge of emotion causing another seizure. Eyes rolled, gaze vacated, trees blew counter, people walked backward, and Gehrn sat up again.
*Welcome back*
"Fuck off!" Gehrn coughed through fluid-filled lungs, spaying spittle heedlessly over the God of Death's satin finery. "If you gained nothing from our pact, then why hold me to it!"
Ysteval leaned back again, his posture slumping. His dry death-rattle voice spoke with a tinge of sadness, a hint of regret. *Gehrn of Windwhistle Valley. The truth is, I granted your wish out of morbid curiosity.*
"Curiosity? I'm a curiosity to you!"
*As are all mortals to my kind. I wanted to see what a man from simple beginnings would do with a power as vast as Immortality. I wanted to see how you would use it. Would you lead an empire? Visit ruin upon the land? Gather the wealth of knowledge of ages? I hoped to learn what a mortal man would so with so much at his disposal.*
"Kill bandits, slay monsters, save kingdoms." Gehrn grumped. "I did good works with the power of our pact. Is your curiosity not satisfied yet, Death God?"
Ystevl gazed quietly at Gehrn's frail and eternal form. *Yes, Gehrn of Windwhistle. It is satisfied over and above what I hoped to learn.*
"Then why keep me here! What more can I show you when I die every five minutes!" Gehrn shouted angrily. Spittle flying, eyes rolling, gaze vacating, trees blowing counter, people walking backwards, sitting upright again.
*Welcome back.*
"TELL ME! PLEASE!"
The fire's in Ystevl's eyes dimmed. If he were human he would have been closing his eyes solemnly. *I can't, Gehrn. The pact of immortality, it is binding in ways that I cannot explain to a mortal's comprehension.* His eye-fires brightened up a bit, his face grew lined with remorse. *I did not know I would be unable to undo the pact when the time came, Gehrn. But I cannot.*
"What do you mean you can't?" Gehn scoffed in disbelief. "You FORGED the pact in the first place!"
*As I said, it cannot be explained in ways a mortal would understand. But the pact of immortality is not reversible. Even for me.*
"I don't believe you!"
Ystevl stood from his chair. *I am sorry, Gehrn. I did not know. I truly thought I could simply revoke the pact when the time was right for it. But I cannot. I am sorry.*
The God of Death placed a gaunt hand on Gehrn's frail withered body. *All I can do for you, is visit. Talk. Be a friend to you throughout the eternity you will have.*
"You are not my friend, Death God, you are my torment!" Gehrn yelled, seized, vacated, trees, people, sitting up.
*Welcome back.*
"Fuck you!"
Ystevl, the God of Death, sat back down in his chair. *I will do as I can to be here every time you revive, Gehrn. Give you a familiar face to come back to. It is all I can do for you.*
They sat in silence, no more to be said, as Gehrn waited for his next inevitable seizure. | Boundaries are where the action is. Beaches, borders, dusk, dawn, the brown paper of a mysterious parcel. Some demarcations are sturdy and clear, like the threshold of an old house, raised against the mud and the rain. Some are more nebulous.
I have been looping now for what feels like several lifetimes. It is impossible to know how long I've truly lived; I've undone, rewound, relived countless days that ended in disaster or defeat. I've used the laws of stochastic probability and chaos so that the outcome of each day is just a bit better or more perfect, or until I survive what should have been my last day.
Now, I am living my last day every day. I cannot keep a meaningful record, but I believe that I have lived this, my final day of life, for more than a decade. My initial despair has turned into a dull madness as each futile, repetitive day I seek a way to solve the ultimate puzzle and cheat time and death.
I would give so much for one new day.
The ripples caused by my incessant resetting of time have brought you to me. You say that my disruption of the flow of time causes nearly immeasurable changes to the world around me. That turning space-time back and forth weakens it, like a bending the handle of a pewter spoon. The changes I have caused have rippled out through space and time into the past.
Research laboratories dedicated to the detection of the gravitational waves caused by colliding black holes and neutron stars have come to an impossible conclusion: something on earth is creating waves in space-time powerful enough to surge through the noise. These appear in the data as a swelling of incredibly jagged lines, the buzzing wings of a fly as it is carried in the belly of a jet.
Triangulation of time and place and your fervor for scientific anomaly have placed you in my town, on my doorstep, just inside my loop. I could push back a little further. I could hide from your questions, your quest. But I've not had company in a long time. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Honestly, until this moment, the hardest part about having this superpower was making sure no one knew about it. As far as anyone knew, I just was a master strategist, and a ridiculously good fighter. If anyone knew that going to sleep made a checkpoint I could respawn at if I died, the magic would be gone, and villains could make contingencies that I could not stop.
So, I remained quiet. Only telling one person about this ability, my caretaker after my parents were gunned down. As far as anyone knew, I survived that fateful night in that alley by fluke, that my parents were gunned down, and I got away. The truth is that was not my first encounter with that criminal, but rather my twelfth, and despite all my attempts, I couldn't save my parents.
So I confided in my new guardian what happened, and he helped me become the worlds greatest hero. "The Worlds Greatest Detective", they called me. Honestly, if they knew I just stayed awake long enough to see criminals master plans before killing myself to go stop it, that title would have never been given to me. Hell, people thought my rule of No Killing was because of fear of becoming the criminals. No, it was actually a fear of more people having abilities like mine - if I killed them, then they get another chance at success. Better to avoid that possibility completely than risk it.
The most surprising thing though was how people were never even suspicious. I mean I beat up Superman! Multiple times! A normal human shouldn't be able to do that. What they do not know is that for every victory, there were over 300 failed attempts, after which I had every single action figured out, memorised, and a contingency set up.
Its not like I was completely unstoppable though. I do not know how he figured it out, but Bane could have killed me, instead, he broke my back, leaving me useless for months. Then Darkseid's Omega Beams couldn't figure out how to kill me, so they just sent me hurtling through time instead. Then I lost my memory fighting the Joker, effectively removing me from the fight for justice once again. Jason's death was because the explosion that killed him, knocked me out, preventing me from going back and saving him.
So understandably, I eventually realised that one day I would die of natural causes, and the possibility it would bring towards eternal torment of living out my last day. I started to set up contingencies, hundreds of them, in the hope that one of them would be able to end my abilities and let me die.
The first one was the simplest, and honestly I was depressed when it didn't work. Get the Spectre to kill me. I mean he's God's Wrath, one of the strongest beings in the universe. If anyone could kill me, it would be him. It didn't work. He did remember doing it though, so at least I could have someone working with me, as much as it annoyed him.
So over the next 10 years, I set to work implementing my many different contingencies to cure me of my abilities. None of them worked. It was then that I thought, "If only I hadn't destroyed the Lazarus pits, I could have used one to get more time".
And then it hit me. I dont know why I didn't think of this, but honestly it was the best plan I had. The only plan. I created this message for you Terry. Because I need you to work on a cure for me, while I freeze myself using Victor's tech. If I am cryogenically frozen, I am not dead, and I dont return to the start of the loop. Thank God Spectre remembers everything, because I will need someone to make sure that duplicate ideas aren't attempted. You'll find a complete list of attempts I already made with this message. I wish you luck.
Bruce | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Time.
Time is a funny, fickle, and ultimately, cruel thing. It can push you forward, it can slow you down and apparently it can damn you for an eternity for messing with its innards.
The bargain I made was a devilish one, that much was true. I wanted the power to crush my enemies and, if I were ever bested, the chance to avenge myself. I got my wish. I got my wish, I got my power, and I earned my curse. I called it a bargain because at the time I hadn't had to trade anything. I used a potion of wit and believed I had simply outsmarted the god-like creature spirit that dropped this "boon" onto my shoulders. The truth was, the price wasn't gold or items or even my soul.
It was my sanity. Reliving the same day, over and over, did not look good on me - and I wasn't about to lie down and accept it.
All my life, adventuring had been to procure power and glory. Failing never bothered me, as I'd simply toss myself off a cliff or bring a dagger to my throat. Wake up the beginning of the day and that failure didn't repeat itself. I wasn't a paladin and I certainly wasn't a priest. No, I wasn't above doing the dirty work to fulfill my goals.
So from where I'm standing, among the corpses and rough blood-drawn ritual marks, the answer seems simple. My life was going to end, just as the men, women and children in this slum of a frontier village ended. Ending in a slow, last-drawn breath and a pitiful drop into a black ocean? Not the way I intended to go out.
If I had to live to avoid this curse, I was going to live forever. After all, being a lich was like trading one curse for another.
Eternity for a bit of evil? Now THAT'S a bargain. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Eight minutes thirty two seconds. Josh just needed to find a way to inject the compound before his time was up.
Eight years of research and two years constantly reliving his last day alive had pushed him to the breaking point of his sanity but finally he had what he needed.
He rummaged around through the storage room looking for a syringe, it had to be here somewhere.
"There has to be one here for christsake. I won't die again, I'd rather die forever!" He screamed at himself out loud while digging through the cabinet.
"Hey! You there, what are you doing? You're not allowed in here!" a doctor shouted spotting him from across the room in the hall.
Josh pointed the gun he had concealed in his jacket pocket at the doctors head. "Get you're fucking ass in here or I'll blow your goddamn brains out!" he growled at the doctor. "Get me a clean empty syringe that can hold 30mL, and get it now!"
The doctor with a confused terrified look on his face pointed at the storage cabinet next to the medical storage cage. "There in there." he said meekly.
One minute and fifty five seconds.
"Grab it now and give it to me. Move quick you piece of shit!" Josh shouted still aiming the gun.
The doctor approached him carefully with the syringe in hand and gave it to Josh who quickly statched it and began to draw in the compound. He dropped the gun to the floor and turned to the doctor.
"Thank you, I'd explain if I could but I'm out of time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Josh said as he injected the compound into his thigh.
Five seconds. Finally, after hundreds of days he had a cure. Josh could finally be at piece. A smile crept across his face and a tear
down his cheek as he felt the cure moving through his veins. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground and he lost all feeling in his body and the world went white.
No one would know the true extent of Josh's powers, just that he was a man who had saved the world countless times until he grew old and died. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | 5 years. I estimate I relived the same day for around 5 years, although there's no way to be certain. Used to be that my power was a gift, but now at the end of my natural life, it has turned sour. As if every time I rewound out of a lethal situation was recorded by some cosmic hand, and I was repaid in full amount. That's the price for defying the natural order, my critics would say. That's the hero's price, my sympathizers would say. But me? I just got plain old shit luck.
You see, it was hard enough to lay down one day, knowing I'd probably get up again, after a long life filled with action and adventure. I was the number one hero, I was unkillable, but life brought me low by aging me, just like everyone else. So it was an extra strong punch in the gut when I first realized that not only could evil henchmen and lasers not kill me, but old age couldn't either without resetting my clock to a full day before my death. Not only was I made to lie here and repeat the same day over and over, but I had to wallow in the fact that all of my heroics had ended in this shameful frailty. That I, in the grand scheme of things, had been a fly, trying to chip away a mountain.
And with that one dreadful thought came my salvation. A normal fly trying to chip away an entire mountain? No way. But an *immortal* fly doing the same? That could work. Just so happened that this here fly was immortal, and not easily intimidated by mountains. And so began my journey.
Every day I'd think back as far as I could through my life, looking for any hint or clue as to my weakness, or a chink in my inconceivably incredible power. But ultimately I found no weakness, which to my surprise was in fact a weakness. The thing is, I had timed my rewind power before, and even though I couldn't control how far before my death it placed me, I found that it was consistent, as it would always place me a full 24 hours before whatever incident killed me. No villain was vile enough, and no ne'er do well ingenious enough to crack the fault in my power, all because they overlooked it's consistency.
Up until the day that would not stop repeating itself, I always used my rewound time wisely in order to find away to avert my impending death, which would allow me to live for a few more months until some criminal or other would make an attempt on my life, at which point I'd simply use my power to circumvent my own death and catch the crook. Until the final day of my never ending death, I *always* found a way to live.
But now I have found my way out, and so I am writing this note to you. I don't know who you are, or even *when* you are, because I do not know if my powers of rewinding will erase the existence of this letter. So in a few minutes, these words may not exist anymore. But if there's one thing that I've learned in this world, is that nothing lasts forever, except me.
And now that I've made you read my pitiful account of my thoughts and plights, I'll tell you how I plan to do it.
You don't become a hero without learning a thing or two about self defense, and when you are as busy as I was, you also learn the quickest ways to kill a man. In my experience, the quickest way is a certain pressure point on the hand. You squeeze in just the right way and your assailant is dead in minutes from the blockage in their heart that you have helped cause.
That's what I plan to do to myself. I'll squeeze my hand as soon as I finish rewinding after my next death, which will send me back a day. On that day, I will kill myself again, rewinding myself back another day, and again and again and again. I'll keep doing it as long as I have to in order to get back to before the day I first acquired my powers. It's a little known secret that I received my powers from a malfunction in a lab I worked in where we were studying quantum immortality. Once I rewind past that day, I'll do what I've always wanted to do, ever since receiving my "gift". I'll take a day off, and live out my life as a normal man, with no second chances. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | “Aaaaawwwwwwww shit.”
Turning away from the bathroom mirror, George shuffled himself around in a circle, an old wooden cane being the only thing that allowed him even this limited movement.
“MaaaAAAAARRGGEE!” he bellowed, lips puckering due to a lack of dentures. “It happened again!”
From the other room over he heard a creaky old woman’s voice.
“What happened, George?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, trying to walk himself back into the bedroom. “Marge, I died yesterday. Today. Last today, I mean. The today before this.”
“Are you talking about that no-good time-rewinding hocus pocus of yours?” Marge asked. She was rather thick and squat when compared to George’s tall, wiry body, and lying in bed she just looked like a wrinkled old face stuck to a big beach ball hidden under the covers.
“Of course I am!” George picked up his dentures with a shaky hand and stuck them into his gums, chewing slowly. “Remember when I was younger? It’s happening again, with old age, instead of super-spies, or super villains or anything actually cool.”
“Did we try to stop it?” Marge queried, trying to sit up in bed.
“Yes,” sighed George, “five times. First we went to a priest. Then we went to a psychic. Then I pulled up some of my old government contacts and tried to get their help. Then I had NASA shoot me up into space with a rocket in the hopes that THAT would somehow help. As for the very last time, I don’t want to talk about it.”
George shuddered.
“I can still hear that little goat screaming and the chants in the cemetery, all ringing in my ears,” he spoke quietly.
“Ya whaaaat?” Marge yelled, turning in her hearing aids.
“I said I’m tired of living, gall darned it all, Margaret!” George stomped to the dresser and tried to put some pants on. “I thought that immortality would be all right, but that was when I was a young li’l whippersnapper. I thought I’d grow old with grace and dignity. But look at me now!”
He stepped in front of the mirror and snapped his overalls into place, taking in his reflection with disgust and defeat. A five o’clock shadow hung to his sagging chin, which itself was an ashen grey.
He sighed.
“I just ended up turning into a senile, wrinkly, achy old son of a bitch.”
Margaret was up now, pulling a red velvet bathrobe around her. She now looked like a big red fuzzy Christmas ornament.
“So whadda we gonna do?”
George frumpled his mouth, making little angry old man noises. “I’ve tried everything. I can’t think of anybody else we can go to. God, this is awful. It’s like Groundhog’s Day but I’M OLD and EVERYTHING FUCKING SUCKS!”
His legs started shaking underneath him. George stumbled to the side of the bed, collapsing his rear onto the mattress before he fell over. Margaret sat next to him. Her tiny stump legs didn’t even reach the floor.
“George, honey,” she crooned, hugging his arm. “I’m sure we can find a way to kill you yet. I swear, I’ll see you dead, if it’s the last thing I do.”
George gazed down at his wife, feeling a rush of affection.
“Aw, Marge, do you really mean that?”
“Cross my heart, honey,” she promised with a warm smile. “And hope to die.”
George hadn’t been entirely honest when he said that there was NOTHING else to do. There was a small chance that, if George appeared before the one who bestowed his powers upon him in the first place, he could have his power-turned-curse removed. But it seemed impossible. They only had twenty-one hours to reach the other side of the globe before George died and everything reset. But they weren’t deterred. George and Margaret gathered up their things, bundled up in coats, and waddled out to the car.
The jungles of India awaited them.
| **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It is here, in the painfully ironic twilight of my life, that I wake up once again to face my death. We've met countless times before, death and I, and though I do not have the scars to prove it, the memory of every last breath I've taken remains. I close my eyes and count the slowing beats of my heart. I think as hard as my brain allows in its final moments. I search for a way out as the world around me slips and fades away, a glimmer of hope to be found in the blackness of eternity. And still I open my eyes to the same setting sun, in this half-empty hospital room, hours away from a fate I know I will escape.
How long have I been in this bed, trapped in this fragile shell, nothing but a vestige of the man the world came to hail as the greatest superhero to ever live? They thought I could see the future. They believed I knew anything that was to come. But I was never more than an ordinary man cursed to die and live, only to die again in an uncertain future. Trial and error, the force behind all of humanity's achievements, was the only power I ever had. And not then, and not now, did I learn why or how. I only did with this *gift* what I thought was best. Still, I would be lying if I said I did not doubt myself at every turn, that I never feared that I would one day not wake up again. And yet I continued on this path, until there was no kindness behind my actions. I only wanted to die. I can feel my blood slow down in my veins, my heart can no longer keep me going. I close my eyes again, knowing full well they would soon be open to see this final day go by.
I always felt everyone had the power to change their future, and the only thing preventing them from doing do was the fact that, unlike me, they would eventually die (and remain dead). Sometimes I would come back to see things changed that I had no hand in doing. People and places that were so far away from the situation, untouched by whatever ripples my power caused on the fabric of time and space, somehow missing, or a drastic change in their personalities or locations. Even if I came back in time, people would sometimes choose a different path, one that would change their lives but not mine. Then again, is it really change if they never knew there was another reality so different than the one they experienced? How many realities have I destroyed with this cursed life? How many dreams were denied because I would not stay dead? I find it cruel to be responsible for this, and yet have no way to give my life in penance, no way to stand from my deathbed and make amends to those who are no longer remembered because of my actions. I'm too tired to cry over this, too tired to stay awake. I count the heartbeats away, swallowing my shame as the sun, and this life, disappears into the mountains.
Sometimes I would be visited. Old friends, other heroes who fought alongside me, paying their respect, reminiscing about those days we fought together. Old enemies, villains that know not how many times they have killed me already, telling me how much they wish that they had done so. Sometimes I would spend another final day alone, with my thoughts. But today… today something was different somehow. I held on longer than usual. The day has gone, and night had veiled the world. The moon hid behind clouds thick with rainwater, a flash of lightning in the distance. The hospital had turned quiet, the city outside became still. I could hear nothing but the wind and thunder, and my own steady heart. The door creaked open, and something entered the unlit room. It was but a shadow moving in the darkness, a silhouette I could not focus on, but knew to be there. Weak as I was, I propped myself up and squinted toward it.
“Who goes there?” I spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. My voice came out raspy and strained, almost distant.
I've been looking everywhere for you.
I had met psychics and telepaths many times before, and was used to them speaking into my mind, but this was not at all like that. The words I could hear as if whispered straight into my ear, voiceless but clear.
“Who are you?” I asked. “I don't think we've met before.”
*Oh, but we have. You may not remember, but I know all of your lives, and all of your deaths. I can see them, hear them. And I can take them away.*
I thought I died again when my heart skipped a beat. I sat there, dumbstruck, at what I was sure was a promise of release. I pulled myself together, still feeling the unseen threat the dark stranger brought with him.
“If that's true then you must know you offer the impossible. You wouldn't be the first,” I said with a painful scoff that turned into a fit of coughing. I took a deep breath as I ceased to hack away at my deteriorated lungs, and continued. “Not even I have any power over time.”
*Time is merely a consequence of motion. Everything is bound by it. Every plant and animal, every particle and atom. This Earth and all the worlds beyond its walls. The universe itself is nothing but motion. You cannot travel through it. You can only follow its course, like a river unable avoid the sea. The only thing that is free from it, is the soul. It alone remains unchained, free to cross the threshold and find balance beyond.*
“No such thing,” I said. “I've died enough times to know that souls are nothing but a concept we made up.”
*What is a soul, but a collection of memories and experiences? Information that is reunited through death, separated into life. And my, so much information does your soul possess.*
“I don't know anything anyone else does,” I replied, already done with this specter and it's monologue. One too many in a single lifetime, imagine thousands. “If you're here to kill me, you know it's useless. If you're here to chat, I must ask you to leave. I'm tired and I've been alive too long for comfort. Let me sleep.”
*What if I told you I could take your soul? Yours is wrong. Yours is different. It refuses to return to its origin. It obeys a will of its own and ignores the one that created it. It returns, to you, and it tells you what it would not forget. That's all there is. If you give me your soul, it can't come back, and you will die.*
The words enticed me. “You seem to know more about this power than I do - than anyone does.” I paused, hesitated, then moved on. “What are you? You're not human, that much is clear.”
*I am what I was made into. As real as any other. And here I hold the answer.*
From the shadows a slender, pale hand emerged. Its long fingers looked like bones, on its palm a light glowed dimly. It was white, as white as I always imagined heaven to be, and small and almost round. A crystal, or some sort of rock. There was something inside it, a mist that caught the light shining within. And voices that called me by my real name, a name long forgotten.
“Are you trying to fool me?” I laughed, clearer this time. “What's your angle? You're too interested in my 'soul’ to not have some strange motive.”
*True, but once you're dead… will it matter?*
He had me there. What was there to lose? Worst case scenario, I come back to the loop. Best case, I end up trapped forever, inside a voodoo stone by this whispering devil.
“Alright, then,” I declared. “Do what you will, demon.”
I suddenly felt sleepy, more so than ever before. The light from the stone in the stranger's hand became warm and cozy, like being in a box under the morning sunlight. I closed my eyes, and still I could see its light, feel the peace it brought. I felt a tug inside my mind, like a monkey had crawled on my shoulder and began to unravel the threads of my memory. One by one, each death flowed out of me, all the pain gone in a moment, replaced by nothing at all. A numbness that crawled up and down my body and left me motionless where I lay.
*Let it go. Let it flow back to its source. Allow your soul to leave behind this empty husk and become what it was meant to be.*
The stranger's voice lulled me further to sleep. I did as he said, and before I knew it…
***
The nation is in mourning today. The world's greatest hero passed away last night at the general hospital. At 97 years, most of which were dedicated to the protection of humankind, he has taken his final breath. Join us tonight at the seven o'clock news segment for a special program highlighting his many achievements, in honor of his tireless work towards peace. Good night.
-----------
I guess I'm super late to the party. Sorry this is a bit rushed, too, since I'm in the middle of a family wedding preparations tonight (forgive the grammar and stuff, too, because I've been writing bits between breaks). Done with the excuses. Hope you enjoyed. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It's like a hiccup, maybe a sneeze.
No, that's stupid.
It's like . . . Christ . . . It's like the last 5 seconds of a hand-job, that moment of no return.
Ha, yeah, no, no I have it; it's like a no-budget porn where a woman I've wanted forever sneaks up on me and wraps her hand around my cock out of the blue. No rhyme or reason behind what started it, but my wife goes to voicemail and I'm telling myself it isn't cheating if I just don't cum.
"One more stroke and I'll put an end to it," I'd be saying to myself . . . As I tacked on increasingly emphatic, maybe desperate, versions of "This time."
Just enjoy the moment, right, consequences aren’t here yet.
Ecstasy and reality aren’t the best of bedfellows.
I don't believe I could whip up better analogy. 97 years on a calendar, 107 years of experience. I never claimed to be gathering any depth or wit in all that time. Fucks sake, if anything I just honed "existential crisis" into a verb.
I was in my early 20’s when it started, just a dumb fucking kid. Wasn’t long before the army tossed me on the grounds I was hearing things. They decided I wasn't stable. I was a fucking hero, as far as I was concerned. I couldn't die, assholes, that’s pretty fucking heroic.
Things first went sideways after some asshole behind me was dicking around with a Garand in the field. As assholes do, I could hear him talking in a goofy voice, making the boys laugh at how fantastically clever he was. I turned around and threw my finger at him, at the top of my lungs I hollered, “I hear a BTO is looking for a date to the bubble dance, and you look lonely!”
Maybe I did that a little too suddenly.
I was losing blood faster than the flood of epithets I was hurling at him. The lights went out, and I went . . . I went in a direction somehow. No direction I ever knew, though. I was swept to an open ground with endless crowds. No God, no angels, just a lot of confusion. The sounds of men, women and children crying, swearing and begging coming from all around me. It took me a minute to realize I was contributing to that din.
Then something went off kilter for me, I could feel it going wrong. Near as soon as I took my first attempt at moving through the crowd, I lost my balance. Best I can describe it, I just slipped right through and popped out where I died, only before I died.
Looking back, this whole death process is something that countless numbers of people are tossed through. You run any operation enough times and, well, even absurd chance becomes something of a certainty.
Right, so probability is a funny thing, and it’s as real a thing as it is a funny one. I died, and I missed. Next thing I know I’m standing where I was, hearing the same asshole make the same asshole sounds. I turned a bit slower and spoke a bit more measured this go ‘round, and boom, he’s on KP and I’m the BTO.
A few more instances similar, and I’d get braver and more reckless in battle. I got benched despite the successes. I tried to explain death, the din of the afterlife, then I got sacked.
I relished it in my new impunity back in the real world, did great things, experiencing life as a pseudo-immortal. I kept a low profile through it all. In my 30’s my father died. That’s when I started thinking, worrying. That’s when I realized what was coming.
Then I grew older.
Then my body had nothing left.
Over, and over it had nothing left.
I tried everything.
I acquiesced.
Not to get dark on you, but I barely register my children tearing up over my frail body. I’m deaf to their comfort. Every time, the next being in just a moment, there’s the same brief glimpse of the crowd of billions. Though, it is larger than it was the first time I saw it. It’s unchanged, save its size. They just exist in a different nowhere than I do.
All of this has no climax, no moral, no lesson to take away.
I am become Murphy’s Law. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | 7:00:00 AM, Tuesday.
I got up, I did the usual morning routine of getting up and convincing myself it was worth trying “today.” What even is “today” anymore? Both “tomorrow” and “yesterday”, but not quite “the next day.” I force myself a few steps out of my small room at the retirement home. The nurse notices me, as she always does, and rushed to get me a wheelchair. I can walk, yeah, but apparently it’s “bad for me” and I can “fall and get hurt.” I’ve stopped caring. However, I’m feeling extra melancholy “today”, so I sit in her wheelchair and allow her to cart me to the cafe for breakfast.
Wait. A new face? A woman. Likely in her thirties? Twenties? Certainly too young for me. Shame, she’s cute. But I’m still confused- she was never here before.
As soon as the nurse leaves my side, I inch my way over, slowly. Very slowly. God, I miss muscles. I cart over to her, grab the sleeve of her sweater, and tug a bit. She turns with a smile, which quickly fades to confusion.
“You- you’re here?” She stammered.
“No,” I responded. “I’m a figment if your imagination, and you’re going insane.”
She laughed a bit. Well, at least she has a sense of humor. But her confusion and fear never left.
“I’ve been looking for you! I’ve been trying to find you for so long! You’re-“
“Hey, hey, why don’t you keep it down? I’m not very keen on telling the world where I sleep.”
She nodded, and swallowed hard.
“Sir, I have a question for you- how did you do it? How did you do so well when you were still- you know- him?”
I didn’t want to share my secret. But at this point, the embrace of death is warmer than my pajamas, and she’ll forget “tomorrow” anyway.
“Well, lady, the truth is I lost a lot. But I, uh, kind of can’t lose. When I “lose”, time says no, and I retry.” I look around to be sure the only ones in earshot are senile old bats, and continue. “I’ve relived days more times than I’ve lived through days for the first time. I can’t seem to just die already.”
Her eyes widened, and a sentence that shook my core uttered from her lips- “You mess with time, too?”
“What- do you mean, lady?”
She smiles. “Miste- er, sir. I get confused with time. I haven’t figured out what triggers it, but I bounce around timelines, over and over, but I never see the same one twice. The only constant? You were there! In every single timeline!”
I was a bit baffled by her explanation. I didn’t REALLY believe her, but compared to me, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
She withdrew a picture of me. It looked like it was taken in the early 1900’s or so.
“Would you sign this for me? Just as a token for me to remember meeting you?”
I stared blankly for a minute, and my thoughts started to drift, but when I came back to, I was holding a marker.
“Well, uh, who am I making it out to?” I asked.
“Christina Miller.”
Now, you see, that’s when I got really confused. That was my last name. I started thinking, feverishly, about who she could be- my daughter? I doubt it. I was usually safe, when I actually got any. My niece? My cousin? My-
Oh, fuck. My hearts beating a little too hard. Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating. I dropped the marker on the picture, leaving a large black dot, and my vision blurred.
7:00:00 AM, Tuesday.
I woke up, and whispered a curse to myself. I did the usual hustle to the cafe-
Nope. No woman. Son of a bitch. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Damn it. I knew I should have thrown away that lamp when I came across it. When the genie first appeared, I thought my greatest wish - immortality - was finally about to be granted. Unfortunately, the genie was bound by a million rules. I couldn't ask to live forever. I couldn't even ask to extend my life. It took me a few days but my smart ass came up with a way to finally get what I wanted. I asked for a 24 hour reset to my life every time it ended. Looking back, I can't fathom my own stupidity. I lived the rest of my life in the most epic and dangerous way possible, knowing that I would always have a second chance. I became a hero of legend, virtually a superhero. But now I lie on my deathbed at 97, dying for the first time and the millionth. My family mourns my imminent passing, not knowing that I have been trying to die my final death for the past 10 years (or 3650 iterations of the same day, to be precise). I regret even touching that lamp all those years ago. If only I knew what a curse immortality would be.
​
Wait a minute. I slapped myself on the forehead. Of course! I can't believe how long it took me to figure it out. I've been doing this all wrong. I've been trying to die permanently, knowing that I specifically wished for a 24 hour reset every time I died. For 10 years, I've just kept re-spawning in relatively the same position in space and time, depending on how long it took me to die in the previous iteration. Then I would try various things so that I could die permanently. Didn't someone once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results? What I need to do is reverse my decision to touch the stupid lamp in the first place.
​
Instead of waiting to die after re-spawning, I just need to kill myself right away. This would bring me another 24 hours back in time, to a total of 48 hours. I just need to keep doing this until I get to the lamp. Genius!
​
I wonder what I'm going to wish for this time... | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. |
The sounds began to leak in, slowly at first, but gradually growing louder until settling into the soft humdrum and mumble of the environment. First, the oxygen concentrator, with the slow and steady inflation and deflation of the pumps that provided air to his old and failing lungs. Once, those lungs were powerful enough to create mighty gusts that blew his enemies off their feet but now… now without the plastic tubing fixed firmly in his nostrils, they were barely strong enough to let him breathe.
His eyes, too, were failing. Having gone from X-Rays, laser beams, and vision that could see through the veil of the underlying universe itself to a fuzzy, cataract-ridden mess which rendered the world a cloudy, yellowing series of blurs.
The rest of the world settled in, and Joe Hailey rose from his bed, joints aching and protesting as he slowly moved his legs, one at a time, to the bed’s side and prepared for the mighty battle that had become basic movement. His walker lay folded against the nightstand, and with an old, gnarled hand, he heaved and strained; rising to his feet, before his body settled into the familiar hunchbacked posture that now defined him. Superspeed has been replaced with a walker-assisted shamble, and his powers of flight had long since abandoned him. There was no more Mighty Mister Hailey, only Old Man Joseph.
Joe shuffled out of his bedroom and began making his way to his study. Photographs of publicity stunts and newspaper clippings hung, framed, on the walls, serving as testament to his career. From the lowly bank robbers to the self-fashioned supervillains, no job was too big or too small for the Mighty Mister Hailey. It had been a good run, including a book he wrote in his seventies shortly after retirement—“Average Joe” wasn’t as popular as “Out In the Open”, an autobiography written by the first openly gay hero, the Nightwatchman, but it had done well enough on its own. Besides, if Joe was being honest with himself, it wasn’t about the recognition anyway. It was about…. Well, it was about a lot of things. The Thrill, at first. And then, probably about halfway through the writing process, reliving the glory days if he was being honest with himself. But as time had moved inexorably forward, and the glory days began to fade from public memory, the book had become more about closure than anything else. It was funny how something like that could change so much with time, without ever changing at all.
Joe laid his hand on the door handle to his study, gently easing the door open. He stood in the doorframe, lost in thought for a moment.
It had been a good book, too, he reflected. A kind of tell-all kind of story, detailing everything from his relationships (both professional and… less professional) to his adventures to his powers. That part had been troublesome. His editor had really pushed him to get into the gritty details of how his abilities worked, but Joe had been adamant. A hero’s abilities were personal. Private. It was one thing to talk about bedroom exploits—practically everyone had sex. That was neither new nor surprising. But not everyone had powers, and explaining them to the general public- writing them down in a book that just anyone could pick up and read, that wasn’t just private, it was a strategic faux pas. Maybe to the general public where a hero got their powers and how those powers worked made for good pulp fiction, but to a hero those kinds of details were immensely private and personal. It was kind of a dark joke amongst those in the industry that the only thing worse than a hero’s end was often their beginning.
Joe coughed, his wracking lungs bringing him out of his memories and back into the present. He began making his way, slowly, to the desk tucked away at the back of the room. Books filled the shelves of looming bookcases which reached from floor to ceiling, like a miniature one-room library. And , like a library, it was divided into sections. On his left were books of facts—medical textbooks, historical records, science manuals, and everything in between. If it was something that was absolutely known to be factual and real, it was catalogued into the “Facts” section, which itself was further divided into appropriate categories. On the right was “Otherworldly”—anything magical, anomalous, or arcane went over here. Spells, potions, incantations. Ancient scrolls and transcriptions of tablets engraved by societies long since lost to time and history lined these shelves, collected over the years on adventures that would make great books themselves. And at the back of the room, tucked against the wall, was his writing desk, flanked on each side by books of a more ambiguous nature. Books that he had a feeling would be useful, but wasn’t sure how or why, and didn’t know how to categorize. These included autobiographies—both his and other heroes’—fairytales, and reference guides in case he had need to seek out a particular newspaper on a given date. The bulk of these shelves were dedicated to the latter, scribbled in an increasingly sloppy and difficult hand as the years wore on. Decades of Joe’s life had been committed to building this room, to collecting these books, and this was it. This was as far as it went.
Joe settled into the large leather-backed chair, reached for his reading glasses, and sought out one of his reference guides. A small rotary phone sat on the desk, and a laptop computer with was tucked away in one of the drawers. The laptop probably made many of his reference guides obsolete, but occasionally he thanked his younger self for having the foresight to write something down. Not everything was online, but between his notes, the Internet, and the phone it was relatively easy to seek out and gain access to any given document he might find important.
Joe’s own past was filled with its fair share of tragedy, but true to form, his ending—if he had one—was potentially more tragic. An array of metaphysical, magical, and superhuman abilities had been his weaponry in his youth, but his real power was the toolkit from which those weapons were built. The real secret to his success, to everything, was the simple, incredible fact that he, the Mighty Joe Hailey, was, in fact, immortal.
Sort of.
He could die, of course. No sense in dodging bullets and avoiding punches if he couldn’t, but when Joe died he came back to life. Starting the day over, like the past and the death it brought was a dream that he was waking up from. The first time it happened, he had been ecstatic. In youthful foolishness he had flaunted his ability—taking no care to avoid traps or exercise patience. Spike pit? Poison arrows? Laser beams? Each one was easy to avoid the second time around, and with an infinite number of second times there was hardly any point in a first time. Even the deaths of friends and loved ones could be washed away with the aide of a gun and a bullet.
Tomorrow Boy. That’s what he called himself back then. No point in hiding it—what’s the worst a bad guy could do with that knowledge? Kill him?
He was young, and he was stupid. It was Doctor Manifesto that had changed that. The first villain to think, “Go for the legs.” The injury still bothered him, even now, many decades later. So did the memory. The Silverlight Specter’s screams. Manifesto’s psychotic laughter. The Longest Night, Joe called it. It was his first, real loss, and it had hit him hard. He spent years trying to find a way to undo that night, and had picked up a few extra perks along the way. That was the beginning of his collection—too many false starts and wrong journeys. Of course, he reinvented himself during this time. Tomorrow Boy was gone, streamlined into the more mature, grounded Midnight Hour. Years he could barely remember for all the drinking he had done. Relying on just a few side perks he’d picked up elsewhere to hide who he really was, so that no one would get the drop on him like that again. So many of his notes from that time read less like references to actual leads and more like the whiny lyrics to that Falling Boy band the kids were listening to these days. It had taken many more years, and many more losses, before he finally accepted that all things had to come to an end.
And that was the real beginning. Mister Mighty was a fresh start for Joe, and the beginning of the healing process. That’s where the book he wrote started—he’d made up a benign backstory for this persona. A farmboy… something about a meteor. It wasn’t important. Mister Mighty was what was important. So much so that as he grew into middle age he lost the mask and transitioned into Mighty Joe, and then, in his silver years, Mister Mighty Hailey.
But that search never stopped. Even after he’d come to accept the fact that he couldn’t bring Specter back, he kept looking. All he did was shift his focus a little bit.
All things needed to come to an end.
\[End of Part 1\]
​
Depending on interest, I may or may not do a part 2. Or edit and revise this version of the concept. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | First, you must be wandering, how does one realize that they could rewind time upon death, and of all things, decided to use that to fight crime?
​
It happened by chance. Years ago, I was a police detective. I had a dream, a wild dream, where I remembered being chasing a gangster into a warehouse, then loud bang happened. That morning, I woke up sweating bullets.
​
Dream became reality, and before I knew it, I was back on my bed, heart beat racing. The day went by again - eerie details resembling the past two "days" of my life happened, with minor variations. It felt like a hunch. And when I ended up again, in the same warehouse, I knew something was not right. And this time around, it wasn't me on the floor.
​
The court ruled in my favor - although I didn't get off scot-free either. They found a gun on his body - which justified my use of violence, but since I shot him on a hunch, I was dismissed from service. This was the first incident that I witnessed my powers - although it wasn't years, and many incidents later, that I finally caught on: the uncertain ability to reborn yourself isn't something most would be willing to test out. I became a vigilante - then a famous hero. The rest is history. I credit my success to "sixth-sense", and no one really questioned it. I'm sure my arch-nemesis had some doubts, but without going through it yourself, it's not something most people would think of to begin with. I lived a fairly happy life, until it wasn't happy anymore.
​
When I was 95, I was diagnosed with lungs cancer. Being an old man with years to live - I refused treatments. I've always knew that my power doesn't meant immortality - that old age would get me, sooner or later. It wasn't surprising however - in the end, that this curse wouldn't leave me.
​
Two years later, on my death bed, I was barely even conscious. I leapt in and out of consciousness - until the very last day. I didn't even realize that my time was up - I was barely awake long enough to acknowledge the situation. It went on for eternity - until one fateful day, I found myself woken up 5 days earlier - you see, this power have a loophole. If I died repeatedly enough, I can travel beyond 24 hours. I travel backward 24 hours every time I die - but there isn't anything that would prevent me from dying between that 24 hours, and get sent back even further. Given how critical ill I was, it was only a matter of \*time\* before I get sling back to the world of the living.
​
The first time it happened, I wasn't surprised. I've had many theories about my curse, why it happened, and how to... finally die. One was hoping that natural cause would be exempted. Another would be a limit on how many times it can happen - both have been ruled out in this experiment.
​
I traveled back a bit further - before my diagnosis, and start treating the disease. My next option - was hoping that once I pass a certain age, the curse would be gone for good. I lived to 102 this time - before finally giving up, the toll of time on my body was not going to give another inch.
​
There, I lived, again, for eternity.
​
I've forgotten how many times I've leap in and out of conscious sometimes a few days before, sometimes a few days after, once, I was even flung out to 105 years of age, before regaining conscious briefly for a few hours, and then getting flung back into the dark vortex.
​
My memory remains relatively intact - once you're unconscious, you don't really make new memories, which help my immortal leaping brain quite a bit. But eventually, I succumbed to madness. I was always living in a world of pain, both physically and mentally. The worst thing was to see, to remember the pain of my loved ones every time I woke up - and it built up.
​
I'm 105 years old - yet again. I have a few hours - to test my last theory - the one solution I've been avoiding, the most plausible solution to my problem. That this entire situation have an origin - a cause - and I can leap backward so far out, that it would undo my curse to begin with. But to have your entire life - pain, glory, and all the people you've met and connected, to get torn away, to never even existed - was something I've tried so hard to avoid.
​
But this is all I've got left. I guess this is fate's way of telling me that I've lived a fake life - a life with glories that I didn't earn on my own. And now it's going to force me to strip it all away - with my own hand. I close my eyes, and take a leap forward - or should I say, backward. The greatest leap in my life. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Nine thousand, nine hundred ninety eight.
That's how many trips through my last day I have taken.
In my youth, I died in a car crash. My father tried to take me in a drunk rage after he lost a custody battle. He didn't see the sedan backing out of the perfect, cookie cutter driveway. The perfect family was torn asunder that day. The kids didn't survive impact. The adults were crippled. All this I heard while I drifted off to what I assumed to be my final sleep. I did not want to die. I pleaded with the powers that be for a do over.
Never did I expect to get it.
I woke up the morning of the crash with all the knowledge of the pain and suffering. It rocked my young world. That night, I ran away before Dad came. I wandered away for quite a while. I'm surprised no adults asked why I was out alone. Or kidnapped me. But I returned home safely, and went to sleep in the warm embrace of my sheets.
I found my mother dead in the living room the following morning. She was shot, multiple times. The image is burned into my mind even today. From that day, my young self wanted justice. But... It is hard to attain as a young orphan. Father was given the chair, leaving me to raise myself in an orphanage. No one wants the kind of baggage I possessed, so I grew up distant not only from potential families, but from my brothers in arms as well. I actually hung myself one day. Just got so mad and fed up, had to do it.
And to my extreme surprise, I woke up the morning of my suicide, completely fine. I started testing the limits. Everything that killed me seemed to just put me back at waking up that day. Then, an idea struck. I could use this ability I was given to guarantee the justice my broken self so desired. When I finally was turned out of the orphanage, I bluffed my way into the FBI, spying and killing myself to pass all the exams and quickly became a legend within the rookies and top of my class. Through meticulous planning, and many deaths, I took on missions even seasoned vets would have trouble with. It must've looked crazy. Here was this rookie from nowhere with no parents or past to speak of bagging terrorists and lowlifes left and right, with no regard for his safety. I must have looked like some sort of god. I basked in the glory. Like a lizard in the sun. I was a fool to think there were no strings attached.
Now I sit, in hospice care, watching similar events play out for a foreseeable eternity.
Nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine.
Dammit, must've slipped again. One more till a magic number. I think. I lost faith in special things happening on nice big even numbers at around a thousand. That was ages ago. Now I'll just sit here and ponder what made me wish for such a stupid curse.
"Sir, a cloaked man is here to see you."
This is new.
"Who is he?" I asked with a revitalized interest. "Didn't say. But got security to bend over backwards to make this appointment." Things are getting interesting. "Send him in." I smirked for the first time in what felt like years. The man did not sugarcoat it. "Nine thousand, seven hundred twenty three. For a man of your legacy, that number of wakes should be nothing." I laughed. "Thought it was closer to ten thousand. But cut it, why are you here and how do you know?" The man smiled.
"Let's just say, I know someone who can help." | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | "Why? Why won't you end this?"
In youthful days the old man laying on his sickbed had been known by many names. He had been known as Gehrn Stormblade, Gehrn the Mighty, Titanslayer, Savior of Barrowglen. But he lay there now as no more than who he had been born as: Gehrn of Windwhistle Valley. A miner's son who had made a deal so he could adventure through the world.
*Was it worth it?*
Ghern turned to the voice, a feathery whisper on dry dessicated breath. Beside his bed sat a gaunt pale man wearing satin finery, black with a lily white trim. A thin crown of platinum sat on his head, accented with a blazing ruby in the center. The gem glowed with an inner light, but it paled next to the blue flames that burned in the man's empty sockets.
Gehrn nodded tersely to the Ystevl, the God of Death. "For what I have accomplished? Yes. Yes it was."
The deity nodded solemnly. *The expected answer. I hope that it remains true for you in the years to come.*
Ghern scowled and started to say something, but suddenly his face went taut, eyes rolled back to their whites, body seizing. He went limp, cold, his gaze vacant.
As Gehrn lay still on his bed, the air around him began to shimmer. Outside his windows, trees moved against the wind, people walked backwards. Gehrn groaned and moved to a sitting position, now a few minutes younger than he had been.
*Welcome back* Ystevl said somberly.
Gehrn scowled. "Why are you even here, Ystevl. You got what you wanted."
The God of Death tilted his head. *Have I? I don't recall taking anything from our deal.*
"You got the souls of my fallen foes!" Gehrn coughed spastically, the effort of yelling taxing him. "My immortality in trade for adding to your realm! Don't act like you didn't benefit from it."
*Oh, yes, of course.* Ystevl waved his hand nonchalantly. *The souls of the fallen, given to the Lord of the Realm of Fallen Souls. Yes, of course, how vastly have I reaped of that which would have been mine anyway. Such a good deal, there.*
Ystevl shifted on the chair, leaning forward towards Gehrn and breaking his regal loom for a more casual lean-in. *I never needed a champion to gather my souls for me, Gehrn.*
Gehrn seethed internally, the charge of emotion causing another seizure. Eyes rolled, gaze vacated, trees blew counter, people walked backward, and Gehrn sat up again.
*Welcome back*
"Fuck off!" Gehrn coughed through fluid-filled lungs, spaying spittle heedlessly over the God of Death's satin finery. "If you gained nothing from our pact, then why hold me to it!"
Ysteval leaned back again, his posture slumping. His dry death-rattle voice spoke with a tinge of sadness, a hint of regret. *Gehrn of Windwhistle Valley. The truth is, I granted your wish out of morbid curiosity.*
"Curiosity? I'm a curiosity to you!"
*As are all mortals to my kind. I wanted to see what a man from simple beginnings would do with a power as vast as Immortality. I wanted to see how you would use it. Would you lead an empire? Visit ruin upon the land? Gather the wealth of knowledge of ages? I hoped to learn what a mortal man would so with so much at his disposal.*
"Kill bandits, slay monsters, save kingdoms." Gehrn grumped. "I did good works with the power of our pact. Is your curiosity not satisfied yet, Death God?"
Ystevl gazed quietly at Gehrn's frail and eternal form. *Yes, Gehrn of Windwhistle. It is satisfied over and above what I hoped to learn.*
"Then why keep me here! What more can I show you when I die every five minutes!" Gehrn shouted angrily. Spittle flying, eyes rolling, gaze vacating, trees blowing counter, people walking backwards, sitting upright again.
*Welcome back.*
"TELL ME! PLEASE!"
The fire's in Ystevl's eyes dimmed. If he were human he would have been closing his eyes solemnly. *I can't, Gehrn. The pact of immortality, it is binding in ways that I cannot explain to a mortal's comprehension.* His eye-fires brightened up a bit, his face grew lined with remorse. *I did not know I would be unable to undo the pact when the time came, Gehrn. But I cannot.*
"What do you mean you can't?" Gehn scoffed in disbelief. "You FORGED the pact in the first place!"
*As I said, it cannot be explained in ways a mortal would understand. But the pact of immortality is not reversible. Even for me.*
"I don't believe you!"
Ystevl stood from his chair. *I am sorry, Gehrn. I did not know. I truly thought I could simply revoke the pact when the time was right for it. But I cannot. I am sorry.*
The God of Death placed a gaunt hand on Gehrn's frail withered body. *All I can do for you, is visit. Talk. Be a friend to you throughout the eternity you will have.*
"You are not my friend, Death God, you are my torment!" Gehrn yelled, seized, vacated, trees, people, sitting up.
*Welcome back.*
"Fuck you!"
Ystevl, the God of Death, sat back down in his chair. *I will do as I can to be here every time you revive, Gehrn. Give you a familiar face to come back to. It is all I can do for you.*
They sat in silence, no more to be said, as Gehrn waited for his next inevitable seizure. | **Y’all won’t write a story so guess who’s dipping their dirt caked toes into this fountain of inspiration?**
A clock has never ticked with any meaning, nor has its measurements ever felt accurate. What is a second to a man that can never pass through time? I lay in my home, a man of 97, surrounded by those who claim to love me. I see their welled up tears and shaking hands as I have seen them a hundred times before.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” a woman stuttered with wide dewed eyes and a scrunched brow. Strands of her black curls clung to her dark wrinkled skin. Melana, 92, victim of a landslide. I was also a victim, but as fate would have it Melana was the only person there capable of reaching help. She wasn’t my prettiest option, but the women I preferred had all lead to a restart and a waste of whatever I can call my time. Now she grips my hand, uncomfortably, uncontrollably, and endlessly.
Silent sobbing came from various angles of the room. When I had first heard it I felt pride. Now it’s just annoying. The sounds fade, the room fades, and I am met with nothing. My decrepit body floats for a bit in this nothing, pathetically reaching towards a small, growing light.
I feel a gripping, painful- yet familiar- jolt, and the light is gone, only to be replaced by grim faces again. A large man on the left is holding back tears.
“Y-you’ll always be my hero...” that woman muttered, this time sobbing out of sight. A single drop slid down the man’s cheek, before he collapses to the floor. Eten, 33, victim of abuse and murder. His sobbing is the least audible but the strangest looking. Eten was abducted when he was young by slave traders. There’s still a scar on his neck from who he thought was his closest friend. I’d saved Eten and his urchins out of pride and convince- I didn’t think he’d attach himself to me. Yet here he is, proof of my greatness, still too weak and feeble to end my suffering as I ended his.
Another fade, another jolt, yet the same room appears before me. Everything is the same. Everything. This time, I look upwards.
My heart jumps with energy I never knew I had. A little boy is laying on the ceiling, as if it were natural, staring with one eyebrow raised. His arms are folded.
Once again, the woman drones on. “Y-you’ll always be my hero...” The boy shakes his head. I do not recognize this boy.
“We thought you’d learn by now, you know?” he says as he gestures to the people below him. “What it means to be a hero, what it means to care for others...”
I am unable to move but my body is fighting with all my might to run away. I didn’t think I’d ever be this bothered by something new. My gut is screaming at me, as it has every time before I died in terrible ways, that this is incredibly dangerous.
“We forced you to act compassionate. We made you do charity. You’ve helped hundreds of people.” The boy stands, his face about a foot from mine. His blue eyes feel like they are inches away. “It’s such a shame. It’s true that you’ve done so much good- but only because you didn’t want to die. We’ve been trying to kill you, you know, but you’ve still got to atone.”
The boy drops from the ceiling and floats just above my near-lifeless body. For some reason, the world isn’t fading. The boy is the only one moving. “We should feel proud, making one of the most heinous narcissistic monsters our timeline a practical saint, but it’s such a bummer. Why, after all this time, have you not learned a hint of compassion?”
The child ponders for a bit before leaning in close. “This won’t end until you understand. So...” The boy wraps his fingers around my neck. “I suppose we’ll have to start over!”
Edit: lol “goats” opps | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Damn it. I knew I should have thrown away that lamp when I came across it. When the genie first appeared, I thought my greatest wish - immortality - was finally about to be granted. Unfortunately, the genie was bound by a million rules. I couldn't ask to live forever. I couldn't even ask to extend my life. It took me a few days but my smart ass came up with a way to finally get what I wanted. I asked for a 24 hour reset to my life every time it ended. Looking back, I can't fathom my own stupidity. I lived the rest of my life in the most epic and dangerous way possible, knowing that I would always have a second chance. I became a hero of legend, virtually a superhero. But now I lie on my deathbed at 97, dying for the first time and the millionth. My family mourns my imminent passing, not knowing that I have been trying to die my final death for the past 10 years (or 3650 iterations of the same day, to be precise). I regret even touching that lamp all those years ago. If only I knew what a curse immortality would be.
​
Wait a minute. I slapped myself on the forehead. Of course! I can't believe how long it took me to figure it out. I've been doing this all wrong. I've been trying to die permanently, knowing that I specifically wished for a 24 hour reset every time I died. For 10 years, I've just kept re-spawning in relatively the same position in space and time, depending on how long it took me to die in the previous iteration. Then I would try various things so that I could die permanently. Didn't someone once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results? What I need to do is reverse my decision to touch the stupid lamp in the first place.
​
Instead of waiting to die after re-spawning, I just need to kill myself right away. This would bring me another 24 hours back in time, to a total of 48 hours. I just need to keep doing this until I get to the lamp. Genius!
​
I wonder what I'm going to wish for this time... | I knew how the order was going to go...
First would be the jello, then a tiny amount of pudding, and then the cracker. The damn cracker.
Each and every time the nurse would forget the water. The jello would go down first, then the pudding, and once the cracker came the dryness would cause it to get lodged in my throat causing me to choke to death.
Trying to convince the nurse I didn't want the cracker never worked. And the fact she forgot the water is what caused this mess in the first place.
I had tried emphasizing I wanted the water first, but no. Always the damn cracker before she noticed I needed something to wash it down.
I had previously attempted to point at the TV during a Budweiser commercial, but the stupid nurse just glanced at it, said it would be bad for my meds before leaving the room... At which point being off balanced had caused me to fall off my bedpan and hit my head against the wall. At least that time it wasn't the cracker.
Another time I had attempted to change the order - pudding, cracker, jello but it didn't work. That damn nurse was dedicated to the idea that I really needed that lime jello first no matter the circumstances. Bastard.
Eventually I started pissing myself simply at the sight of that cracker. Wholesome wheat & bran goodness my wrinkled ass. More like jagged whole grains of death incarnate.
I'd be telling that nurse to eat shit and die if I could... Instead I'm stuck shitting and dying as soon as she pulls out that cracker.
Maybe it'd be different if I had my dentures, but I can't rewind to the point before the damn nurse had taken them to put them in that strange mix of Alka Seltzer / Gin / Febreeze she calls a cleaning agent.
After a few hundred times I've asked myself why do I keep doing this... Why do I keep resetting time to here where I can't even more, can only communicate in shaking gestures, and literally lay in my own stench & feces.
Eventually I figured it out. It's to finally figure out a way to destroy the Kellogg's company as it's clearly the creation of Satan him-self.
Until then, I'll have to settle with making this devil-spawn nurse live through hell with me. Maybe this time I can at least make the bedpan overflow before she gets here. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It is here, in the painfully ironic twilight of my life, that I wake up once again to face my death. We've met countless times before, death and I, and though I do not have the scars to prove it, the memory of every last breath I've taken remains. I close my eyes and count the slowing beats of my heart. I think as hard as my brain allows in its final moments. I search for a way out as the world around me slips and fades away, a glimmer of hope to be found in the blackness of eternity. And still I open my eyes to the same setting sun, in this half-empty hospital room, hours away from a fate I know I will escape.
How long have I been in this bed, trapped in this fragile shell, nothing but a vestige of the man the world came to hail as the greatest superhero to ever live? They thought I could see the future. They believed I knew anything that was to come. But I was never more than an ordinary man cursed to die and live, only to die again in an uncertain future. Trial and error, the force behind all of humanity's achievements, was the only power I ever had. And not then, and not now, did I learn why or how. I only did with this *gift* what I thought was best. Still, I would be lying if I said I did not doubt myself at every turn, that I never feared that I would one day not wake up again. And yet I continued on this path, until there was no kindness behind my actions. I only wanted to die. I can feel my blood slow down in my veins, my heart can no longer keep me going. I close my eyes again, knowing full well they would soon be open to see this final day go by.
I always felt everyone had the power to change their future, and the only thing preventing them from doing do was the fact that, unlike me, they would eventually die (and remain dead). Sometimes I would come back to see things changed that I had no hand in doing. People and places that were so far away from the situation, untouched by whatever ripples my power caused on the fabric of time and space, somehow missing, or a drastic change in their personalities or locations. Even if I came back in time, people would sometimes choose a different path, one that would change their lives but not mine. Then again, is it really change if they never knew there was another reality so different than the one they experienced? How many realities have I destroyed with this cursed life? How many dreams were denied because I would not stay dead? I find it cruel to be responsible for this, and yet have no way to give my life in penance, no way to stand from my deathbed and make amends to those who are no longer remembered because of my actions. I'm too tired to cry over this, too tired to stay awake. I count the heartbeats away, swallowing my shame as the sun, and this life, disappears into the mountains.
Sometimes I would be visited. Old friends, other heroes who fought alongside me, paying their respect, reminiscing about those days we fought together. Old enemies, villains that know not how many times they have killed me already, telling me how much they wish that they had done so. Sometimes I would spend another final day alone, with my thoughts. But today… today something was different somehow. I held on longer than usual. The day has gone, and night had veiled the world. The moon hid behind clouds thick with rainwater, a flash of lightning in the distance. The hospital had turned quiet, the city outside became still. I could hear nothing but the wind and thunder, and my own steady heart. The door creaked open, and something entered the unlit room. It was but a shadow moving in the darkness, a silhouette I could not focus on, but knew to be there. Weak as I was, I propped myself up and squinted toward it.
“Who goes there?” I spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. My voice came out raspy and strained, almost distant.
I've been looking everywhere for you.
I had met psychics and telepaths many times before, and was used to them speaking into my mind, but this was not at all like that. The words I could hear as if whispered straight into my ear, voiceless but clear.
“Who are you?” I asked. “I don't think we've met before.”
*Oh, but we have. You may not remember, but I know all of your lives, and all of your deaths. I can see them, hear them. And I can take them away.*
I thought I died again when my heart skipped a beat. I sat there, dumbstruck, at what I was sure was a promise of release. I pulled myself together, still feeling the unseen threat the dark stranger brought with him.
“If that's true then you must know you offer the impossible. You wouldn't be the first,” I said with a painful scoff that turned into a fit of coughing. I took a deep breath as I ceased to hack away at my deteriorated lungs, and continued. “Not even I have any power over time.”
*Time is merely a consequence of motion. Everything is bound by it. Every plant and animal, every particle and atom. This Earth and all the worlds beyond its walls. The universe itself is nothing but motion. You cannot travel through it. You can only follow its course, like a river unable avoid the sea. The only thing that is free from it, is the soul. It alone remains unchained, free to cross the threshold and find balance beyond.*
“No such thing,” I said. “I've died enough times to know that souls are nothing but a concept we made up.”
*What is a soul, but a collection of memories and experiences? Information that is reunited through death, separated into life. And my, so much information does your soul possess.*
“I don't know anything anyone else does,” I replied, already done with this specter and it's monologue. One too many in a single lifetime, imagine thousands. “If you're here to kill me, you know it's useless. If you're here to chat, I must ask you to leave. I'm tired and I've been alive too long for comfort. Let me sleep.”
*What if I told you I could take your soul? Yours is wrong. Yours is different. It refuses to return to its origin. It obeys a will of its own and ignores the one that created it. It returns, to you, and it tells you what it would not forget. That's all there is. If you give me your soul, it can't come back, and you will die.*
The words enticed me. “You seem to know more about this power than I do - than anyone does.” I paused, hesitated, then moved on. “What are you? You're not human, that much is clear.”
*I am what I was made into. As real as any other. And here I hold the answer.*
From the shadows a slender, pale hand emerged. Its long fingers looked like bones, on its palm a light glowed dimly. It was white, as white as I always imagined heaven to be, and small and almost round. A crystal, or some sort of rock. There was something inside it, a mist that caught the light shining within. And voices that called me by my real name, a name long forgotten.
“Are you trying to fool me?” I laughed, clearer this time. “What's your angle? You're too interested in my 'soul’ to not have some strange motive.”
*True, but once you're dead… will it matter?*
He had me there. What was there to lose? Worst case scenario, I come back to the loop. Best case, I end up trapped forever, inside a voodoo stone by this whispering devil.
“Alright, then,” I declared. “Do what you will, demon.”
I suddenly felt sleepy, more so than ever before. The light from the stone in the stranger's hand became warm and cozy, like being in a box under the morning sunlight. I closed my eyes, and still I could see its light, feel the peace it brought. I felt a tug inside my mind, like a monkey had crawled on my shoulder and began to unravel the threads of my memory. One by one, each death flowed out of me, all the pain gone in a moment, replaced by nothing at all. A numbness that crawled up and down my body and left me motionless where I lay.
*Let it go. Let it flow back to its source. Allow your soul to leave behind this empty husk and become what it was meant to be.*
The stranger's voice lulled me further to sleep. I did as he said, and before I knew it…
***
The nation is in mourning today. The world's greatest hero passed away last night at the general hospital. At 97 years, most of which were dedicated to the protection of humankind, he has taken his final breath. Join us tonight at the seven o'clock news segment for a special program highlighting his many achievements, in honor of his tireless work towards peace. Good night.
-----------
I guess I'm super late to the party. Sorry this is a bit rushed, too, since I'm in the middle of a family wedding preparations tonight (forgive the grammar and stuff, too, because I've been writing bits between breaks). Done with the excuses. Hope you enjoyed. | Honestly, until this moment, the hardest part about having this superpower was making sure no one knew about it. As far as anyone knew, I just was a master strategist, and a ridiculously good fighter. If anyone knew that going to sleep made a checkpoint I could respawn at if I died, the magic would be gone, and villains could make contingencies that I could not stop.
So, I remained quiet. Only telling one person about this ability, my caretaker after my parents were gunned down. As far as anyone knew, I survived that fateful night in that alley by fluke, that my parents were gunned down, and I got away. The truth is that was not my first encounter with that criminal, but rather my twelfth, and despite all my attempts, I couldn't save my parents.
So I confided in my new guardian what happened, and he helped me become the worlds greatest hero. "The Worlds Greatest Detective", they called me. Honestly, if they knew I just stayed awake long enough to see criminals master plans before killing myself to go stop it, that title would have never been given to me. Hell, people thought my rule of No Killing was because of fear of becoming the criminals. No, it was actually a fear of more people having abilities like mine - if I killed them, then they get another chance at success. Better to avoid that possibility completely than risk it.
The most surprising thing though was how people were never even suspicious. I mean I beat up Superman! Multiple times! A normal human shouldn't be able to do that. What they do not know is that for every victory, there were over 300 failed attempts, after which I had every single action figured out, memorised, and a contingency set up.
Its not like I was completely unstoppable though. I do not know how he figured it out, but Bane could have killed me, instead, he broke my back, leaving me useless for months. Then Darkseid's Omega Beams couldn't figure out how to kill me, so they just sent me hurtling through time instead. Then I lost my memory fighting the Joker, effectively removing me from the fight for justice once again. Jason's death was because the explosion that killed him, knocked me out, preventing me from going back and saving him.
So understandably, I eventually realised that one day I would die of natural causes, and the possibility it would bring towards eternal torment of living out my last day. I started to set up contingencies, hundreds of them, in the hope that one of them would be able to end my abilities and let me die.
The first one was the simplest, and honestly I was depressed when it didn't work. Get the Spectre to kill me. I mean he's God's Wrath, one of the strongest beings in the universe. If anyone could kill me, it would be him. It didn't work. He did remember doing it though, so at least I could have someone working with me, as much as it annoyed him.
So over the next 10 years, I set to work implementing my many different contingencies to cure me of my abilities. None of them worked. It was then that I thought, "If only I hadn't destroyed the Lazarus pits, I could have used one to get more time".
And then it hit me. I dont know why I didn't think of this, but honestly it was the best plan I had. The only plan. I created this message for you Terry. Because I need you to work on a cure for me, while I freeze myself using Victor's tech. If I am cryogenically frozen, I am not dead, and I dont return to the start of the loop. Thank God Spectre remembers everything, because I will need someone to make sure that duplicate ideas aren't attempted. You'll find a complete list of attempts I already made with this message. I wish you luck.
Bruce | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Damn it. I knew I should have thrown away that lamp when I came across it. When the genie first appeared, I thought my greatest wish - immortality - was finally about to be granted. Unfortunately, the genie was bound by a million rules. I couldn't ask to live forever. I couldn't even ask to extend my life. It took me a few days but my smart ass came up with a way to finally get what I wanted. I asked for a 24 hour reset to my life every time it ended. Looking back, I can't fathom my own stupidity. I lived the rest of my life in the most epic and dangerous way possible, knowing that I would always have a second chance. I became a hero of legend, virtually a superhero. But now I lie on my deathbed at 97, dying for the first time and the millionth. My family mourns my imminent passing, not knowing that I have been trying to die my final death for the past 10 years (or 3650 iterations of the same day, to be precise). I regret even touching that lamp all those years ago. If only I knew what a curse immortality would be.
​
Wait a minute. I slapped myself on the forehead. Of course! I can't believe how long it took me to figure it out. I've been doing this all wrong. I've been trying to die permanently, knowing that I specifically wished for a 24 hour reset every time I died. For 10 years, I've just kept re-spawning in relatively the same position in space and time, depending on how long it took me to die in the previous iteration. Then I would try various things so that I could die permanently. Didn't someone once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results? What I need to do is reverse my decision to touch the stupid lamp in the first place.
​
Instead of waiting to die after re-spawning, I just need to kill myself right away. This would bring me another 24 hours back in time, to a total of 48 hours. I just need to keep doing this until I get to the lamp. Genius!
​
I wonder what I'm going to wish for this time... | Honestly, until this moment, the hardest part about having this superpower was making sure no one knew about it. As far as anyone knew, I just was a master strategist, and a ridiculously good fighter. If anyone knew that going to sleep made a checkpoint I could respawn at if I died, the magic would be gone, and villains could make contingencies that I could not stop.
So, I remained quiet. Only telling one person about this ability, my caretaker after my parents were gunned down. As far as anyone knew, I survived that fateful night in that alley by fluke, that my parents were gunned down, and I got away. The truth is that was not my first encounter with that criminal, but rather my twelfth, and despite all my attempts, I couldn't save my parents.
So I confided in my new guardian what happened, and he helped me become the worlds greatest hero. "The Worlds Greatest Detective", they called me. Honestly, if they knew I just stayed awake long enough to see criminals master plans before killing myself to go stop it, that title would have never been given to me. Hell, people thought my rule of No Killing was because of fear of becoming the criminals. No, it was actually a fear of more people having abilities like mine - if I killed them, then they get another chance at success. Better to avoid that possibility completely than risk it.
The most surprising thing though was how people were never even suspicious. I mean I beat up Superman! Multiple times! A normal human shouldn't be able to do that. What they do not know is that for every victory, there were over 300 failed attempts, after which I had every single action figured out, memorised, and a contingency set up.
Its not like I was completely unstoppable though. I do not know how he figured it out, but Bane could have killed me, instead, he broke my back, leaving me useless for months. Then Darkseid's Omega Beams couldn't figure out how to kill me, so they just sent me hurtling through time instead. Then I lost my memory fighting the Joker, effectively removing me from the fight for justice once again. Jason's death was because the explosion that killed him, knocked me out, preventing me from going back and saving him.
So understandably, I eventually realised that one day I would die of natural causes, and the possibility it would bring towards eternal torment of living out my last day. I started to set up contingencies, hundreds of them, in the hope that one of them would be able to end my abilities and let me die.
The first one was the simplest, and honestly I was depressed when it didn't work. Get the Spectre to kill me. I mean he's God's Wrath, one of the strongest beings in the universe. If anyone could kill me, it would be him. It didn't work. He did remember doing it though, so at least I could have someone working with me, as much as it annoyed him.
So over the next 10 years, I set to work implementing my many different contingencies to cure me of my abilities. None of them worked. It was then that I thought, "If only I hadn't destroyed the Lazarus pits, I could have used one to get more time".
And then it hit me. I dont know why I didn't think of this, but honestly it was the best plan I had. The only plan. I created this message for you Terry. Because I need you to work on a cure for me, while I freeze myself using Victor's tech. If I am cryogenically frozen, I am not dead, and I dont return to the start of the loop. Thank God Spectre remembers everything, because I will need someone to make sure that duplicate ideas aren't attempted. You'll find a complete list of attempts I already made with this message. I wish you luck.
Bruce | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | “Aaaaawwwwwwww shit.”
Turning away from the bathroom mirror, George shuffled himself around in a circle, an old wooden cane being the only thing that allowed him even this limited movement.
“MaaaAAAAARRGGEE!” he bellowed, lips puckering due to a lack of dentures. “It happened again!”
From the other room over he heard a creaky old woman’s voice.
“What happened, George?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, trying to walk himself back into the bedroom. “Marge, I died yesterday. Today. Last today, I mean. The today before this.”
“Are you talking about that no-good time-rewinding hocus pocus of yours?” Marge asked. She was rather thick and squat when compared to George’s tall, wiry body, and lying in bed she just looked like a wrinkled old face stuck to a big beach ball hidden under the covers.
“Of course I am!” George picked up his dentures with a shaky hand and stuck them into his gums, chewing slowly. “Remember when I was younger? It’s happening again, with old age, instead of super-spies, or super villains or anything actually cool.”
“Did we try to stop it?” Marge queried, trying to sit up in bed.
“Yes,” sighed George, “five times. First we went to a priest. Then we went to a psychic. Then I pulled up some of my old government contacts and tried to get their help. Then I had NASA shoot me up into space with a rocket in the hopes that THAT would somehow help. As for the very last time, I don’t want to talk about it.”
George shuddered.
“I can still hear that little goat screaming and the chants in the cemetery, all ringing in my ears,” he spoke quietly.
“Ya whaaaat?” Marge yelled, turning in her hearing aids.
“I said I’m tired of living, gall darned it all, Margaret!” George stomped to the dresser and tried to put some pants on. “I thought that immortality would be all right, but that was when I was a young li’l whippersnapper. I thought I’d grow old with grace and dignity. But look at me now!”
He stepped in front of the mirror and snapped his overalls into place, taking in his reflection with disgust and defeat. A five o’clock shadow hung to his sagging chin, which itself was an ashen grey.
He sighed.
“I just ended up turning into a senile, wrinkly, achy old son of a bitch.”
Margaret was up now, pulling a red velvet bathrobe around her. She now looked like a big red fuzzy Christmas ornament.
“So whadda we gonna do?”
George frumpled his mouth, making little angry old man noises. “I’ve tried everything. I can’t think of anybody else we can go to. God, this is awful. It’s like Groundhog’s Day but I’M OLD and EVERYTHING FUCKING SUCKS!”
His legs started shaking underneath him. George stumbled to the side of the bed, collapsing his rear onto the mattress before he fell over. Margaret sat next to him. Her tiny stump legs didn’t even reach the floor.
“George, honey,” she crooned, hugging his arm. “I’m sure we can find a way to kill you yet. I swear, I’ll see you dead, if it’s the last thing I do.”
George gazed down at his wife, feeling a rush of affection.
“Aw, Marge, do you really mean that?”
“Cross my heart, honey,” she promised with a warm smile. “And hope to die.”
George hadn’t been entirely honest when he said that there was NOTHING else to do. There was a small chance that, if George appeared before the one who bestowed his powers upon him in the first place, he could have his power-turned-curse removed. But it seemed impossible. They only had twenty-one hours to reach the other side of the globe before George died and everything reset. But they weren’t deterred. George and Margaret gathered up their things, bundled up in coats, and waddled out to the car.
The jungles of India awaited them.
| Time.
Time is a funny, fickle, and ultimately, cruel thing. It can push you forward, it can slow you down and apparently it can damn you for an eternity for messing with its innards.
The bargain I made was a devilish one, that much was true. I wanted the power to crush my enemies and, if I were ever bested, the chance to avenge myself. I got my wish. I got my wish, I got my power, and I earned my curse. I called it a bargain because at the time I hadn't had to trade anything. I used a potion of wit and believed I had simply outsmarted the god-like creature spirit that dropped this "boon" onto my shoulders. The truth was, the price wasn't gold or items or even my soul.
It was my sanity. Reliving the same day, over and over, did not look good on me - and I wasn't about to lie down and accept it.
All my life, adventuring had been to procure power and glory. Failing never bothered me, as I'd simply toss myself off a cliff or bring a dagger to my throat. Wake up the beginning of the day and that failure didn't repeat itself. I wasn't a paladin and I certainly wasn't a priest. No, I wasn't above doing the dirty work to fulfill my goals.
So from where I'm standing, among the corpses and rough blood-drawn ritual marks, the answer seems simple. My life was going to end, just as the men, women and children in this slum of a frontier village ended. Ending in a slow, last-drawn breath and a pitiful drop into a black ocean? Not the way I intended to go out.
If I had to live to avoid this curse, I was going to live forever. After all, being a lich was like trading one curse for another.
Eternity for a bit of evil? Now THAT'S a bargain. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It is here, in the painfully ironic twilight of my life, that I wake up once again to face my death. We've met countless times before, death and I, and though I do not have the scars to prove it, the memory of every last breath I've taken remains. I close my eyes and count the slowing beats of my heart. I think as hard as my brain allows in its final moments. I search for a way out as the world around me slips and fades away, a glimmer of hope to be found in the blackness of eternity. And still I open my eyes to the same setting sun, in this half-empty hospital room, hours away from a fate I know I will escape.
How long have I been in this bed, trapped in this fragile shell, nothing but a vestige of the man the world came to hail as the greatest superhero to ever live? They thought I could see the future. They believed I knew anything that was to come. But I was never more than an ordinary man cursed to die and live, only to die again in an uncertain future. Trial and error, the force behind all of humanity's achievements, was the only power I ever had. And not then, and not now, did I learn why or how. I only did with this *gift* what I thought was best. Still, I would be lying if I said I did not doubt myself at every turn, that I never feared that I would one day not wake up again. And yet I continued on this path, until there was no kindness behind my actions. I only wanted to die. I can feel my blood slow down in my veins, my heart can no longer keep me going. I close my eyes again, knowing full well they would soon be open to see this final day go by.
I always felt everyone had the power to change their future, and the only thing preventing them from doing do was the fact that, unlike me, they would eventually die (and remain dead). Sometimes I would come back to see things changed that I had no hand in doing. People and places that were so far away from the situation, untouched by whatever ripples my power caused on the fabric of time and space, somehow missing, or a drastic change in their personalities or locations. Even if I came back in time, people would sometimes choose a different path, one that would change their lives but not mine. Then again, is it really change if they never knew there was another reality so different than the one they experienced? How many realities have I destroyed with this cursed life? How many dreams were denied because I would not stay dead? I find it cruel to be responsible for this, and yet have no way to give my life in penance, no way to stand from my deathbed and make amends to those who are no longer remembered because of my actions. I'm too tired to cry over this, too tired to stay awake. I count the heartbeats away, swallowing my shame as the sun, and this life, disappears into the mountains.
Sometimes I would be visited. Old friends, other heroes who fought alongside me, paying their respect, reminiscing about those days we fought together. Old enemies, villains that know not how many times they have killed me already, telling me how much they wish that they had done so. Sometimes I would spend another final day alone, with my thoughts. But today… today something was different somehow. I held on longer than usual. The day has gone, and night had veiled the world. The moon hid behind clouds thick with rainwater, a flash of lightning in the distance. The hospital had turned quiet, the city outside became still. I could hear nothing but the wind and thunder, and my own steady heart. The door creaked open, and something entered the unlit room. It was but a shadow moving in the darkness, a silhouette I could not focus on, but knew to be there. Weak as I was, I propped myself up and squinted toward it.
“Who goes there?” I spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. My voice came out raspy and strained, almost distant.
I've been looking everywhere for you.
I had met psychics and telepaths many times before, and was used to them speaking into my mind, but this was not at all like that. The words I could hear as if whispered straight into my ear, voiceless but clear.
“Who are you?” I asked. “I don't think we've met before.”
*Oh, but we have. You may not remember, but I know all of your lives, and all of your deaths. I can see them, hear them. And I can take them away.*
I thought I died again when my heart skipped a beat. I sat there, dumbstruck, at what I was sure was a promise of release. I pulled myself together, still feeling the unseen threat the dark stranger brought with him.
“If that's true then you must know you offer the impossible. You wouldn't be the first,” I said with a painful scoff that turned into a fit of coughing. I took a deep breath as I ceased to hack away at my deteriorated lungs, and continued. “Not even I have any power over time.”
*Time is merely a consequence of motion. Everything is bound by it. Every plant and animal, every particle and atom. This Earth and all the worlds beyond its walls. The universe itself is nothing but motion. You cannot travel through it. You can only follow its course, like a river unable avoid the sea. The only thing that is free from it, is the soul. It alone remains unchained, free to cross the threshold and find balance beyond.*
“No such thing,” I said. “I've died enough times to know that souls are nothing but a concept we made up.”
*What is a soul, but a collection of memories and experiences? Information that is reunited through death, separated into life. And my, so much information does your soul possess.*
“I don't know anything anyone else does,” I replied, already done with this specter and it's monologue. One too many in a single lifetime, imagine thousands. “If you're here to kill me, you know it's useless. If you're here to chat, I must ask you to leave. I'm tired and I've been alive too long for comfort. Let me sleep.”
*What if I told you I could take your soul? Yours is wrong. Yours is different. It refuses to return to its origin. It obeys a will of its own and ignores the one that created it. It returns, to you, and it tells you what it would not forget. That's all there is. If you give me your soul, it can't come back, and you will die.*
The words enticed me. “You seem to know more about this power than I do - than anyone does.” I paused, hesitated, then moved on. “What are you? You're not human, that much is clear.”
*I am what I was made into. As real as any other. And here I hold the answer.*
From the shadows a slender, pale hand emerged. Its long fingers looked like bones, on its palm a light glowed dimly. It was white, as white as I always imagined heaven to be, and small and almost round. A crystal, or some sort of rock. There was something inside it, a mist that caught the light shining within. And voices that called me by my real name, a name long forgotten.
“Are you trying to fool me?” I laughed, clearer this time. “What's your angle? You're too interested in my 'soul’ to not have some strange motive.”
*True, but once you're dead… will it matter?*
He had me there. What was there to lose? Worst case scenario, I come back to the loop. Best case, I end up trapped forever, inside a voodoo stone by this whispering devil.
“Alright, then,” I declared. “Do what you will, demon.”
I suddenly felt sleepy, more so than ever before. The light from the stone in the stranger's hand became warm and cozy, like being in a box under the morning sunlight. I closed my eyes, and still I could see its light, feel the peace it brought. I felt a tug inside my mind, like a monkey had crawled on my shoulder and began to unravel the threads of my memory. One by one, each death flowed out of me, all the pain gone in a moment, replaced by nothing at all. A numbness that crawled up and down my body and left me motionless where I lay.
*Let it go. Let it flow back to its source. Allow your soul to leave behind this empty husk and become what it was meant to be.*
The stranger's voice lulled me further to sleep. I did as he said, and before I knew it…
***
The nation is in mourning today. The world's greatest hero passed away last night at the general hospital. At 97 years, most of which were dedicated to the protection of humankind, he has taken his final breath. Join us tonight at the seven o'clock news segment for a special program highlighting his many achievements, in honor of his tireless work towards peace. Good night.
-----------
I guess I'm super late to the party. Sorry this is a bit rushed, too, since I'm in the middle of a family wedding preparations tonight (forgive the grammar and stuff, too, because I've been writing bits between breaks). Done with the excuses. Hope you enjoyed. | Time.
Time is a funny, fickle, and ultimately, cruel thing. It can push you forward, it can slow you down and apparently it can damn you for an eternity for messing with its innards.
The bargain I made was a devilish one, that much was true. I wanted the power to crush my enemies and, if I were ever bested, the chance to avenge myself. I got my wish. I got my wish, I got my power, and I earned my curse. I called it a bargain because at the time I hadn't had to trade anything. I used a potion of wit and believed I had simply outsmarted the god-like creature spirit that dropped this "boon" onto my shoulders. The truth was, the price wasn't gold or items or even my soul.
It was my sanity. Reliving the same day, over and over, did not look good on me - and I wasn't about to lie down and accept it.
All my life, adventuring had been to procure power and glory. Failing never bothered me, as I'd simply toss myself off a cliff or bring a dagger to my throat. Wake up the beginning of the day and that failure didn't repeat itself. I wasn't a paladin and I certainly wasn't a priest. No, I wasn't above doing the dirty work to fulfill my goals.
So from where I'm standing, among the corpses and rough blood-drawn ritual marks, the answer seems simple. My life was going to end, just as the men, women and children in this slum of a frontier village ended. Ending in a slow, last-drawn breath and a pitiful drop into a black ocean? Not the way I intended to go out.
If I had to live to avoid this curse, I was going to live forever. After all, being a lich was like trading one curse for another.
Eternity for a bit of evil? Now THAT'S a bargain. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | Damn it. I knew I should have thrown away that lamp when I came across it. When the genie first appeared, I thought my greatest wish - immortality - was finally about to be granted. Unfortunately, the genie was bound by a million rules. I couldn't ask to live forever. I couldn't even ask to extend my life. It took me a few days but my smart ass came up with a way to finally get what I wanted. I asked for a 24 hour reset to my life every time it ended. Looking back, I can't fathom my own stupidity. I lived the rest of my life in the most epic and dangerous way possible, knowing that I would always have a second chance. I became a hero of legend, virtually a superhero. But now I lie on my deathbed at 97, dying for the first time and the millionth. My family mourns my imminent passing, not knowing that I have been trying to die my final death for the past 10 years (or 3650 iterations of the same day, to be precise). I regret even touching that lamp all those years ago. If only I knew what a curse immortality would be.
​
Wait a minute. I slapped myself on the forehead. Of course! I can't believe how long it took me to figure it out. I've been doing this all wrong. I've been trying to die permanently, knowing that I specifically wished for a 24 hour reset every time I died. For 10 years, I've just kept re-spawning in relatively the same position in space and time, depending on how long it took me to die in the previous iteration. Then I would try various things so that I could die permanently. Didn't someone once say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results? What I need to do is reverse my decision to touch the stupid lamp in the first place.
​
Instead of waiting to die after re-spawning, I just need to kill myself right away. This would bring me another 24 hours back in time, to a total of 48 hours. I just need to keep doing this until I get to the lamp. Genius!
​
I wonder what I'm going to wish for this time... | Time.
Time is a funny, fickle, and ultimately, cruel thing. It can push you forward, it can slow you down and apparently it can damn you for an eternity for messing with its innards.
The bargain I made was a devilish one, that much was true. I wanted the power to crush my enemies and, if I were ever bested, the chance to avenge myself. I got my wish. I got my wish, I got my power, and I earned my curse. I called it a bargain because at the time I hadn't had to trade anything. I used a potion of wit and believed I had simply outsmarted the god-like creature spirit that dropped this "boon" onto my shoulders. The truth was, the price wasn't gold or items or even my soul.
It was my sanity. Reliving the same day, over and over, did not look good on me - and I wasn't about to lie down and accept it.
All my life, adventuring had been to procure power and glory. Failing never bothered me, as I'd simply toss myself off a cliff or bring a dagger to my throat. Wake up the beginning of the day and that failure didn't repeat itself. I wasn't a paladin and I certainly wasn't a priest. No, I wasn't above doing the dirty work to fulfill my goals.
So from where I'm standing, among the corpses and rough blood-drawn ritual marks, the answer seems simple. My life was going to end, just as the men, women and children in this slum of a frontier village ended. Ending in a slow, last-drawn breath and a pitiful drop into a black ocean? Not the way I intended to go out.
If I had to live to avoid this curse, I was going to live forever. After all, being a lich was like trading one curse for another.
Eternity for a bit of evil? Now THAT'S a bargain. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. |
The sounds began to leak in, slowly at first, but gradually growing louder until settling into the soft humdrum and mumble of the environment. First, the oxygen concentrator, with the slow and steady inflation and deflation of the pumps that provided air to his old and failing lungs. Once, those lungs were powerful enough to create mighty gusts that blew his enemies off their feet but now… now without the plastic tubing fixed firmly in his nostrils, they were barely strong enough to let him breathe.
His eyes, too, were failing. Having gone from X-Rays, laser beams, and vision that could see through the veil of the underlying universe itself to a fuzzy, cataract-ridden mess which rendered the world a cloudy, yellowing series of blurs.
The rest of the world settled in, and Joe Hailey rose from his bed, joints aching and protesting as he slowly moved his legs, one at a time, to the bed’s side and prepared for the mighty battle that had become basic movement. His walker lay folded against the nightstand, and with an old, gnarled hand, he heaved and strained; rising to his feet, before his body settled into the familiar hunchbacked posture that now defined him. Superspeed has been replaced with a walker-assisted shamble, and his powers of flight had long since abandoned him. There was no more Mighty Mister Hailey, only Old Man Joseph.
Joe shuffled out of his bedroom and began making his way to his study. Photographs of publicity stunts and newspaper clippings hung, framed, on the walls, serving as testament to his career. From the lowly bank robbers to the self-fashioned supervillains, no job was too big or too small for the Mighty Mister Hailey. It had been a good run, including a book he wrote in his seventies shortly after retirement—“Average Joe” wasn’t as popular as “Out In the Open”, an autobiography written by the first openly gay hero, the Nightwatchman, but it had done well enough on its own. Besides, if Joe was being honest with himself, it wasn’t about the recognition anyway. It was about…. Well, it was about a lot of things. The Thrill, at first. And then, probably about halfway through the writing process, reliving the glory days if he was being honest with himself. But as time had moved inexorably forward, and the glory days began to fade from public memory, the book had become more about closure than anything else. It was funny how something like that could change so much with time, without ever changing at all.
Joe laid his hand on the door handle to his study, gently easing the door open. He stood in the doorframe, lost in thought for a moment.
It had been a good book, too, he reflected. A kind of tell-all kind of story, detailing everything from his relationships (both professional and… less professional) to his adventures to his powers. That part had been troublesome. His editor had really pushed him to get into the gritty details of how his abilities worked, but Joe had been adamant. A hero’s abilities were personal. Private. It was one thing to talk about bedroom exploits—practically everyone had sex. That was neither new nor surprising. But not everyone had powers, and explaining them to the general public- writing them down in a book that just anyone could pick up and read, that wasn’t just private, it was a strategic faux pas. Maybe to the general public where a hero got their powers and how those powers worked made for good pulp fiction, but to a hero those kinds of details were immensely private and personal. It was kind of a dark joke amongst those in the industry that the only thing worse than a hero’s end was often their beginning.
Joe coughed, his wracking lungs bringing him out of his memories and back into the present. He began making his way, slowly, to the desk tucked away at the back of the room. Books filled the shelves of looming bookcases which reached from floor to ceiling, like a miniature one-room library. And , like a library, it was divided into sections. On his left were books of facts—medical textbooks, historical records, science manuals, and everything in between. If it was something that was absolutely known to be factual and real, it was catalogued into the “Facts” section, which itself was further divided into appropriate categories. On the right was “Otherworldly”—anything magical, anomalous, or arcane went over here. Spells, potions, incantations. Ancient scrolls and transcriptions of tablets engraved by societies long since lost to time and history lined these shelves, collected over the years on adventures that would make great books themselves. And at the back of the room, tucked against the wall, was his writing desk, flanked on each side by books of a more ambiguous nature. Books that he had a feeling would be useful, but wasn’t sure how or why, and didn’t know how to categorize. These included autobiographies—both his and other heroes’—fairytales, and reference guides in case he had need to seek out a particular newspaper on a given date. The bulk of these shelves were dedicated to the latter, scribbled in an increasingly sloppy and difficult hand as the years wore on. Decades of Joe’s life had been committed to building this room, to collecting these books, and this was it. This was as far as it went.
Joe settled into the large leather-backed chair, reached for his reading glasses, and sought out one of his reference guides. A small rotary phone sat on the desk, and a laptop computer with was tucked away in one of the drawers. The laptop probably made many of his reference guides obsolete, but occasionally he thanked his younger self for having the foresight to write something down. Not everything was online, but between his notes, the Internet, and the phone it was relatively easy to seek out and gain access to any given document he might find important.
Joe’s own past was filled with its fair share of tragedy, but true to form, his ending—if he had one—was potentially more tragic. An array of metaphysical, magical, and superhuman abilities had been his weaponry in his youth, but his real power was the toolkit from which those weapons were built. The real secret to his success, to everything, was the simple, incredible fact that he, the Mighty Joe Hailey, was, in fact, immortal.
Sort of.
He could die, of course. No sense in dodging bullets and avoiding punches if he couldn’t, but when Joe died he came back to life. Starting the day over, like the past and the death it brought was a dream that he was waking up from. The first time it happened, he had been ecstatic. In youthful foolishness he had flaunted his ability—taking no care to avoid traps or exercise patience. Spike pit? Poison arrows? Laser beams? Each one was easy to avoid the second time around, and with an infinite number of second times there was hardly any point in a first time. Even the deaths of friends and loved ones could be washed away with the aide of a gun and a bullet.
Tomorrow Boy. That’s what he called himself back then. No point in hiding it—what’s the worst a bad guy could do with that knowledge? Kill him?
He was young, and he was stupid. It was Doctor Manifesto that had changed that. The first villain to think, “Go for the legs.” The injury still bothered him, even now, many decades later. So did the memory. The Silverlight Specter’s screams. Manifesto’s psychotic laughter. The Longest Night, Joe called it. It was his first, real loss, and it had hit him hard. He spent years trying to find a way to undo that night, and had picked up a few extra perks along the way. That was the beginning of his collection—too many false starts and wrong journeys. Of course, he reinvented himself during this time. Tomorrow Boy was gone, streamlined into the more mature, grounded Midnight Hour. Years he could barely remember for all the drinking he had done. Relying on just a few side perks he’d picked up elsewhere to hide who he really was, so that no one would get the drop on him like that again. So many of his notes from that time read less like references to actual leads and more like the whiny lyrics to that Falling Boy band the kids were listening to these days. It had taken many more years, and many more losses, before he finally accepted that all things had to come to an end.
And that was the real beginning. Mister Mighty was a fresh start for Joe, and the beginning of the healing process. That’s where the book he wrote started—he’d made up a benign backstory for this persona. A farmboy… something about a meteor. It wasn’t important. Mister Mighty was what was important. So much so that as he grew into middle age he lost the mask and transitioned into Mighty Joe, and then, in his silver years, Mister Mighty Hailey.
But that search never stopped. Even after he’d come to accept the fact that he couldn’t bring Specter back, he kept looking. All he did was shift his focus a little bit.
All things needed to come to an end.
\[End of Part 1\]
​
Depending on interest, I may or may not do a part 2. Or edit and revise this version of the concept. | Time.
Time is a funny, fickle, and ultimately, cruel thing. It can push you forward, it can slow you down and apparently it can damn you for an eternity for messing with its innards.
The bargain I made was a devilish one, that much was true. I wanted the power to crush my enemies and, if I were ever bested, the chance to avenge myself. I got my wish. I got my wish, I got my power, and I earned my curse. I called it a bargain because at the time I hadn't had to trade anything. I used a potion of wit and believed I had simply outsmarted the god-like creature spirit that dropped this "boon" onto my shoulders. The truth was, the price wasn't gold or items or even my soul.
It was my sanity. Reliving the same day, over and over, did not look good on me - and I wasn't about to lie down and accept it.
All my life, adventuring had been to procure power and glory. Failing never bothered me, as I'd simply toss myself off a cliff or bring a dagger to my throat. Wake up the beginning of the day and that failure didn't repeat itself. I wasn't a paladin and I certainly wasn't a priest. No, I wasn't above doing the dirty work to fulfill my goals.
So from where I'm standing, among the corpses and rough blood-drawn ritual marks, the answer seems simple. My life was going to end, just as the men, women and children in this slum of a frontier village ended. Ending in a slow, last-drawn breath and a pitiful drop into a black ocean? Not the way I intended to go out.
If I had to live to avoid this curse, I was going to live forever. After all, being a lich was like trading one curse for another.
Eternity for a bit of evil? Now THAT'S a bargain. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | “Aaaaawwwwwwww shit.”
Turning away from the bathroom mirror, George shuffled himself around in a circle, an old wooden cane being the only thing that allowed him even this limited movement.
“MaaaAAAAARRGGEE!” he bellowed, lips puckering due to a lack of dentures. “It happened again!”
From the other room over he heard a creaky old woman’s voice.
“What happened, George?”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered, trying to walk himself back into the bedroom. “Marge, I died yesterday. Today. Last today, I mean. The today before this.”
“Are you talking about that no-good time-rewinding hocus pocus of yours?” Marge asked. She was rather thick and squat when compared to George’s tall, wiry body, and lying in bed she just looked like a wrinkled old face stuck to a big beach ball hidden under the covers.
“Of course I am!” George picked up his dentures with a shaky hand and stuck them into his gums, chewing slowly. “Remember when I was younger? It’s happening again, with old age, instead of super-spies, or super villains or anything actually cool.”
“Did we try to stop it?” Marge queried, trying to sit up in bed.
“Yes,” sighed George, “five times. First we went to a priest. Then we went to a psychic. Then I pulled up some of my old government contacts and tried to get their help. Then I had NASA shoot me up into space with a rocket in the hopes that THAT would somehow help. As for the very last time, I don’t want to talk about it.”
George shuddered.
“I can still hear that little goat screaming and the chants in the cemetery, all ringing in my ears,” he spoke quietly.
“Ya whaaaat?” Marge yelled, turning in her hearing aids.
“I said I’m tired of living, gall darned it all, Margaret!” George stomped to the dresser and tried to put some pants on. “I thought that immortality would be all right, but that was when I was a young li’l whippersnapper. I thought I’d grow old with grace and dignity. But look at me now!”
He stepped in front of the mirror and snapped his overalls into place, taking in his reflection with disgust and defeat. A five o’clock shadow hung to his sagging chin, which itself was an ashen grey.
He sighed.
“I just ended up turning into a senile, wrinkly, achy old son of a bitch.”
Margaret was up now, pulling a red velvet bathrobe around her. She now looked like a big red fuzzy Christmas ornament.
“So whadda we gonna do?”
George frumpled his mouth, making little angry old man noises. “I’ve tried everything. I can’t think of anybody else we can go to. God, this is awful. It’s like Groundhog’s Day but I’M OLD and EVERYTHING FUCKING SUCKS!”
His legs started shaking underneath him. George stumbled to the side of the bed, collapsing his rear onto the mattress before he fell over. Margaret sat next to him. Her tiny stump legs didn’t even reach the floor.
“George, honey,” she crooned, hugging his arm. “I’m sure we can find a way to kill you yet. I swear, I’ll see you dead, if it’s the last thing I do.”
George gazed down at his wife, feeling a rush of affection.
“Aw, Marge, do you really mean that?”
“Cross my heart, honey,” she promised with a warm smile. “And hope to die.”
George hadn’t been entirely honest when he said that there was NOTHING else to do. There was a small chance that, if George appeared before the one who bestowed his powers upon him in the first place, he could have his power-turned-curse removed. But it seemed impossible. They only had twenty-one hours to reach the other side of the globe before George died and everything reset. But they weren’t deterred. George and Margaret gathered up their things, bundled up in coats, and waddled out to the car.
The jungles of India awaited them.
| Eight minutes thirty two seconds. Josh just needed to find a way to inject the compound before his time was up.
Eight years of research and two years constantly reliving his last day alive had pushed him to the breaking point of his sanity but finally he had what he needed.
He rummaged around through the storage room looking for a syringe, it had to be here somewhere.
"There has to be one here for christsake. I won't die again, I'd rather die forever!" He screamed at himself out loud while digging through the cabinet.
"Hey! You there, what are you doing? You're not allowed in here!" a doctor shouted spotting him from across the room in the hall.
Josh pointed the gun he had concealed in his jacket pocket at the doctors head. "Get you're fucking ass in here or I'll blow your goddamn brains out!" he growled at the doctor. "Get me a clean empty syringe that can hold 30mL, and get it now!"
The doctor with a confused terrified look on his face pointed at the storage cabinet next to the medical storage cage. "There in there." he said meekly.
One minute and fifty five seconds.
"Grab it now and give it to me. Move quick you piece of shit!" Josh shouted still aiming the gun.
The doctor approached him carefully with the syringe in hand and gave it to Josh who quickly statched it and began to draw in the compound. He dropped the gun to the floor and turned to the doctor.
"Thank you, I'd explain if I could but I'm out of time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Josh said as he injected the compound into his thigh.
Five seconds. Finally, after hundreds of days he had a cure. Josh could finally be at piece. A smile crept across his face and a tear
down his cheek as he felt the cure moving through his veins. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground and he lost all feeling in his body and the world went white.
No one would know the true extent of Josh's powers, just that he was a man who had saved the world countless times until he grew old and died. | |
[WP] You were once an unbeatable hero. Your secret? Every time you died, time rewound itself for you to alter your future. You are now 97 years of age. Constantly looping over your last day before dying of old age. You have been searching for a way to break this curse for over a decade. | It is here, in the painfully ironic twilight of my life, that I wake up once again to face my death. We've met countless times before, death and I, and though I do not have the scars to prove it, the memory of every last breath I've taken remains. I close my eyes and count the slowing beats of my heart. I think as hard as my brain allows in its final moments. I search for a way out as the world around me slips and fades away, a glimmer of hope to be found in the blackness of eternity. And still I open my eyes to the same setting sun, in this half-empty hospital room, hours away from a fate I know I will escape.
How long have I been in this bed, trapped in this fragile shell, nothing but a vestige of the man the world came to hail as the greatest superhero to ever live? They thought I could see the future. They believed I knew anything that was to come. But I was never more than an ordinary man cursed to die and live, only to die again in an uncertain future. Trial and error, the force behind all of humanity's achievements, was the only power I ever had. And not then, and not now, did I learn why or how. I only did with this *gift* what I thought was best. Still, I would be lying if I said I did not doubt myself at every turn, that I never feared that I would one day not wake up again. And yet I continued on this path, until there was no kindness behind my actions. I only wanted to die. I can feel my blood slow down in my veins, my heart can no longer keep me going. I close my eyes again, knowing full well they would soon be open to see this final day go by.
I always felt everyone had the power to change their future, and the only thing preventing them from doing do was the fact that, unlike me, they would eventually die (and remain dead). Sometimes I would come back to see things changed that I had no hand in doing. People and places that were so far away from the situation, untouched by whatever ripples my power caused on the fabric of time and space, somehow missing, or a drastic change in their personalities or locations. Even if I came back in time, people would sometimes choose a different path, one that would change their lives but not mine. Then again, is it really change if they never knew there was another reality so different than the one they experienced? How many realities have I destroyed with this cursed life? How many dreams were denied because I would not stay dead? I find it cruel to be responsible for this, and yet have no way to give my life in penance, no way to stand from my deathbed and make amends to those who are no longer remembered because of my actions. I'm too tired to cry over this, too tired to stay awake. I count the heartbeats away, swallowing my shame as the sun, and this life, disappears into the mountains.
Sometimes I would be visited. Old friends, other heroes who fought alongside me, paying their respect, reminiscing about those days we fought together. Old enemies, villains that know not how many times they have killed me already, telling me how much they wish that they had done so. Sometimes I would spend another final day alone, with my thoughts. But today… today something was different somehow. I held on longer than usual. The day has gone, and night had veiled the world. The moon hid behind clouds thick with rainwater, a flash of lightning in the distance. The hospital had turned quiet, the city outside became still. I could hear nothing but the wind and thunder, and my own steady heart. The door creaked open, and something entered the unlit room. It was but a shadow moving in the darkness, a silhouette I could not focus on, but knew to be there. Weak as I was, I propped myself up and squinted toward it.
“Who goes there?” I spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. My voice came out raspy and strained, almost distant.
I've been looking everywhere for you.
I had met psychics and telepaths many times before, and was used to them speaking into my mind, but this was not at all like that. The words I could hear as if whispered straight into my ear, voiceless but clear.
“Who are you?” I asked. “I don't think we've met before.”
*Oh, but we have. You may not remember, but I know all of your lives, and all of your deaths. I can see them, hear them. And I can take them away.*
I thought I died again when my heart skipped a beat. I sat there, dumbstruck, at what I was sure was a promise of release. I pulled myself together, still feeling the unseen threat the dark stranger brought with him.
“If that's true then you must know you offer the impossible. You wouldn't be the first,” I said with a painful scoff that turned into a fit of coughing. I took a deep breath as I ceased to hack away at my deteriorated lungs, and continued. “Not even I have any power over time.”
*Time is merely a consequence of motion. Everything is bound by it. Every plant and animal, every particle and atom. This Earth and all the worlds beyond its walls. The universe itself is nothing but motion. You cannot travel through it. You can only follow its course, like a river unable avoid the sea. The only thing that is free from it, is the soul. It alone remains unchained, free to cross the threshold and find balance beyond.*
“No such thing,” I said. “I've died enough times to know that souls are nothing but a concept we made up.”
*What is a soul, but a collection of memories and experiences? Information that is reunited through death, separated into life. And my, so much information does your soul possess.*
“I don't know anything anyone else does,” I replied, already done with this specter and it's monologue. One too many in a single lifetime, imagine thousands. “If you're here to kill me, you know it's useless. If you're here to chat, I must ask you to leave. I'm tired and I've been alive too long for comfort. Let me sleep.”
*What if I told you I could take your soul? Yours is wrong. Yours is different. It refuses to return to its origin. It obeys a will of its own and ignores the one that created it. It returns, to you, and it tells you what it would not forget. That's all there is. If you give me your soul, it can't come back, and you will die.*
The words enticed me. “You seem to know more about this power than I do - than anyone does.” I paused, hesitated, then moved on. “What are you? You're not human, that much is clear.”
*I am what I was made into. As real as any other. And here I hold the answer.*
From the shadows a slender, pale hand emerged. Its long fingers looked like bones, on its palm a light glowed dimly. It was white, as white as I always imagined heaven to be, and small and almost round. A crystal, or some sort of rock. There was something inside it, a mist that caught the light shining within. And voices that called me by my real name, a name long forgotten.
“Are you trying to fool me?” I laughed, clearer this time. “What's your angle? You're too interested in my 'soul’ to not have some strange motive.”
*True, but once you're dead… will it matter?*
He had me there. What was there to lose? Worst case scenario, I come back to the loop. Best case, I end up trapped forever, inside a voodoo stone by this whispering devil.
“Alright, then,” I declared. “Do what you will, demon.”
I suddenly felt sleepy, more so than ever before. The light from the stone in the stranger's hand became warm and cozy, like being in a box under the morning sunlight. I closed my eyes, and still I could see its light, feel the peace it brought. I felt a tug inside my mind, like a monkey had crawled on my shoulder and began to unravel the threads of my memory. One by one, each death flowed out of me, all the pain gone in a moment, replaced by nothing at all. A numbness that crawled up and down my body and left me motionless where I lay.
*Let it go. Let it flow back to its source. Allow your soul to leave behind this empty husk and become what it was meant to be.*
The stranger's voice lulled me further to sleep. I did as he said, and before I knew it…
***
The nation is in mourning today. The world's greatest hero passed away last night at the general hospital. At 97 years, most of which were dedicated to the protection of humankind, he has taken his final breath. Join us tonight at the seven o'clock news segment for a special program highlighting his many achievements, in honor of his tireless work towards peace. Good night.
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I guess I'm super late to the party. Sorry this is a bit rushed, too, since I'm in the middle of a family wedding preparations tonight (forgive the grammar and stuff, too, because I've been writing bits between breaks). Done with the excuses. Hope you enjoyed. | Eight minutes thirty two seconds. Josh just needed to find a way to inject the compound before his time was up.
Eight years of research and two years constantly reliving his last day alive had pushed him to the breaking point of his sanity but finally he had what he needed.
He rummaged around through the storage room looking for a syringe, it had to be here somewhere.
"There has to be one here for christsake. I won't die again, I'd rather die forever!" He screamed at himself out loud while digging through the cabinet.
"Hey! You there, what are you doing? You're not allowed in here!" a doctor shouted spotting him from across the room in the hall.
Josh pointed the gun he had concealed in his jacket pocket at the doctors head. "Get you're fucking ass in here or I'll blow your goddamn brains out!" he growled at the doctor. "Get me a clean empty syringe that can hold 30mL, and get it now!"
The doctor with a confused terrified look on his face pointed at the storage cabinet next to the medical storage cage. "There in there." he said meekly.
One minute and fifty five seconds.
"Grab it now and give it to me. Move quick you piece of shit!" Josh shouted still aiming the gun.
The doctor approached him carefully with the syringe in hand and gave it to Josh who quickly statched it and began to draw in the compound. He dropped the gun to the floor and turned to the doctor.
"Thank you, I'd explain if I could but I'm out of time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart." Josh said as he injected the compound into his thigh.
Five seconds. Finally, after hundreds of days he had a cure. Josh could finally be at piece. A smile crept across his face and a tear
down his cheek as he felt the cure moving through his veins. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell to the ground and he lost all feeling in his body and the world went white.
No one would know the true extent of Josh's powers, just that he was a man who had saved the world countless times until he grew old and died. |
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