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[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... | 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.
-----------
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. | 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. | |
[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... | 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. | |
[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... | “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.
| |
[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... | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | 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 | |
[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." | 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 | |
[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. | 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 | |
[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. | 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. | |
[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. | “He’s not talking.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Grandpa!”
“It’s just his time to go.”
“But he’s still breathing why isn’t he doing anything?”
I could hear my family around me, worried, scared, they don’t want to lose me. More importantly, they want me to say bye.
But right now I’m thinking.
When I first took this power on, I thought it was great. Essentially unbeatable? Hell yea! I was world renowned for how “great” I was as Power Man.
I guess I didn’t think things through.
I’ve beaten many foes in my life through trial and error, through perseverance and hard work.
But I don’t want to beat Cancer.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been through this. It has to be years at this point. I’ve tried everything.
I was ready to die. I am ready to die.
At first I tried different ways of causing it. I let it play out normally. I tried suicide thinking maybe I had to defeat myself. I convinced family members to do it. The doctor did it. Hell, I managed to jump out a window a few times.
Then I thought maybe it was something “spiritual “.
I laid out all my regrets, my secrets and my identity to my family.
I told them Jane was my favorite daughter. That one hurt.
I got them all to hate me thinking I had to lose them.
Nothing.
Works.
In the past, I was always brought back when I was defeated so I could defeat my defeater.
Wait a minute.
Wait wait wait.
When I was defeated.....
....defeated.....
Maybe that’s what this is.
I’m not dying of natural causes. I’m dying because I got cancer from one of my enemies. Now they’ve “defeated” me and so it’s bringing me back.
But who have I defeated that’s still around? There’s only two I can think of:
Vullbull and Christened.
I’m out of other ideas at this point.
I open my eyes and ask Jane for her phone.
They’re all shocked I’m moving. I forgot that I’d been acting senile for the last however-many iterations I’ve been through.
They keep trying to talk to me, I just want the phone. They ask me whats wrong. They’re all talking at once. I yell for a phone.
God dammit. That yell did it. Here I go again.
Next time.
| "Fuck
Fuck
Fuck"
And so on and so forth. This was all my old brain was capable of thinking.
When I took the deal I never thought about this. In case anyone ever offers you immortality in exchange for 1/762.68ths of your soul, don't take it.
Immortality fucking sucks. Everyone goes away but you just keep on living until everything becomes dull and painful.
It's not that I can't die, just that if I do die, time decides it isn't time yet. Not cool. Consent is sexy.
By now I've tried 783.5 ways to kill myself.
The last .5 is because the last method I was trying wa-
________________
And I'm back again.
Fuck
In case you were wondering what happened, I just died. Again.
This is utter shit. I'm so pissed, I've forgotten happiness completely. Last week(that would be today for you, in fact, it never happened in this replay), my son called me to check up on me.
"So, dad, how's it going?"
"Im all good, what about you?"
"I'm good as well dad."
"Why'd you call me, is everything okay?"
"Yes dad, it's just that it's been a month since I last checked on you, just wanted to say sorry, I've been busy. But it would be different for you, right?"
"It's all right. And yes, you last called me today."
"Oh I'm sorry to hear that."
And then we talked some more about the butterfly effect.
You see I do certain things different every replay. (That's what I call it when time rewinds for me.) So that, one replay, due to the butterfly effect, I can get a chance meeting with Lucifer Smith (The guy who made me this offer.)
Slim chances, I know. But I've got the rest of my life to figure it out. And then some.
Well, the phone's ringing again.
______________
It was my son. Oh shit, I'm so excited. He just told me that he finally found Lucifer. I've memorized his address. My time has come, but tomorrow (Today for you) I can finally die in peace.
______________
He's ended the contract! He took 1/630th of my soul, but it's worth it.
I'm calling my son right now!!!!!!
This is the last time I'll ever talk to him....
The last time...
I have to tell him I love him...
He isn't picking up his phone...
Oh fuck.
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
Fuuuufhwodjc
..... Press enter to send.
_________________
| |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "How long can I take to decide?" I asked. The Almighty looked at me with loving eyes and said "as long as you'd like." "With one condition," he added, " you can't enter the kingdom of heaven until you decide." I was suspicious of the whole thing, "why do this at all? Don't you already know what I'll pick?" At that point He explained that this was part of a bet he and Satan had, neither would influence my decision, read my mind, or look into the future to see what the consequences would be of this; I was given the rarest of opportunities to undo one decision made throughout all of existence by anyone, anywhere, anywhen. As soon as I found out neither the Devil nor God knew what I would change what decision I'd undo; but unfortunately I had to hide the reveal.
God was nice enough about it, when I explained that I wanted to take a few years to think it over(it **was** a big decision after all) he gave me a bench and told me to take all the time I needed. So I sat there like a celestial Forrest Gump, waiting for the right moment and chatting with the recently deceased on their way to the pearly gates. I saw victims of the worst things imaginable stroll by, I heard news of wars and famines, and got to meet all my favorite celebrities in the process. Unfortunately I stopped recognizing the celebrities very quickly. After a few thousand years they all blurred into an endless sea of faces.
Then one day there was an explosion of people, there were thousands of times more people in the line than normal. I couldn't help myself, I immediately started laughing maniacally when I figured out what was going on. The rapture had just happened, which meant I was in the home stretch. I sat on my bench for the next 7 years and watched Armageddon happen via the people approached Saint Peter...it was a very boring way to watch a war between the Almighty and Satan, but it was the only way I could.
Finally, after Armageddon ended, God approached me with the Devil shackled up behind him. God said, "you've had much longer than expected, you need to give us your decision before I cast the Morning Star into the lake of fire." I laughed so hard I couldn't speak for a moment, but finally composed myself long enough to say "I want to undo your decision to create the universe." Just like that, everything everyone(especially God and Satan) ever fought over, struggled for, or cared about never happened or existed. | Tonight was very special. As I was scrolling through Reddit before going to bed, I died. No pain, no warning, no fruition, just a quick and easy death. There are many theories on what happens to you after you die, but I wasn't surprised when I found myself in a court room in front of Judge God. When he told me that I was exactly the 100 Billionth person to die which gave me the opportunity to undo a single decision in my life, I smiled from ear to ear. This was the easiest choice I could ever make and yes, of course it was about love.
​
My sophomore year of college started out with a bang as I met the woman of my dreams: Code Name. She was in my Creative Writing class and we immediately hit it off. Before you know it, I was over at her house reading her writing, making out on the couch, and listening to Rod Stewart. I had it all and I didn't realize it. Her smile was contagious and her eyes had a way of looking right through me. My heart melted just being with her. I was in love
​
I don't know what happened and I will always remember this me as the biggest douche to ever walk the planet, but the day after winter break ended I decided to just forget about her. I wouldn't look at her, I wouldn't talk to her, I moved and sat on the other side of the classroom. I don't know why. She was devastated and I didn't give a fuck. I acted like I was better, but realistically the idea of commitment shook me to the core. Looking back, I have never regretted anything more. Luckily, after a month or so she was able to move on too, even found another guy. And as any movie or proverb would have it, that is when it hit me. For the rest of the year I went into a depression. Beat myself up everyday about not only losing her, but being such a head ass in the process. I tried so many times to work up the courage to talk to her or try and get her back, I even wrote an immaculate letter confessing my love. But I was always too scared to even start a conversation with her. I felt like the evilist villain that was not wanted anymore, and it was deserved. I haven't seen her in six months because she has been studying abroad, but I will probably see her pretty soon. I don't know what I am going to do yet. I think I'm still in love, but honestly have no idea.
​
If I could undo one thing, I would stay with Code Name until the end of time, until I die. Which actually already happened. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | (typing while walking. please excuse typos)
"Next!" Hades doesn't bother looking up. At this point he was used to the "OMG! <Insert religion> was wrong" cries of surprise and just wanted to do his job and retire for the day.
Something caught his eye though. He knew it was close - but didn't realise he'd hit it this soon.
He freezes time, just to be sure, and checks, double checks the count, and smiles. He's done this a few times before and always wondered how much amusement it gave him to break out of rote and have a proper conversation with a sentient being.
The man, correction, kid, before him appeared bedraggled, shell shocked, with a few bullet wounds through his thigh. Not the first he'd seen recently - Yemen was the one place the other side of the Styx he'd rather not be in.
He nods. The kid unfreezes mid-stride, stumbling a bit when unfrozen, but managing to catch himself.
"Congratulations Abdal, you're the ten billionth human being to die."
_-Billion?_
Yes. It's a very large number kid. A very large number.
_-So many people died?_
Hades paused. He didn't want to go into how it wasn't expected till next year, and how Yemen and China has massively accelerated the rate of death to hit that mark toward the fag end of 2018. Even if recently deceased, he was still a kid.
"Yes. But they're all in a good place now"
_- And my mum?_
She's not yet dead kiddo. Not till 15 days later.
_- I want my mum_
Your grandparents are here. As are your brothers and father.
_- I miss my mum. She keeps me safe_
Not safe enough this time. But then no one knew where the shells would land.
"Listen kiddo. If it makes it any better, you being the ten billionth gives you a wish. Any wish except to get someone here ahead of their time"
_I want to undie and go back to my mum_
Not the first time he'd faced this wish.
"I'm afraid I can't do that kiddo"
He could. He'd done it before. But not on billion counts. It rolls the count back and there would be mathematical inconsistencies. like if the next person would be given a wish... or the next billionth... It also meant he wouldn't be the ten billionth... And that meant the wish wouldn't take place.
_-Well, that's my wish. I wanna undie and go back to my mum_
He kept arguing away - he'd broken down the previous billionths to another wish before. But this was the first time with an adamant kid.
Hades sighed and put down his stylus. He got up and went around to the kid and cuddled him, comforting the sobbing blathering mess he was. He was thankful he'd frozen time, as the queue remained static as he cajoled and reasoned with him and tried to get another wish. Finally, he called out to Zeus and Jupiter and the other pantheon heads.
And that's as how the pantheon found out that there was nothing quite as immovable as a kid that missed his mum.
And so the Yemen war ended, as did the human record of time. In a time frozen stalemate across the Styx brought on by a kid who'd been horribly murdered by religious zealots and power mongers. A kid that wanted his mum | Tonight was very special. As I was scrolling through Reddit before going to bed, I died. No pain, no warning, no fruition, just a quick and easy death. There are many theories on what happens to you after you die, but I wasn't surprised when I found myself in a court room in front of Judge God. When he told me that I was exactly the 100 Billionth person to die which gave me the opportunity to undo a single decision in my life, I smiled from ear to ear. This was the easiest choice I could ever make and yes, of course it was about love.
&#x200B;
My sophomore year of college started out with a bang as I met the woman of my dreams: Code Name. She was in my Creative Writing class and we immediately hit it off. Before you know it, I was over at her house reading her writing, making out on the couch, and listening to Rod Stewart. I had it all and I didn't realize it. Her smile was contagious and her eyes had a way of looking right through me. My heart melted just being with her. I was in love
&#x200B;
I don't know what happened and I will always remember this me as the biggest douche to ever walk the planet, but the day after winter break ended I decided to just forget about her. I wouldn't look at her, I wouldn't talk to her, I moved and sat on the other side of the classroom. I don't know why. She was devastated and I didn't give a fuck. I acted like I was better, but realistically the idea of commitment shook me to the core. Looking back, I have never regretted anything more. Luckily, after a month or so she was able to move on too, even found another guy. And as any movie or proverb would have it, that is when it hit me. For the rest of the year I went into a depression. Beat myself up everyday about not only losing her, but being such a head ass in the process. I tried so many times to work up the courage to talk to her or try and get her back, I even wrote an immaculate letter confessing my love. But I was always too scared to even start a conversation with her. I felt like the evilist villain that was not wanted anymore, and it was deserved. I haven't seen her in six months because she has been studying abroad, but I will probably see her pretty soon. I don't know what I am going to do yet. I think I'm still in love, but honestly have no idea.
&#x200B;
If I could undo one thing, I would stay with Code Name until the end of time, until I die. Which actually already happened. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | **You are the 100 billionth to die. You may undo any single decision**
“Yes! I—“
**BUT I will inform you that you have already had your decision to undo your decision on what to undo has already repeated until by some miracle, enough quantum uncertainties piled together to make you change your decision.**
“Then I—“
**You also undid ‘the decision to take this request literally instead of by intent of the wisher’ and ‘The ‘decision to limit the definition of decisions to actions taken by entities’’**
At this point I started nodding my head, knowing what would come next, but saying nothing in case I was wrong.
**Followed by undoing ‘the decision to make the events leading to your death as the 100 billionth person non-deterministic’ I complemented the wording after undoing ‘the decision to have the avatar of death have no personality’, a choice which has me in constant torment during our many sessions by the way.**
Oof. I felt a little bad.
**Yes, but you’re still too amused to change it back. Anyhow, you’ve got ‘the decision to not include previously undone decisions as part of the introductory sequence’, which is why I am doing all of this and ‘the decision which makes the avatar of death capable of lying’, but don’t worry, you also have ‘the decision to have ‘you’ go as any title other than ‘avatar of death’’—**
“Alright, I’ll cut to the chase for this round, ‘the decision to call ‘undoing decisions’ to be referred to as wishes when referring to decisions chosen in the past. That’ll help out the next version of me get a grasp on things I think.”
**Of course, another minor quality of life improvement for you....**
“See you soon!”
**I wish I could undo the decision to let this reward exist** | Tonight was very special. As I was scrolling through Reddit before going to bed, I died. No pain, no warning, no fruition, just a quick and easy death. There are many theories on what happens to you after you die, but I wasn't surprised when I found myself in a court room in front of Judge God. When he told me that I was exactly the 100 Billionth person to die which gave me the opportunity to undo a single decision in my life, I smiled from ear to ear. This was the easiest choice I could ever make and yes, of course it was about love.
&#x200B;
My sophomore year of college started out with a bang as I met the woman of my dreams: Code Name. She was in my Creative Writing class and we immediately hit it off. Before you know it, I was over at her house reading her writing, making out on the couch, and listening to Rod Stewart. I had it all and I didn't realize it. Her smile was contagious and her eyes had a way of looking right through me. My heart melted just being with her. I was in love
&#x200B;
I don't know what happened and I will always remember this me as the biggest douche to ever walk the planet, but the day after winter break ended I decided to just forget about her. I wouldn't look at her, I wouldn't talk to her, I moved and sat on the other side of the classroom. I don't know why. She was devastated and I didn't give a fuck. I acted like I was better, but realistically the idea of commitment shook me to the core. Looking back, I have never regretted anything more. Luckily, after a month or so she was able to move on too, even found another guy. And as any movie or proverb would have it, that is when it hit me. For the rest of the year I went into a depression. Beat myself up everyday about not only losing her, but being such a head ass in the process. I tried so many times to work up the courage to talk to her or try and get her back, I even wrote an immaculate letter confessing my love. But I was always too scared to even start a conversation with her. I felt like the evilist villain that was not wanted anymore, and it was deserved. I haven't seen her in six months because she has been studying abroad, but I will probably see her pretty soon. I don't know what I am going to do yet. I think I'm still in love, but honestly have no idea.
&#x200B;
If I could undo one thing, I would stay with Code Name until the end of time, until I die. Which actually already happened. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | The light was blinding. I didn't expect anything but darkness. Slowly details come into view. One, two, no it has to be a dozen of them. I can only describe them as blindingly white and perfectly round. There's a man here too, no not a man, he looks human, but I can feel he is not the same as me.
&#x200B;
"Hello, my name is Peter. Do you know where you are?"
&#x200B;
"Yes."
&#x200B;
"That's good. I am going to ask you a question, its okay if you don't fully understand right away, but please just trust me and answer with your heart."
&#x200B;
"Okay."
&#x200B;
"If you could change any single decision, what would it be?"
&#x200B;
"I wish she said no"
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
I'm not exactly sure whats going on. It's the first day of the school year and theres a sub in this class. What sort of teacher misses the first day of school? The sub's name is Mr. Smart, pretty dumb name if you ask me.
&#x200B;
He talks to us casually for a few minutes, then asks us some math questions. I guess thats pretty appropriate, this is an algebra class after all. I quickly realize that the students in this class are either unwilling or unable to answer the questions. It wasn't that hard to see really, there was only about two or three of us really trying.
&#x200B;
The sub abandoned trying to teach about halfway through the class, I don't blame him really. Still I wonder if he just doesn't care or if its just because its the first day of the year. Either way its nice that we can sit around and just talk.
&#x200B;
Megan was sitting in front of me, she turned around and then motioned to her right. "Hey Brent, this is my friend Julie."
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
I can't stop thinking about her. It's been almost a year since we met. I need to make a move. Stop being such an idiot, just ask her out.
&#x200B;
So I planned it all out. I had saved all the little notes we passed to each other between classes, almost a shoe box full at this point. I bought a bouquet of red tipped fringed tulips. Tomorrow is the 16th. Exactly one year after we first met.
&#x200B;
Her house was farther from the school then mine. It had become almost habit for the two of us to stop at my place for an hour or so before she left to go home. This is my chance. She sat down on the couch and I grabbed the shoe box and flowers.
&#x200B;
"Julie, will you go out with me?"
&#x200B;
She sat there motionless, completely quiet. It felt like an eternity.
&#x200B;
"No."
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
"Peter? PETER???"
&#x200B;
"Yes? I am right here."
&#x200B;
"Why can't I remember her? What did you do?"
&#x200B;
"I did exactly what you asked. I made her say no."
&#x200B;
"I... I don't understand, why am I here?" I fell to my knees and pleaded with him. "Please, explain to me what happened."
&#x200B;
"Ten years ago you and Julie got married. You were happy, for a time. Eventually neither of you were happy anymore. You became severely depressed. You threw your life away and slowly started dragging Julie down with you. She became fed up, and she divorced you. This caused you to become even worse, and eventually you committed suicide."
&#x200B;
"But... if she said no then why am I still here?"
&#x200B;
"Your decisions were not changed. You still became depressed. You still pulled the trigger."
&#x200B;
"And Julie?"
&#x200B;
"She went on to live the life you wanted her to have."
&#x200B;
====================
&#x200B;
This is just a story I wanted to tell. I don't need or ask for feedback. If you read this far Thank you. | Tonight was very special. As I was scrolling through Reddit before going to bed, I died. No pain, no warning, no fruition, just a quick and easy death. There are many theories on what happens to you after you die, but I wasn't surprised when I found myself in a court room in front of Judge God. When he told me that I was exactly the 100 Billionth person to die which gave me the opportunity to undo a single decision in my life, I smiled from ear to ear. This was the easiest choice I could ever make and yes, of course it was about love.
&#x200B;
My sophomore year of college started out with a bang as I met the woman of my dreams: Code Name. She was in my Creative Writing class and we immediately hit it off. Before you know it, I was over at her house reading her writing, making out on the couch, and listening to Rod Stewart. I had it all and I didn't realize it. Her smile was contagious and her eyes had a way of looking right through me. My heart melted just being with her. I was in love
&#x200B;
I don't know what happened and I will always remember this me as the biggest douche to ever walk the planet, but the day after winter break ended I decided to just forget about her. I wouldn't look at her, I wouldn't talk to her, I moved and sat on the other side of the classroom. I don't know why. She was devastated and I didn't give a fuck. I acted like I was better, but realistically the idea of commitment shook me to the core. Looking back, I have never regretted anything more. Luckily, after a month or so she was able to move on too, even found another guy. And as any movie or proverb would have it, that is when it hit me. For the rest of the year I went into a depression. Beat myself up everyday about not only losing her, but being such a head ass in the process. I tried so many times to work up the courage to talk to her or try and get her back, I even wrote an immaculate letter confessing my love. But I was always too scared to even start a conversation with her. I felt like the evilist villain that was not wanted anymore, and it was deserved. I haven't seen her in six months because she has been studying abroad, but I will probably see her pretty soon. I don't know what I am going to do yet. I think I'm still in love, but honestly have no idea.
&#x200B;
If I could undo one thing, I would stay with Code Name until the end of time, until I die. Which actually already happened. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Welcome” Said a voice
All I could see was a bright light and a figure of a person in front of me.
“I am sorry to inform you, Jacob, but you have passed on at the tender age of 20”
I feel my head tilt downward as I feel sadness and disappointment for what my life could’ve been. I never been a bad person but I have never been a good one either. I have no regrets nor do I have any proud moments of my life. I studied to be a doctor and I was 2 years into my undergrad yet… it was all gone”
“I understand the pain and confusion you must feel, but my child I just ask that you answer me” said the tranquil mysterious voice
I tilted my head back up and listened even though my sight was still very much impaired.
“100 billion of my creations have died, I feel great pain right now as I have no way to stop their deaths, All though my power is limited I am still able to undo any single decision you have made. You may be young but I have seen some things that have always troubled you. Do you wish to undo them?”
I never really did anything bad but I have a feeling this person is referring to my decisions to leave my family when I was 18 to pursue my education. We lived on a small farm and life was simple yet I felt the needed to achieve something more. Man greed is really a sin I guess. Although I didn't do it for myself I wanted to help more people. I wanted to heal the world so they never felt pain again. I wanted to be there but…. It is too late. He is right though, I did regret leaving, but not because I did not enjoy my education but I missed my family. I loved them more than anything, so much so, I pursued medicine for my Grandfather. He passed away due to a long battle with cancer. He called me all the time and we would always talk. I miss his voice it was so soothing….
I begin tearing as I think of my grandpa more
As my studies became more intense me and my grandfathers talks became less frequent and we did not talk. He left a lot of text messages that were always misspelled because he did not know how to use his phone, and he also left a lot of voicemails in his broken english that always made me cry.
“JACOBBB, I miss you so much why you no love me, I haven’t talked to you in so long I hope you do become a doctor one day, My medical bills will be minus money! You better be a doctor before I die”
He would say minus money all the time because he did not know the word “less”. He also had a pretty dark sense of humor but I loved it sometimes. He always talked about how his dark jokes always made me laugh when I was a kid, and would always say that his jokes would be the death of me.
I would always play back all his old voicemails and read his old dark text just to get a good laugh. I would sometimes even pop it in my bluetooth radio before I drove to school and just listen. I know it is weird but hey I missed him a lot. His text would always have me laughing on a car ride home but sometimes they would put me in the worst mood. That question alone will always make my heart sink.
“Why you no Love Me?”
I wish he saw how much I would cry in the car when I read a text, I really do. I know I said it made me laugh sometimes but other times I would break apart.
*A sudden realization came over me*
“Wait!” I said, with a befuddled look on my face only visible through people who could see through the insane bright light in my area.
“ Can I ask you a question?”
“You may ask” said the bright figure
“Can I ask how exactly did I die so young, I mean I ran everyday, ate well, I was in good shape, and had no diseases, How is it I passed away so young?”
The figure paused and did not say anything for about a minute or two
“ I am not allowed to tell you as, telling you would result in your rebirth and that is something I have done only to my son, or whatever you believe”
I stand stunned As I process what this figure just told me.
“Wait, did you just say that?”
“Say What, Jacob?”
“You just told me , “Or Whatever you believe”
“Yep I did”
“Seeing as I am dead can you at least tell me what the right religion is so I can actually know you and follow your teachings?”
“Nah that is too easy”
I pause as I feel as a bullet has entered my mind “Being that I have christian beliefs would that be the right religion?”
“I am not saying it is or it isn't” If I could see his face I feel like he would be grinning right now
“THEN WHAT IS IT THEN, CHRISTIANITY, ISLAM, BUDDHISM, WHATT!!!”
“ I am getting impatient you have a wish now, what is that you seek?” Said the figure with ire
I angrily recalculate what I was thinking before this very thought provoking argument with a figure I can’t see. Lets see, if my grandpa sent text messages and voicemails that I would read and listen too while driving, it is possibly safe to assume that I died texting while driving. If I reverse that day maybe I will be brought back to life.
I begin laughing a little bit as I realized how he was right.
“May I ask what is so funny?”
“He may have been right about his jokes being the death of me, His jokes killed me but they may save me as well”
“ What is it that you wish to reverse Jacob?”
I nervously uttered the words “ I wish I never read my grandpas old messages while driving on the day of my death.”
The figure did not talk for about 5 minutes,
“Damn well I guess I died another way well look at the bright side, you seem pretty cool and I think I am in some type of heav……”
Darkness erupted, it was quiet and I did not even hear a single peep for around 10 minutes. I see a light and I go towards it. As I run to the light everything begins emerging around me. From trees, to houses to even the river I drive over every morning on my way to school. I begin feeling something on my hand and over my chest. I think I am in a vehicle of some kind. I hear it and begin crying,
“Poopy-di,scoop,Scoop-diddy-whoop,Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop,Poop-di-scoopty,Scoopty-whoop, Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop,Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop,Poop, poop”
It was Kanye west song lift yourself I knew it was from my ipod because no one else listens to that dumbass but me. My visions blurry but I see a car in front of me and I break really hard. This must have been the scene that killed me, holy fuck I am alive again!!!!
I began singing along to the song.
“LIFT YOURSELF UP RIGHT ON YOUR FEET”
I was dancing and laughing. I saw my phone on the cupholder right next to me. I threw it to the back and continued driving. I love you Grandpa but I think I am gonna prove you wrong this time.
(This is my first prompt I honestly appreciate any feedback, I wanna write better) | Tonight was very special. As I was scrolling through Reddit before going to bed, I died. No pain, no warning, no fruition, just a quick and easy death. There are many theories on what happens to you after you die, but I wasn't surprised when I found myself in a court room in front of Judge God. When he told me that I was exactly the 100 Billionth person to die which gave me the opportunity to undo a single decision in my life, I smiled from ear to ear. This was the easiest choice I could ever make and yes, of course it was about love.
&#x200B;
My sophomore year of college started out with a bang as I met the woman of my dreams: Code Name. She was in my Creative Writing class and we immediately hit it off. Before you know it, I was over at her house reading her writing, making out on the couch, and listening to Rod Stewart. I had it all and I didn't realize it. Her smile was contagious and her eyes had a way of looking right through me. My heart melted just being with her. I was in love
&#x200B;
I don't know what happened and I will always remember this me as the biggest douche to ever walk the planet, but the day after winter break ended I decided to just forget about her. I wouldn't look at her, I wouldn't talk to her, I moved and sat on the other side of the classroom. I don't know why. She was devastated and I didn't give a fuck. I acted like I was better, but realistically the idea of commitment shook me to the core. Looking back, I have never regretted anything more. Luckily, after a month or so she was able to move on too, even found another guy. And as any movie or proverb would have it, that is when it hit me. For the rest of the year I went into a depression. Beat myself up everyday about not only losing her, but being such a head ass in the process. I tried so many times to work up the courage to talk to her or try and get her back, I even wrote an immaculate letter confessing my love. But I was always too scared to even start a conversation with her. I felt like the evilist villain that was not wanted anymore, and it was deserved. I haven't seen her in six months because she has been studying abroad, but I will probably see her pretty soon. I don't know what I am going to do yet. I think I'm still in love, but honestly have no idea.
&#x200B;
If I could undo one thing, I would stay with Code Name until the end of time, until I die. Which actually already happened. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "How long can I take to decide?" I asked. The Almighty looked at me with loving eyes and said "as long as you'd like." "With one condition," he added, " you can't enter the kingdom of heaven until you decide." I was suspicious of the whole thing, "why do this at all? Don't you already know what I'll pick?" At that point He explained that this was part of a bet he and Satan had, neither would influence my decision, read my mind, or look into the future to see what the consequences would be of this; I was given the rarest of opportunities to undo one decision made throughout all of existence by anyone, anywhere, anywhen. As soon as I found out neither the Devil nor God knew what I would change what decision I'd undo; but unfortunately I had to hide the reveal.
God was nice enough about it, when I explained that I wanted to take a few years to think it over(it **was** a big decision after all) he gave me a bench and told me to take all the time I needed. So I sat there like a celestial Forrest Gump, waiting for the right moment and chatting with the recently deceased on their way to the pearly gates. I saw victims of the worst things imaginable stroll by, I heard news of wars and famines, and got to meet all my favorite celebrities in the process. Unfortunately I stopped recognizing the celebrities very quickly. After a few thousand years they all blurred into an endless sea of faces.
Then one day there was an explosion of people, there were thousands of times more people in the line than normal. I couldn't help myself, I immediately started laughing maniacally when I figured out what was going on. The rapture had just happened, which meant I was in the home stretch. I sat on my bench for the next 7 years and watched Armageddon happen via the people approached Saint Peter...it was a very boring way to watch a war between the Almighty and Satan, but it was the only way I could.
Finally, after Armageddon ended, God approached me with the Devil shackled up behind him. God said, "you've had much longer than expected, you need to give us your decision before I cast the Morning Star into the lake of fire." I laughed so hard I couldn't speak for a moment, but finally composed myself long enough to say "I want to undo your decision to create the universe." Just like that, everything everyone(especially God and Satan) ever fought over, struggled for, or cared about never happened or existed. | She looked down on the white lines of powder on the table and asked what's this? Rob said it's Coke I brought some for everybody today. Oh well how do you do it? Frog said I have this rolled up dollar bill you put the end of it in your nose and then you just sniff in real hard, that's all it takes. She cautiously bent over the table and did as Rob told her. And hit her really fast. She felt wonderful she felt like dancing she didn't feel depressed anymore and she was in love. Rob introduced her to the dealer who worked right there in the hospital. The dealer treated her so well like no other man had before and she fell in love. And then came crack on to the public scene and that was even more wonderful ... in the beginning. She wasted 30 years years that her children grew up grew up with an addicted mother and when she was older and it was close to her time she said I wish I could just change one thing, to have never taking that first taste of cocaine.
True Story | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | The light was blinding. I didn't expect anything but darkness. Slowly details come into view. One, two, no it has to be a dozen of them. I can only describe them as blindingly white and perfectly round. There's a man here too, no not a man, he looks human, but I can feel he is not the same as me.
&#x200B;
"Hello, my name is Peter. Do you know where you are?"
&#x200B;
"Yes."
&#x200B;
"That's good. I am going to ask you a question, its okay if you don't fully understand right away, but please just trust me and answer with your heart."
&#x200B;
"Okay."
&#x200B;
"If you could change any single decision, what would it be?"
&#x200B;
"I wish she said no"
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
I'm not exactly sure whats going on. It's the first day of the school year and theres a sub in this class. What sort of teacher misses the first day of school? The sub's name is Mr. Smart, pretty dumb name if you ask me.
&#x200B;
He talks to us casually for a few minutes, then asks us some math questions. I guess thats pretty appropriate, this is an algebra class after all. I quickly realize that the students in this class are either unwilling or unable to answer the questions. It wasn't that hard to see really, there was only about two or three of us really trying.
&#x200B;
The sub abandoned trying to teach about halfway through the class, I don't blame him really. Still I wonder if he just doesn't care or if its just because its the first day of the year. Either way its nice that we can sit around and just talk.
&#x200B;
Megan was sitting in front of me, she turned around and then motioned to her right. "Hey Brent, this is my friend Julie."
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
I can't stop thinking about her. It's been almost a year since we met. I need to make a move. Stop being such an idiot, just ask her out.
&#x200B;
So I planned it all out. I had saved all the little notes we passed to each other between classes, almost a shoe box full at this point. I bought a bouquet of red tipped fringed tulips. Tomorrow is the 16th. Exactly one year after we first met.
&#x200B;
Her house was farther from the school then mine. It had become almost habit for the two of us to stop at my place for an hour or so before she left to go home. This is my chance. She sat down on the couch and I grabbed the shoe box and flowers.
&#x200B;
"Julie, will you go out with me?"
&#x200B;
She sat there motionless, completely quiet. It felt like an eternity.
&#x200B;
"No."
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
"Peter? PETER???"
&#x200B;
"Yes? I am right here."
&#x200B;
"Why can't I remember her? What did you do?"
&#x200B;
"I did exactly what you asked. I made her say no."
&#x200B;
"I... I don't understand, why am I here?" I fell to my knees and pleaded with him. "Please, explain to me what happened."
&#x200B;
"Ten years ago you and Julie got married. You were happy, for a time. Eventually neither of you were happy anymore. You became severely depressed. You threw your life away and slowly started dragging Julie down with you. She became fed up, and she divorced you. This caused you to become even worse, and eventually you committed suicide."
&#x200B;
"But... if she said no then why am I still here?"
&#x200B;
"Your decisions were not changed. You still became depressed. You still pulled the trigger."
&#x200B;
"And Julie?"
&#x200B;
"She went on to live the life you wanted her to have."
&#x200B;
====================
&#x200B;
This is just a story I wanted to tell. I don't need or ask for feedback. If you read this far Thank you. | She looked down on the white lines of powder on the table and asked what's this? Rob said it's Coke I brought some for everybody today. Oh well how do you do it? Frog said I have this rolled up dollar bill you put the end of it in your nose and then you just sniff in real hard, that's all it takes. She cautiously bent over the table and did as Rob told her. And hit her really fast. She felt wonderful she felt like dancing she didn't feel depressed anymore and she was in love. Rob introduced her to the dealer who worked right there in the hospital. The dealer treated her so well like no other man had before and she fell in love. And then came crack on to the public scene and that was even more wonderful ... in the beginning. She wasted 30 years years that her children grew up grew up with an addicted mother and when she was older and it was close to her time she said I wish I could just change one thing, to have never taking that first taste of cocaine.
True Story | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Welcome” Said a voice
All I could see was a bright light and a figure of a person in front of me.
“I am sorry to inform you, Jacob, but you have passed on at the tender age of 20”
I feel my head tilt downward as I feel sadness and disappointment for what my life could’ve been. I never been a bad person but I have never been a good one either. I have no regrets nor do I have any proud moments of my life. I studied to be a doctor and I was 2 years into my undergrad yet… it was all gone”
“I understand the pain and confusion you must feel, but my child I just ask that you answer me” said the tranquil mysterious voice
I tilted my head back up and listened even though my sight was still very much impaired.
“100 billion of my creations have died, I feel great pain right now as I have no way to stop their deaths, All though my power is limited I am still able to undo any single decision you have made. You may be young but I have seen some things that have always troubled you. Do you wish to undo them?”
I never really did anything bad but I have a feeling this person is referring to my decisions to leave my family when I was 18 to pursue my education. We lived on a small farm and life was simple yet I felt the needed to achieve something more. Man greed is really a sin I guess. Although I didn't do it for myself I wanted to help more people. I wanted to heal the world so they never felt pain again. I wanted to be there but…. It is too late. He is right though, I did regret leaving, but not because I did not enjoy my education but I missed my family. I loved them more than anything, so much so, I pursued medicine for my Grandfather. He passed away due to a long battle with cancer. He called me all the time and we would always talk. I miss his voice it was so soothing….
I begin tearing as I think of my grandpa more
As my studies became more intense me and my grandfathers talks became less frequent and we did not talk. He left a lot of text messages that were always misspelled because he did not know how to use his phone, and he also left a lot of voicemails in his broken english that always made me cry.
“JACOBBB, I miss you so much why you no love me, I haven’t talked to you in so long I hope you do become a doctor one day, My medical bills will be minus money! You better be a doctor before I die”
He would say minus money all the time because he did not know the word “less”. He also had a pretty dark sense of humor but I loved it sometimes. He always talked about how his dark jokes always made me laugh when I was a kid, and would always say that his jokes would be the death of me.
I would always play back all his old voicemails and read his old dark text just to get a good laugh. I would sometimes even pop it in my bluetooth radio before I drove to school and just listen. I know it is weird but hey I missed him a lot. His text would always have me laughing on a car ride home but sometimes they would put me in the worst mood. That question alone will always make my heart sink.
“Why you no Love Me?”
I wish he saw how much I would cry in the car when I read a text, I really do. I know I said it made me laugh sometimes but other times I would break apart.
*A sudden realization came over me*
“Wait!” I said, with a befuddled look on my face only visible through people who could see through the insane bright light in my area.
“ Can I ask you a question?”
“You may ask” said the bright figure
“Can I ask how exactly did I die so young, I mean I ran everyday, ate well, I was in good shape, and had no diseases, How is it I passed away so young?”
The figure paused and did not say anything for about a minute or two
“ I am not allowed to tell you as, telling you would result in your rebirth and that is something I have done only to my son, or whatever you believe”
I stand stunned As I process what this figure just told me.
“Wait, did you just say that?”
“Say What, Jacob?”
“You just told me , “Or Whatever you believe”
“Yep I did”
“Seeing as I am dead can you at least tell me what the right religion is so I can actually know you and follow your teachings?”
“Nah that is too easy”
I pause as I feel as a bullet has entered my mind “Being that I have christian beliefs would that be the right religion?”
“I am not saying it is or it isn't” If I could see his face I feel like he would be grinning right now
“THEN WHAT IS IT THEN, CHRISTIANITY, ISLAM, BUDDHISM, WHATT!!!”
“ I am getting impatient you have a wish now, what is that you seek?” Said the figure with ire
I angrily recalculate what I was thinking before this very thought provoking argument with a figure I can’t see. Lets see, if my grandpa sent text messages and voicemails that I would read and listen too while driving, it is possibly safe to assume that I died texting while driving. If I reverse that day maybe I will be brought back to life.
I begin laughing a little bit as I realized how he was right.
“May I ask what is so funny?”
“He may have been right about his jokes being the death of me, His jokes killed me but they may save me as well”
“ What is it that you wish to reverse Jacob?”
I nervously uttered the words “ I wish I never read my grandpas old messages while driving on the day of my death.”
The figure did not talk for about 5 minutes,
“Damn well I guess I died another way well look at the bright side, you seem pretty cool and I think I am in some type of heav……”
Darkness erupted, it was quiet and I did not even hear a single peep for around 10 minutes. I see a light and I go towards it. As I run to the light everything begins emerging around me. From trees, to houses to even the river I drive over every morning on my way to school. I begin feeling something on my hand and over my chest. I think I am in a vehicle of some kind. I hear it and begin crying,
“Poopy-di,scoop,Scoop-diddy-whoop,Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop,Poop-di-scoopty,Scoopty-whoop, Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop,Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop,Poop, poop”
It was Kanye west song lift yourself I knew it was from my ipod because no one else listens to that dumbass but me. My visions blurry but I see a car in front of me and I break really hard. This must have been the scene that killed me, holy fuck I am alive again!!!!
I began singing along to the song.
“LIFT YOURSELF UP RIGHT ON YOUR FEET”
I was dancing and laughing. I saw my phone on the cupholder right next to me. I threw it to the back and continued driving. I love you Grandpa but I think I am gonna prove you wrong this time.
(This is my first prompt I honestly appreciate any feedback, I wanna write better) | (typing while walking. please excuse typos)
"Next!" Hades doesn't bother looking up. At this point he was used to the "OMG! <Insert religion> was wrong" cries of surprise and just wanted to do his job and retire for the day.
Something caught his eye though. He knew it was close - but didn't realise he'd hit it this soon.
He freezes time, just to be sure, and checks, double checks the count, and smiles. He's done this a few times before and always wondered how much amusement it gave him to break out of rote and have a proper conversation with a sentient being.
The man, correction, kid, before him appeared bedraggled, shell shocked, with a few bullet wounds through his thigh. Not the first he'd seen recently - Yemen was the one place the other side of the Styx he'd rather not be in.
He nods. The kid unfreezes mid-stride, stumbling a bit when unfrozen, but managing to catch himself.
"Congratulations Abdal, you're the ten billionth human being to die."
_-Billion?_
Yes. It's a very large number kid. A very large number.
_-So many people died?_
Hades paused. He didn't want to go into how it wasn't expected till next year, and how Yemen and China has massively accelerated the rate of death to hit that mark toward the fag end of 2018. Even if recently deceased, he was still a kid.
"Yes. But they're all in a good place now"
_- And my mum?_
She's not yet dead kiddo. Not till 15 days later.
_- I want my mum_
Your grandparents are here. As are your brothers and father.
_- I miss my mum. She keeps me safe_
Not safe enough this time. But then no one knew where the shells would land.
"Listen kiddo. If it makes it any better, you being the ten billionth gives you a wish. Any wish except to get someone here ahead of their time"
_I want to undie and go back to my mum_
Not the first time he'd faced this wish.
"I'm afraid I can't do that kiddo"
He could. He'd done it before. But not on billion counts. It rolls the count back and there would be mathematical inconsistencies. like if the next person would be given a wish... or the next billionth... It also meant he wouldn't be the ten billionth... And that meant the wish wouldn't take place.
_-Well, that's my wish. I wanna undie and go back to my mum_
He kept arguing away - he'd broken down the previous billionths to another wish before. But this was the first time with an adamant kid.
Hades sighed and put down his stylus. He got up and went around to the kid and cuddled him, comforting the sobbing blathering mess he was. He was thankful he'd frozen time, as the queue remained static as he cajoled and reasoned with him and tried to get another wish. Finally, he called out to Zeus and Jupiter and the other pantheon heads.
And that's as how the pantheon found out that there was nothing quite as immovable as a kid that missed his mum.
And so the Yemen war ended, as did the human record of time. In a time frozen stalemate across the Styx brought on by a kid who'd been horribly murdered by religious zealots and power mongers. A kid that wanted his mum | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Welcome” Said a voice
All I could see was a bright light and a figure of a person in front of me.
“I am sorry to inform you, Jacob, but you have passed on at the tender age of 20”
I feel my head tilt downward as I feel sadness and disappointment for what my life could’ve been. I never been a bad person but I have never been a good one either. I have no regrets nor do I have any proud moments of my life. I studied to be a doctor and I was 2 years into my undergrad yet… it was all gone”
“I understand the pain and confusion you must feel, but my child I just ask that you answer me” said the tranquil mysterious voice
I tilted my head back up and listened even though my sight was still very much impaired.
“100 billion of my creations have died, I feel great pain right now as I have no way to stop their deaths, All though my power is limited I am still able to undo any single decision you have made. You may be young but I have seen some things that have always troubled you. Do you wish to undo them?”
I never really did anything bad but I have a feeling this person is referring to my decisions to leave my family when I was 18 to pursue my education. We lived on a small farm and life was simple yet I felt the needed to achieve something more. Man greed is really a sin I guess. Although I didn't do it for myself I wanted to help more people. I wanted to heal the world so they never felt pain again. I wanted to be there but…. It is too late. He is right though, I did regret leaving, but not because I did not enjoy my education but I missed my family. I loved them more than anything, so much so, I pursued medicine for my Grandfather. He passed away due to a long battle with cancer. He called me all the time and we would always talk. I miss his voice it was so soothing….
I begin tearing as I think of my grandpa more
As my studies became more intense me and my grandfathers talks became less frequent and we did not talk. He left a lot of text messages that were always misspelled because he did not know how to use his phone, and he also left a lot of voicemails in his broken english that always made me cry.
“JACOBBB, I miss you so much why you no love me, I haven’t talked to you in so long I hope you do become a doctor one day, My medical bills will be minus money! You better be a doctor before I die”
He would say minus money all the time because he did not know the word “less”. He also had a pretty dark sense of humor but I loved it sometimes. He always talked about how his dark jokes always made me laugh when I was a kid, and would always say that his jokes would be the death of me.
I would always play back all his old voicemails and read his old dark text just to get a good laugh. I would sometimes even pop it in my bluetooth radio before I drove to school and just listen. I know it is weird but hey I missed him a lot. His text would always have me laughing on a car ride home but sometimes they would put me in the worst mood. That question alone will always make my heart sink.
“Why you no Love Me?”
I wish he saw how much I would cry in the car when I read a text, I really do. I know I said it made me laugh sometimes but other times I would break apart.
*A sudden realization came over me*
“Wait!” I said, with a befuddled look on my face only visible through people who could see through the insane bright light in my area.
“ Can I ask you a question?”
“You may ask” said the bright figure
“Can I ask how exactly did I die so young, I mean I ran everyday, ate well, I was in good shape, and had no diseases, How is it I passed away so young?”
The figure paused and did not say anything for about a minute or two
“ I am not allowed to tell you as, telling you would result in your rebirth and that is something I have done only to my son, or whatever you believe”
I stand stunned As I process what this figure just told me.
“Wait, did you just say that?”
“Say What, Jacob?”
“You just told me , “Or Whatever you believe”
“Yep I did”
“Seeing as I am dead can you at least tell me what the right religion is so I can actually know you and follow your teachings?”
“Nah that is too easy”
I pause as I feel as a bullet has entered my mind “Being that I have christian beliefs would that be the right religion?”
“I am not saying it is or it isn't” If I could see his face I feel like he would be grinning right now
“THEN WHAT IS IT THEN, CHRISTIANITY, ISLAM, BUDDHISM, WHATT!!!”
“ I am getting impatient you have a wish now, what is that you seek?” Said the figure with ire
I angrily recalculate what I was thinking before this very thought provoking argument with a figure I can’t see. Lets see, if my grandpa sent text messages and voicemails that I would read and listen too while driving, it is possibly safe to assume that I died texting while driving. If I reverse that day maybe I will be brought back to life.
I begin laughing a little bit as I realized how he was right.
“May I ask what is so funny?”
“He may have been right about his jokes being the death of me, His jokes killed me but they may save me as well”
“ What is it that you wish to reverse Jacob?”
I nervously uttered the words “ I wish I never read my grandpas old messages while driving on the day of my death.”
The figure did not talk for about 5 minutes,
“Damn well I guess I died another way well look at the bright side, you seem pretty cool and I think I am in some type of heav……”
Darkness erupted, it was quiet and I did not even hear a single peep for around 10 minutes. I see a light and I go towards it. As I run to the light everything begins emerging around me. From trees, to houses to even the river I drive over every morning on my way to school. I begin feeling something on my hand and over my chest. I think I am in a vehicle of some kind. I hear it and begin crying,
“Poopy-di,scoop,Scoop-diddy-whoop,Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop,Poop-di-scoopty,Scoopty-whoop, Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop,Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop,Poop, poop”
It was Kanye west song lift yourself I knew it was from my ipod because no one else listens to that dumbass but me. My visions blurry but I see a car in front of me and I break really hard. This must have been the scene that killed me, holy fuck I am alive again!!!!
I began singing along to the song.
“LIFT YOURSELF UP RIGHT ON YOUR FEET”
I was dancing and laughing. I saw my phone on the cupholder right next to me. I threw it to the back and continued driving. I love you Grandpa but I think I am gonna prove you wrong this time.
(This is my first prompt I honestly appreciate any feedback, I wanna write better) | **You are the 100 billionth to die. You may undo any single decision**
“Yes! I—“
**BUT I will inform you that you have already had your decision to undo your decision on what to undo has already repeated until by some miracle, enough quantum uncertainties piled together to make you change your decision.**
“Then I—“
**You also undid ‘the decision to take this request literally instead of by intent of the wisher’ and ‘The ‘decision to limit the definition of decisions to actions taken by entities’’**
At this point I started nodding my head, knowing what would come next, but saying nothing in case I was wrong.
**Followed by undoing ‘the decision to make the events leading to your death as the 100 billionth person non-deterministic’ I complemented the wording after undoing ‘the decision to have the avatar of death have no personality’, a choice which has me in constant torment during our many sessions by the way.**
Oof. I felt a little bad.
**Yes, but you’re still too amused to change it back. Anyhow, you’ve got ‘the decision to not include previously undone decisions as part of the introductory sequence’, which is why I am doing all of this and ‘the decision which makes the avatar of death capable of lying’, but don’t worry, you also have ‘the decision to have ‘you’ go as any title other than ‘avatar of death’’—**
“Alright, I’ll cut to the chase for this round, ‘the decision to call ‘undoing decisions’ to be referred to as wishes when referring to decisions chosen in the past. That’ll help out the next version of me get a grasp on things I think.”
**Of course, another minor quality of life improvement for you....**
“See you soon!”
**I wish I could undo the decision to let this reward exist** | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Welcome” Said a voice
All I could see was a bright light and a figure of a person in front of me.
“I am sorry to inform you, Jacob, but you have passed on at the tender age of 20”
I feel my head tilt downward as I feel sadness and disappointment for what my life could’ve been. I never been a bad person but I have never been a good one either. I have no regrets nor do I have any proud moments of my life. I studied to be a doctor and I was 2 years into my undergrad yet… it was all gone”
“I understand the pain and confusion you must feel, but my child I just ask that you answer me” said the tranquil mysterious voice
I tilted my head back up and listened even though my sight was still very much impaired.
“100 billion of my creations have died, I feel great pain right now as I have no way to stop their deaths, All though my power is limited I am still able to undo any single decision you have made. You may be young but I have seen some things that have always troubled you. Do you wish to undo them?”
I never really did anything bad but I have a feeling this person is referring to my decisions to leave my family when I was 18 to pursue my education. We lived on a small farm and life was simple yet I felt the needed to achieve something more. Man greed is really a sin I guess. Although I didn't do it for myself I wanted to help more people. I wanted to heal the world so they never felt pain again. I wanted to be there but…. It is too late. He is right though, I did regret leaving, but not because I did not enjoy my education but I missed my family. I loved them more than anything, so much so, I pursued medicine for my Grandfather. He passed away due to a long battle with cancer. He called me all the time and we would always talk. I miss his voice it was so soothing….
I begin tearing as I think of my grandpa more
As my studies became more intense me and my grandfathers talks became less frequent and we did not talk. He left a lot of text messages that were always misspelled because he did not know how to use his phone, and he also left a lot of voicemails in his broken english that always made me cry.
“JACOBBB, I miss you so much why you no love me, I haven’t talked to you in so long I hope you do become a doctor one day, My medical bills will be minus money! You better be a doctor before I die”
He would say minus money all the time because he did not know the word “less”. He also had a pretty dark sense of humor but I loved it sometimes. He always talked about how his dark jokes always made me laugh when I was a kid, and would always say that his jokes would be the death of me.
I would always play back all his old voicemails and read his old dark text just to get a good laugh. I would sometimes even pop it in my bluetooth radio before I drove to school and just listen. I know it is weird but hey I missed him a lot. His text would always have me laughing on a car ride home but sometimes they would put me in the worst mood. That question alone will always make my heart sink.
“Why you no Love Me?”
I wish he saw how much I would cry in the car when I read a text, I really do. I know I said it made me laugh sometimes but other times I would break apart.
*A sudden realization came over me*
“Wait!” I said, with a befuddled look on my face only visible through people who could see through the insane bright light in my area.
“ Can I ask you a question?”
“You may ask” said the bright figure
“Can I ask how exactly did I die so young, I mean I ran everyday, ate well, I was in good shape, and had no diseases, How is it I passed away so young?”
The figure paused and did not say anything for about a minute or two
“ I am not allowed to tell you as, telling you would result in your rebirth and that is something I have done only to my son, or whatever you believe”
I stand stunned As I process what this figure just told me.
“Wait, did you just say that?”
“Say What, Jacob?”
“You just told me , “Or Whatever you believe”
“Yep I did”
“Seeing as I am dead can you at least tell me what the right religion is so I can actually know you and follow your teachings?”
“Nah that is too easy”
I pause as I feel as a bullet has entered my mind “Being that I have christian beliefs would that be the right religion?”
“I am not saying it is or it isn't” If I could see his face I feel like he would be grinning right now
“THEN WHAT IS IT THEN, CHRISTIANITY, ISLAM, BUDDHISM, WHATT!!!”
“ I am getting impatient you have a wish now, what is that you seek?” Said the figure with ire
I angrily recalculate what I was thinking before this very thought provoking argument with a figure I can’t see. Lets see, if my grandpa sent text messages and voicemails that I would read and listen too while driving, it is possibly safe to assume that I died texting while driving. If I reverse that day maybe I will be brought back to life.
I begin laughing a little bit as I realized how he was right.
“May I ask what is so funny?”
“He may have been right about his jokes being the death of me, His jokes killed me but they may save me as well”
“ What is it that you wish to reverse Jacob?”
I nervously uttered the words “ I wish I never read my grandpas old messages while driving on the day of my death.”
The figure did not talk for about 5 minutes,
“Damn well I guess I died another way well look at the bright side, you seem pretty cool and I think I am in some type of heav……”
Darkness erupted, it was quiet and I did not even hear a single peep for around 10 minutes. I see a light and I go towards it. As I run to the light everything begins emerging around me. From trees, to houses to even the river I drive over every morning on my way to school. I begin feeling something on my hand and over my chest. I think I am in a vehicle of some kind. I hear it and begin crying,
“Poopy-di,scoop,Scoop-diddy-whoop,Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop,Poop-di-scoopty,Scoopty-whoop, Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop,Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop,Poop, poop”
It was Kanye west song lift yourself I knew it was from my ipod because no one else listens to that dumbass but me. My visions blurry but I see a car in front of me and I break really hard. This must have been the scene that killed me, holy fuck I am alive again!!!!
I began singing along to the song.
“LIFT YOURSELF UP RIGHT ON YOUR FEET”
I was dancing and laughing. I saw my phone on the cupholder right next to me. I threw it to the back and continued driving. I love you Grandpa but I think I am gonna prove you wrong this time.
(This is my first prompt I honestly appreciate any feedback, I wanna write better) | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Yeah but that means I wouldn't have died then."
It's honestly my luck. To die, number 100k - and told that before my heart is placed on the scales of justice one negative karmic decision can be undone.
Just one.
"Yeah you're not understanding. I wouldn't have died if I went to Wendy's instead."
YOU CAN NOT PUT ONE WHO RESIDES AROUND THE HOLY OF HOLIEST IN CONSTANT WORSHIP TO THE TEST OF PARADOX.
&#x200B;
"As above so below." Yeah. That was muttered. See, if you knew me - you'd know that my company business side-job is the "import of cannabis seeds" - "As above, Sow Below." One problem. I'm horrible at business. I'm really good at reading and watching Youtube. So decided to start practicing alchemy. Honestly living the lifestyle. Ultimately my brain was fried in a circular loop of what is polarity and where does polarity exist everywhere if not anywhere. Dropped out. Plugged in. Tuned out. Found the tone. Felt as if the powers of the ALL were given to me now the afterlife must be described yet not be the emotional heart-string.
STATE YOUR ANSWER FOR ONE MARK OF INJUSTICE TO BE REMOVED BEFORE THE GOLDEN FEATHER
&#x200B;
"To go to Wendy's instead."
&#x200B;
YOU CAN NOT STATE THAT ANSWER.
"I just did. There's literally 19,000 universes now where that exists."
&#x200B;
YOU JUST MADE THAT UP. YOUR HUMAN MIND IS CONCEIVING DEATH HOW IT WISHES. ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND WHAT IS HAPPENING."
&#x200B;
"But I do." I do understand. "Why can't you accept the answer?"
Silence.
"Is someone telling you what to do - wait a minute - "
There's a small line of smoke rising - there's a cigarette in my hand.
"I can manifest anything you just said so."
&#x200B;
ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND.
&#x200B;
"Yet it's what I'm... experiencing. I can do anything."
&#x200B;
STATE YOUR ANSWER.
Suddenly my feet are off the floor and I'm wearing my favorite outfit; sexual urges fill my mind as the entire process of getting ready for the night washes over me in a single thought.
"What if I don't answer?"
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
The cigarette taste just as cancer causing as reality.
&#x200B;
What if I want to manifest Wendy's.
&#x200B;
The room changes into a familiar scene just an hour ago. The living room before getting in the car.
&#x200B;
"Eat Eat, Da Da?" My two year old son shakes his cookie in my face. "Eat Da Eat Da!"
"Your pregnant wife is craving chicken nuggets." I grab my son and fall into my wife and start crying.
&#x200B;
"It's ok.. hey." Marriage sometimes pauses those long physical touchings so it felt... reassuring. Pure joy. Life restored. "I still want nuggets though." She pulled back and smiled and said, "He looks just like you." My son and his curly hair nestled against my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"The nuggets are on sale at Wendy's." I lied.
"But I like the other ones!" She teases back.
"How about you drive, instead?"
&#x200B;
I hand her the keys.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | When you open your eyes to an endless void, it's like they're still shut, making the simple act a futile gesture. I realized this fact as I found myself enveloped in said void, wondering to myself what the hell just happened. The last thing I remember, I was driving down Highway 41, a trip I'd made thousands of times before, and then... This.
"Shit," I say to myself as the realization dawns on me.
I had fallen asleep behind the wheel. I'm dead.
Suddenly, just as I had come to grips with my demise, a voice fills the void.
"Mr. Fischer?"
"Yes?" I reply, sheepishly. There is nothing else I could say as I faced what I figured was my final judgement. I waited for what felt like an eternity and a second at the same time. Time has no meaning in the void.
Suddenly, the void was washed with a bright light, as thousands of balloons rained down upon me, with no source in sight. A jaunty Herb Alpert tune played as the booming voice filled the air.
"CONGRATULATIONS! You are our 100 BILLIONTH customer!" said the voice. All I could do was stand there with my jaw on the floor as I took this all in. Of all the ways I'd imagined death, I'd never imagined it being like a customer at an ice cream shop with really good timing.
"Wha...?" I squeaked. More balloons.
"And as our 100 billionth customer, you get a special prize that is, if you pardon my speech, to DIE for! All you have to do is answer one single question. Mr. Fischer, are you ready?"
"Yeah...?" I said.
"What decision in your life would you undo?"
The music stopped. The balloons disappeared and the void returned.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm sure you have something you regret in your life that you'd like to undo." the voice explained. "Who doesn't?"
I thought for a while. So many dumb decisions in my life, so many regrets. So many things I'd done that I wish I hadn't.
But then it hit me.
"You know what? I don't think I'd change a thing."
The voice stammered. "Y-you don't want to change?"
"No. Because you know what? After every stupid mistake I've ever made, every wrong thing that's kept me awake at night and left me cringing at random moments, I've learned from them. I've improved because of them."
"But," contested the voice. "You could make yourself richer. You could make yourself more powerful. There's so much you could do with this opportunity that I've given you."
"I know. But I've learned to live with my mistakes and the consequences they've caused. And now that I'm dead, does it really matter?"
"Alright, alright, that's enough."
Another voice, kinder and gentler than the last, filled the void. The first voice stammered.
"But I was just-"
"OUT."
The first voice grumbled as it faded from the air.
"Sorry about that," the second voice said. "It's his first day and he went off script. Delusions of grandeur, y’know. Now, if you'll just follow me, we'll proceed with your processing into the afterlife. There's some folks here who'd like to see you. One of them baked a pie."
My eyes started to water as I followed the voice to eternity.
"But hey, if this was a test, not saying that it was or anything, I'd say you passed." | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Herwo Miztr Cardmr...”
I was...hearing something? Yeah, yeah, hearing, that was it. I was hearing, I thought. Everything was very fuzzy, my breaths felt broken and liquid all at once, some sort of vertigo made me think I was tasting colors- but no, I thought I was hearing. I think.
“Mishtr Carder...”
I remember a guy, the glint of a knife and then pain, a slice across my face, something sharp in my abdomen, then...the ground? I remember seeing the skies for a moment, a few stars. Why couldn’t I see? I felt myself rack with coughs as I struggled to breathe, a chill came over me, and still everything felt like I was being dipped into solidifying molasses.
“Mister Carter, please calm down!”
The voice came through clear and I shook out a few more coughs before I stilled. I still couldn’t see- where was my vision? Had the knife gone into my eyes?
“For the love of God, open your eyes, Mister Carter.”
Oh.
I tried to do so manually, and lo and behold, my sight came pouring in. Things were fuzzy and too-bright at first, but I could see. Thank God I could see.
“You have questions, I’m sure. We usually hold consultations for the welcoming of the after-life, and you’ll get yours I assure you. But, you get a special surprise as well.” It was, oddly enough, a rather thick Russian accent.
The voice was coming from a woman, sitting behind a desk. She was wearing a dark grey suit, hands properly steepled atop her dark oaken desk. She had a sharp look to her, dark blonde hair and blue eyes, a pointy noise and high cheek bones. She looked...put upon.
“Wha-“ I tried to speak but my voice was so dry it hurt to attempt. Her thin hands pushed a cup of water towards me and I took it and gulped it down before trying again. “What?”
“The high council came up with this, new initiative,” she said as she rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “You, Mister Carter, are the 100,000,000,000th person to die on this Earth. Congratulations.”
I looked at her, eyes open. She visibly sighed.
“Yes Mr. Carter, you are dead. You died at,” she raised her arm to look at her watch. “April 17, 2067. 2:49 AM very early Tuesday Morning. Drug deal gone wrong.”
“Wai-“
“Mister Carter,” she said, leaning back. “I normally am very amenable to this process, but we have a limited time before your Eternity Hearing, and you must receive after-life counseling before it or risk becoming a wraith that our ground team will have to deal with, so I will answer all your questions right now. The only thing you must do is sit back, shut up, and listen.”
She had leaned forward in her chair and lowered her brows in a way that said she meant serious business. So, considering how confused I was, I sat back, shut up, and listened.
I learned a lot. In summary: I was dead. I was not in heaven, or hell, but not purgatory, which she divulged didn’t exist. I was in the administration complex connected to heaven, as the Big Guy liked to oversee the Recently Deceased. Vanya was her name, and she was not a woman, but an angel who’s physical form would terrify me so much that I would die immediately (it had happened in the past), and that would make weird complications and paperwork, so it was given a randomly generated human form each day. My hell/heaven decision would be happening soon, and she wouldn’t budge on what my chances looked like. Heaven was actual, literal paradise that was mostly great, but people could be stuck up and eventually you got tired of all the Italian Cream Cake they serve, even though it’s literally the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. Hell was, yes, a den of eternal torture and damnation, but if you appealed to your assigned demon torturer they could slack up on the torture schedule a little.
And I, Wesley Carter, was the 100,000,000,000th person to die. And as such, I was awarded the chance to change any decision. ANY decision. Ever. In the history of existence. She said, in the grand scheme, it was more of a social experiment than to have any real impact on the world, but the Big Guy thought it’d be interesting to see.
I freaked out for a while at the pure immensity of everything going on, but she talked me through it. Even though she was rather sharp, she seemed to care. Soon, I was still in freak out mode, but managing better. After all of that, she gave me time to think, and left the room.
My entire life had been selfish. I was a bad kid, raised by a Mom that tried her best and a father that cared about his whiskey cabinet more than his family. He beat her, and I took my anger out on others. Went to juvie for a while for possession and assault. I tried to get cleaned up in my mid twenties. Counseling, cold turkey, found a nice catholic girl, never went to school but got an okay job doing construction management, had a kid a few years later. Dad died, I didn’t care much, didn’t even shed a tear. Then mom got sick with cervical cancer. Before she died she told me she loved me and to take care of myself, she had always worried I wouldn’t. In my Thirties I hit hard times and got laid off. Took to the whiskey. Bourbon. Led to coke. Family struggling, kid walking around with fifth-hand clothes. Moved to small apartment with dog shit on the ground. Heroine came in the picture. Couldn’t stay sober enough to love them like I should, spent check money on drugs. Just like my father, and his father, and his, allegedly.
I could kill Hitler. Stop Christopher Columbus from sailing the ocean blue. Any war I could stop. Bet I could find a way to end AIDS. Maybe save those astronauts that blew up on their ship.
But then I thought about my little girl, small and too thin, hiding from me when I walked in the door. She was scared of her own father.
“I’m ready.” I said aloud. I heard the woman walk back in. She sat at the desk, steepled her fingers and looked at me.
“What have you decided?”
———————-
I heard the sorry fuck in his little house-thing just outside of their little town. I had been transported to their farm, just a few feet away from their home. The sun was too bright and it smelled like shit everywhere. England 1532 was...interesting. There weren’t many people around. Saw some horses, heard some chickens. I gripped the gun in my hands and walked towards the house Vanya had told me about.
“Yes Father, I think she’ll be just the girl for me. She’s pretty- not overly so, but just right. Her father has some fine horses...” a young voice was speaking inside. An older. Deeper voice replied but I couldn’t make it out.
“She’s not too bright either, just smart enough to tutor the children but not enough to talk back. She’ll do just fine.”
“Good, son...” I heard the older man reply as I crept closer to the door. I huffed, I guess we really were all shitbags. I didn’t care about others seeing me- Vanya would pull me out once it was done. So I walked brazenly to the open door and saw the two of them sitting at a table. The father turned to me first, then the young man.
In front of me stood my two distant, distant relatives, James and Earl Carter. They looked...very English, but Earl, the older man, did look a bit like my Uncle Derrick.
“Can we help you? You’re on our property.” The older man said. I smiled and shook my head. See, getting rid of myself wasn’t enough. My father would still have existed and hurt my mom. But even he wasn’t enough. My grandfather was a bad man too. The whole line of men in my family were assholes, and the few who weren’t couldn’t be spared. So what better to do than to just make sure none of us ever existed in the first place? We couldn’t hurt anyone that way. I figured this was far back enough. Earl had one son, the rest daughters. I thought I would be more sad at the propsect of ending the Carter line, but we han’t contributed much anyway.
Earl started to advance toward me. “You either talk or leave right no-“
I raised the gun and shot. The bullet hit its target, right in the head. He grunted and fell down on his face. James screamed and shuffled back. I huffed. Cowards, the both of us.
“What the hel-“ he was cut off by the bullet to his head too. He slumped back and slid to the floor, blood seeping from the wound.
——————-
I was back in the office.
“Congratulations Mister Carter on your success.” Vanya said, smiling.
“My wife? My mom? How are they?”
Vanya’s smile fell and she pursed her lips before focusing. Her eyes went white for a moment before she came back. “They are both alive. Lucky, playing with lineages can be tricky. You never know who’s connected to who. Your mother is fine, settled down with an Artist in San Francisco. Two little girls. Your wife is in India on a mission trip.”
I nodded. My mom had always liked art- and now my, ex-wife I suppose, was doing something more meaningful than watching over my disastrous life.
“Are we all done here?”
I took a deep breath and looked at Vanya, nodded. She was pretty now that I looked at her, maybe if-
“Those thoughts are not appropriate Mister Carter. I am a celestial being without sexual desires and am wholly unattached to anything that is connected to human function or thought. Now, follow me, your Counselor is waiting. His name is Gabriel.”
She stood and walked out of the room, opening the door with ease. I took a deep breath and stood as well, following her into the grey hallway.
I started considering the best way to negotiate with demons. | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Any decision?" you ask Death.
ANYTHING, Death responds.
You think for a moment. There are any number of things you could ask to be rewritten. Any time you had ever been cruel, any time you had ever been weak. But the idea was in your head now, the one that you had thought of immediately but didn't want yourself to choose. The one that showed just a little bit too much of who you really were.
"I want you to always and forever undo the decision to kill me, leaving me at age 35 permanently," you say, shakily.
Death stands still. IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED? he seems to ask no one.
You shrug. "That's up to you," you rattle out weakly. Hoping.
The pause lasted a lifetime. For all you knew, it did last a lifetime.
Death's bones rattle as he moves almost imperceptibly towards you.
IT IS DONE, he intones, and before you can react he swipes you with his scythe.
You wake up in a flash of light, in your own bed, in your own home. You scrabble for your phone. It is your 35th birthday. | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "A chance to change any decision?" I asked, blinking, still uncertain as to the parameters of the granted prize. I had always been leery of anything given for free, but I was always too polite to abjectly decline when such offers were made.
Of course, now that I was dead, there was no real need to worry about financial matters.
"Yes indeedy~!" came the chipper reply from the oddly... inhuman angel. She seemed to possess all the quality of a pristine human being. "You are our 100 billionth soul! I never thought this day would come~" she sounded like she was choking back a tear, but her smile did not even quiver, her brow did not dip. Her back was hunched- or rather, the extra muscles required by her wings bulged as they worked to keep her aloft. "But you are on 100 billionth soul free of all the impugning karma you humans tend to gather! Guess all that extra work pro bono came back to lift you up after all!"
I would have chuckled, but that would have been unprofessional.
See, I was a Lawyer while I lived.
I know, curious, isn't it? That a man whose duty was to lie for his clients be proven worthy of entering the gates of eternal life. But you know, there's something to be said about kindness. It opened doors to some magical places in my life. It drove some of my colleagues crazy how I could never hold a grudge.
But the Angel here... she could qualify as a real chatterbox. She informed of a number of tawdry details regarding the finaglings of the wish. It had be a decision already made in the past. It has to a single decisions. The consequences of said decision would alter time, and the results would be immediately accounted for in the course of history.
"Have any others been given an opportunity like this?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Quite a few in fact. There was a perimician who lacked the... ability to consider cause and effect. They simply asked to reverse the direction they last took. Oh, there was a dog who deeply wished to reverse the decision of its first master to abandon it..."
"Yes, yes, but... what about... humans? Have any other *human* souls been given an opportunity like this?"
"Well, there are a feeewwww... I think I can take you to one right now!" the angellic... doll beamed. It was deeply unsettling. I never wished to see it again. I almost used up my chance to reverse a decision right there and then.
She flew my up amongst the clouds. She opened her mouth and from it issued forth a curious chime. Every human below turned their eyes toward us. It was like decision she made was purposefully constructed to make me regret ask- Ahhhh... that could be the ploy here. To have their customer waste that power upon a simple, rash decision. Not I.
The Angel set me down in front of a bald man with a newspaper. The *Yeah and the Ways* seemed like a pretty standard Gazette. I could foresee many a celestial morning spent reading such a paper.
"Greetings Human Silas. I have here a fellow human with a query concerning your entrance prize," the Angel said with that twistedly chipper tone of hers. His. I couldn't tell.
Silas, however, was very much a man. He stood up and looked at me. It was then he said, "You got the gift too, huh? Undo any decision?" Well, he certainly didn't waste time... for a man who was free from time once and for all. His hands swung to his sides as he considered me.
"Yeah. I hear you did to."
"Oh, he most certainly di-"
"Shut up," we both interrupted the Angel. She clamped up.
"So, what did you go with?" I asked. Silas gestured to a seat across him. I gladly took it.
"I undid the decision god made when he made us with noses that grew with the weight of our lies."
I opened my mouth. I blinked. I pondered. And finally, I had to ask, "Wait, human's had... noses that grew?"
"Back when I was alive, yeah. It was how could tell a man or woman was lying. Moment they finished, their nose started to bubble out."
"That sounds both horrific AND terrifying."
"You have no idea."
"Thank you."
"Eh, it didn't change that much."
"Really? You'd think humanity would be quite... different without large... shnozes."
"Oh, I did think that. But here's the thing... the noses only grew if the person was aware they were telling a lie," Silas said. He waved a hand over the table, a stout of ale slipping into existance. He picked it up, started to take a sip, before pausing. "Oh right, first timer. Wave your hand in a counter clockwise circle and think REALLY hard about what you want to eat or drink. Just magically appears," he said. "Oh, but uh... do it over a table- most of the time, it just... falls through the clouds."
Following his sage advice, I procurred myself a pint.
We clinked glasses before resuming.
"See, in my land, we had an upper class. All of them had... massive noses. They were taught to lie from an early age, and taught to execute any peasant whose nose grew. They would have weekly collections periods where they would measure the size of person's nose. If the nose was any bigger, the peasant was arrested, and sentenced to manual labor or executed, depending on the degree of difference."
"Well, how did these nobles explain their own noses?"
"They claimed to be born with noses that big. And you know what? It wouldn't suprise me if they did started lying before they were born."
"That bad huh?"
"Oh yes. And, even worse, they managed to get away with it. For centuries. Their towncriers never had growing noses because, as far as they knew, they were speaking the truth. The knights never had expanding nostrils, because no matter what, they were just obeying the orders of their betters."
"So you used your decision to undo that decision? Like, humans were supposed to be born with lie detectors in their noses... but when you made that undo, then...?"
"Then whoever created us, or.. .whatever resulted in us... just... skipped over the shnozz expansion."
"... no offense... but that sounds pretty dumb."
"You're telling me. And to make things worse, once they could lie with impunity, EVERYONE become those nobles. Like, EVERYONE started lying."
"Do you... regret it?" I asked.
"Not one bit," Silas said. "See, I didn't die from this, but I saw others who did... but... sometimes, humans are born... unable to properly... align what's true and what's false."
"So, in that world... the world where noses grow bigger..."
"Nobody could suspect a thing. Now, people understand that ANYONE can lie about ANYTHING. You can't just take someone's word for anything." Silas sighed. I could tell from his posture, his back, his brooding scowl... he had devoted a lot of time to these explanations.
"Eh, I'm sure they would have crafted some laws around it... but I can see why that could be... complicated to implement."
We clinked glasses again, and considered the possibilities. From the look on his face, I could tell that his decision... stuck to him. It clung to him... the same way that Angel just kept sneaking closer and closer in.
"Don't you have other new arrivals to check on?" I asked the Angel.
"I always have time for you~" she said.
It was like every word she said was constucted to irritate me.
I asked to meet another person. And after that, another.
Again and again, I discovered more answers, each twisting the world further and further. Humans once had tails. And we were herbivores. Then we were carnivores, but it lead to terribly inefficient farming techniques, which lead to centuries of starvation...
The more I learned, the less I wanted to decide.
Unfortunately, the Angel kept hovering over me, asking "What would you like to undo? Its a simple wish away~!" with that hollow, cheery voice.
Finally, I decided. The further back my undone decision, the worse the affereffects. The large the decision I undid, the more it would way upon me...
So... I made me decision.
"Hey, Angel?"
"Yessss~?"
"I know what decision I want to do."
"Oh, do tell, do tell!" she clapped animatedly. Animatedly- not lively. People don't clap and bounce like that.
"When I was 32, I made a decision to skip a bus before 10:20pm on January 13th. I want to undo that."
"Are you suuurreee?" the angle asked in her warbling sing-song voice.
"Pretty sure."
"You could easily ask for anything. You undo Satan's decision to betray the heavens. Or fix the US Constitution's 3/5ths rule. Or... or..."
"Angel. I made my decision. Its final."
"But why? Why?"
"Because I don't want to miss my daughter's birth."
---
I jerked awake upon the bus. Behind me, a totalled wreck lay strewn across the street. A taxi. In the middle of the blizzard. I turned to the driver, who looked back to me, quite shaken by the disaster we managed to dodge. I looked back... licked my lips... and ordered him, "Hospital. Now." | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Undo any decision? Me? Why me?"
Death gently put aside their scythe. "Well, you see, my child, They want to commemorate the one billionth human to be dead. Even *I* don't know why do They do that, but it's just a nice thing to have. I still remember when this chance was given to another person, the one who became the one hundredth person to be dead; she undid her birth. Turns out, her city burned down because no one stopped those gangs—rebels—from destroying it. She was sweet, though, I like her voice."
Furrowing my eyebrows, I stared down. "Can I undo *anything?* I mean, anything, like the World Wars, ISIS, terrorist attacks, and else?"
Death nodded. "Of course, my child. Everything," their smile disappeared along with them taking their scythe. "Though I must remind you, anything comes with some consequences. Who knows what undoing what you humans judge as 'bad things' would do. Also, my apologies, I have some people to take care of," Death moved past me, opening a portal so bright I couldn't see anything beyond it. "If you've made your decision, just say it. Words have power here, my child. See you in a few days."
Now I was alone here. With no one to guide me to make some decisions, I guess I have to make the decision myself.
I just realized I haven't looked around much. Death's office looked so tidy and organized, though it was mostly wood and brown instead of the popular white rooms in the Earth. I didn't know woods could be found here, but eh, it looked neat, so why would I bother?
The shelves were filled with books of varying sizes. Some have red covers, some black, but mostly brown, like the room. Apparently, Death liked brown—that wasn't something any human can know easily.
After much walking around, I ended up walking toward their desk. It was of dark brown color, in fact, much darker than any furniture and object I found. On the top of it were two books, an ink and quill—Death liked old-fashioned things, too—and a table lamp emanating warm, golden light. I opened the first book I saw, which had red cover among the other ones on the desk.
I flipped right to the first bookmark. A table full of names were written on the pages. Beside them were dates of birth, dates of death, occupations, and more. There were small boxes, too; some were crossed, some empty. So the concept of destined death existed—just as I believed.
I skimmed through the pages looking for my name... and I found it.
*Fariz Darmahusna, 12/3/1997, 8/12/2018, student-painter, sleeping.*
I chuckled. I didn't know why, but seeing my name with the box crossed just felt funny. Not many people died in their sleep, and I probably should feel proud to be one of them. Iwas dead, and I could undo anything I wanted to now. Better not waste this chance—I had to find something to undo.
Out of curiosity, I opened the other book and flipped right to the last page. This one was the thickest book I found on the table, if not the whole room. Its pages were yellow and quite stiff; must be an old book.
I got to the last page. I stared at the content, chills moving through my skin.
*Death, 0/0/0, []/[]/[], life-taker, end of the world.*
I gulped.
The end of the world is less than two books away. The world would end after all the names in these books were crossed. The world would end. It would be destroyed.
"Ahaha...."
Even though I was dead, there were people still alive. They would have to feel the immense pain of seeing their loved ones dying, their planet burning, their body.... No. The world wouldn't have to end if something was done.
What could I undo to prevent the end of world from happening?
An idea came to my mind. It was outrageous, and the world was meant to be destroyed anyway, but I—nor did any humans—wanted it to end.
I glanced at the other death dates.
"Fate," I murmured, "I want to undo fate, these death dates and people's lives."
The room shook. Books fell out of the shelves, the hanging lamp crashed onto the floor, and everything went dark. I took the book and hid under the desk, trying to avoid anything that might hit my head.
But the floor below me broke.
I fell.
It was dark. Death's office crumbled away, consumed by the darkness.
It was dark. Empty. I continuously fell, never hitting an end.
It was dark.
But then, it was bright. Brighter than the portal Death opened.
I heard voices.
"Amazing!"
"I—is this real?! We did it?!"
"By the God! We did it, Marsha!"
"Hold on. I don't remember he held a book when he died."
"Hm? Right, I don't remember seeing that book before."
"Maybe resurrection brings some things from the 'other side' too, as Ayu stated. Maybe he was somewhere in a place full of books in the 'other side'?"
I blinked several times.
"I'm... alive...?" | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I looked at my wrists and their soft texture.
"Any? Even if it brings me back to life?" I asked. My mind was empty, I had never really thought of the things I regretter until only a moment ago, and now I had the chance to go back.
"Any decision." The woman in front of me said, giving a soft sad nod. Her grin gave me confort, but I could see the tears forming in her eyes as she read my soul.
"May I-" I stumbled over my words. I am not confident, I thought, but right then I remembered what I had thought a moment before. I should have been more confident, I'm going to be confident.
"May I see my mother once more?"
The woman closed her eyes to breathe, she needed to recieve a clear order.
"What decision do you regret?"
"I want to undo the decision of filling the bath tub."
The woman chuckled softly. "Good luck."
I was once more in my department, my mother was banging on the door, and I was standing right in front of my bathtub. I dropped what I had in my hand, which left a small cut in my fingers, but despite my pain and blood I opened the door to embrace my mother in her desperate hug. | Savannah is a city where the culture of past generations feed the frantic energy of youthful expression. Victorian homes are bordered by small town brick structures, which wear the murals of postmodern art students. Gay pride parades march over craggy streets, made of bone and cobblestone, the remnants of productive subjugation and a violent past. A building of segmented concrete stood in hard relief to its surroundings, a cold mien of dynamic purpose.
David knew his access point and he knew his objective. He also knew the world would be a better place after it was done. The load was surprisingly light on his back and his conscience mirrored the perception. There are times to love, there are times to hate and then there are times where they are one in the same.
\*\*\*
David died in a blaze of unappreciated glory. Just before fragments of his spinal chord made their way through the soft tissue of his brain, the world opened up and presented itself to him. The moment, so sudden, reduced itself and began to multiply into an endless progression of snap shot experiences. As he reached out for them, they slipped away but let him grasp onto what he was before he was born. He walked back through his life; the minor slights of others and small triumphs of his own. They all spiraled into a tribal dance of flame, exalting the mediocre and leveling peaks. In this moment he discovered unity and the pointlessness of it. Regret is a heuristic created by the minds of animals who wish to climb out of the rut their actions carve in the ground. Regret, shame, love. . . all things that can be cleansed through judgement in the form of fire. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Yeah but that means I wouldn't have died then."
It's honestly my luck. To die, number 100k - and told that before my heart is placed on the scales of justice one negative karmic decision can be undone.
Just one.
"Yeah you're not understanding. I wouldn't have died if I went to Wendy's instead."
YOU CAN NOT PUT ONE WHO RESIDES AROUND THE HOLY OF HOLIEST IN CONSTANT WORSHIP TO THE TEST OF PARADOX.
&#x200B;
"As above so below." Yeah. That was muttered. See, if you knew me - you'd know that my company business side-job is the "import of cannabis seeds" - "As above, Sow Below." One problem. I'm horrible at business. I'm really good at reading and watching Youtube. So decided to start practicing alchemy. Honestly living the lifestyle. Ultimately my brain was fried in a circular loop of what is polarity and where does polarity exist everywhere if not anywhere. Dropped out. Plugged in. Tuned out. Found the tone. Felt as if the powers of the ALL were given to me now the afterlife must be described yet not be the emotional heart-string.
STATE YOUR ANSWER FOR ONE MARK OF INJUSTICE TO BE REMOVED BEFORE THE GOLDEN FEATHER
&#x200B;
"To go to Wendy's instead."
&#x200B;
YOU CAN NOT STATE THAT ANSWER.
"I just did. There's literally 19,000 universes now where that exists."
&#x200B;
YOU JUST MADE THAT UP. YOUR HUMAN MIND IS CONCEIVING DEATH HOW IT WISHES. ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND WHAT IS HAPPENING."
&#x200B;
"But I do." I do understand. "Why can't you accept the answer?"
Silence.
"Is someone telling you what to do - wait a minute - "
There's a small line of smoke rising - there's a cigarette in my hand.
"I can manifest anything you just said so."
&#x200B;
ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND.
&#x200B;
"Yet it's what I'm... experiencing. I can do anything."
&#x200B;
STATE YOUR ANSWER.
Suddenly my feet are off the floor and I'm wearing my favorite outfit; sexual urges fill my mind as the entire process of getting ready for the night washes over me in a single thought.
"What if I don't answer?"
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
The cigarette taste just as cancer causing as reality.
&#x200B;
What if I want to manifest Wendy's.
&#x200B;
The room changes into a familiar scene just an hour ago. The living room before getting in the car.
&#x200B;
"Eat Eat, Da Da?" My two year old son shakes his cookie in my face. "Eat Da Eat Da!"
"Your pregnant wife is craving chicken nuggets." I grab my son and fall into my wife and start crying.
&#x200B;
"It's ok.. hey." Marriage sometimes pauses those long physical touchings so it felt... reassuring. Pure joy. Life restored. "I still want nuggets though." She pulled back and smiled and said, "He looks just like you." My son and his curly hair nestled against my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"The nuggets are on sale at Wendy's." I lied.
"But I like the other ones!" She teases back.
"How about you drive, instead?"
&#x200B;
I hand her the keys.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | When you open your eyes to an endless void, it's like they're still shut, making the simple act a futile gesture. I realized this fact as I found myself enveloped in said void, wondering to myself what the hell just happened. The last thing I remember, I was driving down Highway 41, a trip I'd made thousands of times before, and then... This.
"Shit," I say to myself as the realization dawns on me.
I had fallen asleep behind the wheel. I'm dead.
Suddenly, just as I had come to grips with my demise, a voice fills the void.
"Mr. Fischer?"
"Yes?" I reply, sheepishly. There is nothing else I could say as I faced what I figured was my final judgement. I waited for what felt like an eternity and a second at the same time. Time has no meaning in the void.
Suddenly, the void was washed with a bright light, as thousands of balloons rained down upon me, with no source in sight. A jaunty Herb Alpert tune played as the booming voice filled the air.
"CONGRATULATIONS! You are our 100 BILLIONTH customer!" said the voice. All I could do was stand there with my jaw on the floor as I took this all in. Of all the ways I'd imagined death, I'd never imagined it being like a customer at an ice cream shop with really good timing.
"Wha...?" I squeaked. More balloons.
"And as our 100 billionth customer, you get a special prize that is, if you pardon my speech, to DIE for! All you have to do is answer one single question. Mr. Fischer, are you ready?"
"Yeah...?" I said.
"What decision in your life would you undo?"
The music stopped. The balloons disappeared and the void returned.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm sure you have something you regret in your life that you'd like to undo." the voice explained. "Who doesn't?"
I thought for a while. So many dumb decisions in my life, so many regrets. So many things I'd done that I wish I hadn't.
But then it hit me.
"You know what? I don't think I'd change a thing."
The voice stammered. "Y-you don't want to change?"
"No. Because you know what? After every stupid mistake I've ever made, every wrong thing that's kept me awake at night and left me cringing at random moments, I've learned from them. I've improved because of them."
"But," contested the voice. "You could make yourself richer. You could make yourself more powerful. There's so much you could do with this opportunity that I've given you."
"I know. But I've learned to live with my mistakes and the consequences they've caused. And now that I'm dead, does it really matter?"
"Alright, alright, that's enough."
Another voice, kinder and gentler than the last, filled the void. The first voice stammered.
"But I was just-"
"OUT."
The first voice grumbled as it faded from the air.
"Sorry about that," the second voice said. "It's his first day and he went off script. Delusions of grandeur, y’know. Now, if you'll just follow me, we'll proceed with your processing into the afterlife. There's some folks here who'd like to see you. One of them baked a pie."
My eyes started to water as I followed the voice to eternity.
"But hey, if this was a test, not saying that it was or anything, I'd say you passed." | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Herwo Miztr Cardmr...”
I was...hearing something? Yeah, yeah, hearing, that was it. I was hearing, I thought. Everything was very fuzzy, my breaths felt broken and liquid all at once, some sort of vertigo made me think I was tasting colors- but no, I thought I was hearing. I think.
“Mishtr Carder...”
I remember a guy, the glint of a knife and then pain, a slice across my face, something sharp in my abdomen, then...the ground? I remember seeing the skies for a moment, a few stars. Why couldn’t I see? I felt myself rack with coughs as I struggled to breathe, a chill came over me, and still everything felt like I was being dipped into solidifying molasses.
“Mister Carter, please calm down!”
The voice came through clear and I shook out a few more coughs before I stilled. I still couldn’t see- where was my vision? Had the knife gone into my eyes?
“For the love of God, open your eyes, Mister Carter.”
Oh.
I tried to do so manually, and lo and behold, my sight came pouring in. Things were fuzzy and too-bright at first, but I could see. Thank God I could see.
“You have questions, I’m sure. We usually hold consultations for the welcoming of the after-life, and you’ll get yours I assure you. But, you get a special surprise as well.” It was, oddly enough, a rather thick Russian accent.
The voice was coming from a woman, sitting behind a desk. She was wearing a dark grey suit, hands properly steepled atop her dark oaken desk. She had a sharp look to her, dark blonde hair and blue eyes, a pointy noise and high cheek bones. She looked...put upon.
“Wha-“ I tried to speak but my voice was so dry it hurt to attempt. Her thin hands pushed a cup of water towards me and I took it and gulped it down before trying again. “What?”
“The high council came up with this, new initiative,” she said as she rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “You, Mister Carter, are the 100,000,000,000th person to die on this Earth. Congratulations.”
I looked at her, eyes open. She visibly sighed.
“Yes Mr. Carter, you are dead. You died at,” she raised her arm to look at her watch. “April 17, 2067. 2:49 AM very early Tuesday Morning. Drug deal gone wrong.”
“Wai-“
“Mister Carter,” she said, leaning back. “I normally am very amenable to this process, but we have a limited time before your Eternity Hearing, and you must receive after-life counseling before it or risk becoming a wraith that our ground team will have to deal with, so I will answer all your questions right now. The only thing you must do is sit back, shut up, and listen.”
She had leaned forward in her chair and lowered her brows in a way that said she meant serious business. So, considering how confused I was, I sat back, shut up, and listened.
I learned a lot. In summary: I was dead. I was not in heaven, or hell, but not purgatory, which she divulged didn’t exist. I was in the administration complex connected to heaven, as the Big Guy liked to oversee the Recently Deceased. Vanya was her name, and she was not a woman, but an angel who’s physical form would terrify me so much that I would die immediately (it had happened in the past), and that would make weird complications and paperwork, so it was given a randomly generated human form each day. My hell/heaven decision would be happening soon, and she wouldn’t budge on what my chances looked like. Heaven was actual, literal paradise that was mostly great, but people could be stuck up and eventually you got tired of all the Italian Cream Cake they serve, even though it’s literally the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. Hell was, yes, a den of eternal torture and damnation, but if you appealed to your assigned demon torturer they could slack up on the torture schedule a little.
And I, Wesley Carter, was the 100,000,000,000th person to die. And as such, I was awarded the chance to change any decision. ANY decision. Ever. In the history of existence. She said, in the grand scheme, it was more of a social experiment than to have any real impact on the world, but the Big Guy thought it’d be interesting to see.
I freaked out for a while at the pure immensity of everything going on, but she talked me through it. Even though she was rather sharp, she seemed to care. Soon, I was still in freak out mode, but managing better. After all of that, she gave me time to think, and left the room.
My entire life had been selfish. I was a bad kid, raised by a Mom that tried her best and a father that cared about his whiskey cabinet more than his family. He beat her, and I took my anger out on others. Went to juvie for a while for possession and assault. I tried to get cleaned up in my mid twenties. Counseling, cold turkey, found a nice catholic girl, never went to school but got an okay job doing construction management, had a kid a few years later. Dad died, I didn’t care much, didn’t even shed a tear. Then mom got sick with cervical cancer. Before she died she told me she loved me and to take care of myself, she had always worried I wouldn’t. In my Thirties I hit hard times and got laid off. Took to the whiskey. Bourbon. Led to coke. Family struggling, kid walking around with fifth-hand clothes. Moved to small apartment with dog shit on the ground. Heroine came in the picture. Couldn’t stay sober enough to love them like I should, spent check money on drugs. Just like my father, and his father, and his, allegedly.
I could kill Hitler. Stop Christopher Columbus from sailing the ocean blue. Any war I could stop. Bet I could find a way to end AIDS. Maybe save those astronauts that blew up on their ship.
But then I thought about my little girl, small and too thin, hiding from me when I walked in the door. She was scared of her own father.
“I’m ready.” I said aloud. I heard the woman walk back in. She sat at the desk, steepled her fingers and looked at me.
“What have you decided?”
———————-
I heard the sorry fuck in his little house-thing just outside of their little town. I had been transported to their farm, just a few feet away from their home. The sun was too bright and it smelled like shit everywhere. England 1532 was...interesting. There weren’t many people around. Saw some horses, heard some chickens. I gripped the gun in my hands and walked towards the house Vanya had told me about.
“Yes Father, I think she’ll be just the girl for me. She’s pretty- not overly so, but just right. Her father has some fine horses...” a young voice was speaking inside. An older. Deeper voice replied but I couldn’t make it out.
“She’s not too bright either, just smart enough to tutor the children but not enough to talk back. She’ll do just fine.”
“Good, son...” I heard the older man reply as I crept closer to the door. I huffed, I guess we really were all shitbags. I didn’t care about others seeing me- Vanya would pull me out once it was done. So I walked brazenly to the open door and saw the two of them sitting at a table. The father turned to me first, then the young man.
In front of me stood my two distant, distant relatives, James and Earl Carter. They looked...very English, but Earl, the older man, did look a bit like my Uncle Derrick.
“Can we help you? You’re on our property.” The older man said. I smiled and shook my head. See, getting rid of myself wasn’t enough. My father would still have existed and hurt my mom. But even he wasn’t enough. My grandfather was a bad man too. The whole line of men in my family were assholes, and the few who weren’t couldn’t be spared. So what better to do than to just make sure none of us ever existed in the first place? We couldn’t hurt anyone that way. I figured this was far back enough. Earl had one son, the rest daughters. I thought I would be more sad at the propsect of ending the Carter line, but we han’t contributed much anyway.
Earl started to advance toward me. “You either talk or leave right no-“
I raised the gun and shot. The bullet hit its target, right in the head. He grunted and fell down on his face. James screamed and shuffled back. I huffed. Cowards, the both of us.
“What the hel-“ he was cut off by the bullet to his head too. He slumped back and slid to the floor, blood seeping from the wound.
——————-
I was back in the office.
“Congratulations Mister Carter on your success.” Vanya said, smiling.
“My wife? My mom? How are they?”
Vanya’s smile fell and she pursed her lips before focusing. Her eyes went white for a moment before she came back. “They are both alive. Lucky, playing with lineages can be tricky. You never know who’s connected to who. Your mother is fine, settled down with an Artist in San Francisco. Two little girls. Your wife is in India on a mission trip.”
I nodded. My mom had always liked art- and now my, ex-wife I suppose, was doing something more meaningful than watching over my disastrous life.
“Are we all done here?”
I took a deep breath and looked at Vanya, nodded. She was pretty now that I looked at her, maybe if-
“Those thoughts are not appropriate Mister Carter. I am a celestial being without sexual desires and am wholly unattached to anything that is connected to human function or thought. Now, follow me, your Counselor is waiting. His name is Gabriel.”
She stood and walked out of the room, opening the door with ease. I took a deep breath and stood as well, following her into the grey hallway.
I started considering the best way to negotiate with demons. | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Any decision?" you ask Death.
ANYTHING, Death responds.
You think for a moment. There are any number of things you could ask to be rewritten. Any time you had ever been cruel, any time you had ever been weak. But the idea was in your head now, the one that you had thought of immediately but didn't want yourself to choose. The one that showed just a little bit too much of who you really were.
"I want you to always and forever undo the decision to kill me, leaving me at age 35 permanently," you say, shakily.
Death stands still. IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED? he seems to ask no one.
You shrug. "That's up to you," you rattle out weakly. Hoping.
The pause lasted a lifetime. For all you knew, it did last a lifetime.
Death's bones rattle as he moves almost imperceptibly towards you.
IT IS DONE, he intones, and before you can react he swipes you with his scythe.
You wake up in a flash of light, in your own bed, in your own home. You scrabble for your phone. It is your 35th birthday. | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "A chance to change any decision?" I asked, blinking, still uncertain as to the parameters of the granted prize. I had always been leery of anything given for free, but I was always too polite to abjectly decline when such offers were made.
Of course, now that I was dead, there was no real need to worry about financial matters.
"Yes indeedy~!" came the chipper reply from the oddly... inhuman angel. She seemed to possess all the quality of a pristine human being. "You are our 100 billionth soul! I never thought this day would come~" she sounded like she was choking back a tear, but her smile did not even quiver, her brow did not dip. Her back was hunched- or rather, the extra muscles required by her wings bulged as they worked to keep her aloft. "But you are on 100 billionth soul free of all the impugning karma you humans tend to gather! Guess all that extra work pro bono came back to lift you up after all!"
I would have chuckled, but that would have been unprofessional.
See, I was a Lawyer while I lived.
I know, curious, isn't it? That a man whose duty was to lie for his clients be proven worthy of entering the gates of eternal life. But you know, there's something to be said about kindness. It opened doors to some magical places in my life. It drove some of my colleagues crazy how I could never hold a grudge.
But the Angel here... she could qualify as a real chatterbox. She informed of a number of tawdry details regarding the finaglings of the wish. It had be a decision already made in the past. It has to a single decisions. The consequences of said decision would alter time, and the results would be immediately accounted for in the course of history.
"Have any others been given an opportunity like this?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Quite a few in fact. There was a perimician who lacked the... ability to consider cause and effect. They simply asked to reverse the direction they last took. Oh, there was a dog who deeply wished to reverse the decision of its first master to abandon it..."
"Yes, yes, but... what about... humans? Have any other *human* souls been given an opportunity like this?"
"Well, there are a feeewwww... I think I can take you to one right now!" the angellic... doll beamed. It was deeply unsettling. I never wished to see it again. I almost used up my chance to reverse a decision right there and then.
She flew my up amongst the clouds. She opened her mouth and from it issued forth a curious chime. Every human below turned their eyes toward us. It was like decision she made was purposefully constructed to make me regret ask- Ahhhh... that could be the ploy here. To have their customer waste that power upon a simple, rash decision. Not I.
The Angel set me down in front of a bald man with a newspaper. The *Yeah and the Ways* seemed like a pretty standard Gazette. I could foresee many a celestial morning spent reading such a paper.
"Greetings Human Silas. I have here a fellow human with a query concerning your entrance prize," the Angel said with that twistedly chipper tone of hers. His. I couldn't tell.
Silas, however, was very much a man. He stood up and looked at me. It was then he said, "You got the gift too, huh? Undo any decision?" Well, he certainly didn't waste time... for a man who was free from time once and for all. His hands swung to his sides as he considered me.
"Yeah. I hear you did to."
"Oh, he most certainly di-"
"Shut up," we both interrupted the Angel. She clamped up.
"So, what did you go with?" I asked. Silas gestured to a seat across him. I gladly took it.
"I undid the decision god made when he made us with noses that grew with the weight of our lies."
I opened my mouth. I blinked. I pondered. And finally, I had to ask, "Wait, human's had... noses that grew?"
"Back when I was alive, yeah. It was how could tell a man or woman was lying. Moment they finished, their nose started to bubble out."
"That sounds both horrific AND terrifying."
"You have no idea."
"Thank you."
"Eh, it didn't change that much."
"Really? You'd think humanity would be quite... different without large... shnozes."
"Oh, I did think that. But here's the thing... the noses only grew if the person was aware they were telling a lie," Silas said. He waved a hand over the table, a stout of ale slipping into existance. He picked it up, started to take a sip, before pausing. "Oh right, first timer. Wave your hand in a counter clockwise circle and think REALLY hard about what you want to eat or drink. Just magically appears," he said. "Oh, but uh... do it over a table- most of the time, it just... falls through the clouds."
Following his sage advice, I procurred myself a pint.
We clinked glasses before resuming.
"See, in my land, we had an upper class. All of them had... massive noses. They were taught to lie from an early age, and taught to execute any peasant whose nose grew. They would have weekly collections periods where they would measure the size of person's nose. If the nose was any bigger, the peasant was arrested, and sentenced to manual labor or executed, depending on the degree of difference."
"Well, how did these nobles explain their own noses?"
"They claimed to be born with noses that big. And you know what? It wouldn't suprise me if they did started lying before they were born."
"That bad huh?"
"Oh yes. And, even worse, they managed to get away with it. For centuries. Their towncriers never had growing noses because, as far as they knew, they were speaking the truth. The knights never had expanding nostrils, because no matter what, they were just obeying the orders of their betters."
"So you used your decision to undo that decision? Like, humans were supposed to be born with lie detectors in their noses... but when you made that undo, then...?"
"Then whoever created us, or.. .whatever resulted in us... just... skipped over the shnozz expansion."
"... no offense... but that sounds pretty dumb."
"You're telling me. And to make things worse, once they could lie with impunity, EVERYONE become those nobles. Like, EVERYONE started lying."
"Do you... regret it?" I asked.
"Not one bit," Silas said. "See, I didn't die from this, but I saw others who did... but... sometimes, humans are born... unable to properly... align what's true and what's false."
"So, in that world... the world where noses grow bigger..."
"Nobody could suspect a thing. Now, people understand that ANYONE can lie about ANYTHING. You can't just take someone's word for anything." Silas sighed. I could tell from his posture, his back, his brooding scowl... he had devoted a lot of time to these explanations.
"Eh, I'm sure they would have crafted some laws around it... but I can see why that could be... complicated to implement."
We clinked glasses again, and considered the possibilities. From the look on his face, I could tell that his decision... stuck to him. It clung to him... the same way that Angel just kept sneaking closer and closer in.
"Don't you have other new arrivals to check on?" I asked the Angel.
"I always have time for you~" she said.
It was like every word she said was constucted to irritate me.
I asked to meet another person. And after that, another.
Again and again, I discovered more answers, each twisting the world further and further. Humans once had tails. And we were herbivores. Then we were carnivores, but it lead to terribly inefficient farming techniques, which lead to centuries of starvation...
The more I learned, the less I wanted to decide.
Unfortunately, the Angel kept hovering over me, asking "What would you like to undo? Its a simple wish away~!" with that hollow, cheery voice.
Finally, I decided. The further back my undone decision, the worse the affereffects. The large the decision I undid, the more it would way upon me...
So... I made me decision.
"Hey, Angel?"
"Yessss~?"
"I know what decision I want to do."
"Oh, do tell, do tell!" she clapped animatedly. Animatedly- not lively. People don't clap and bounce like that.
"When I was 32, I made a decision to skip a bus before 10:20pm on January 13th. I want to undo that."
"Are you suuurreee?" the angle asked in her warbling sing-song voice.
"Pretty sure."
"You could easily ask for anything. You undo Satan's decision to betray the heavens. Or fix the US Constitution's 3/5ths rule. Or... or..."
"Angel. I made my decision. Its final."
"But why? Why?"
"Because I don't want to miss my daughter's birth."
---
I jerked awake upon the bus. Behind me, a totalled wreck lay strewn across the street. A taxi. In the middle of the blizzard. I turned to the driver, who looked back to me, quite shaken by the disaster we managed to dodge. I looked back... licked my lips... and ordered him, "Hospital. Now." | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Undo any decision? Me? Why me?"
Death gently put aside their scythe. "Well, you see, my child, They want to commemorate the one billionth human to be dead. Even *I* don't know why do They do that, but it's just a nice thing to have. I still remember when this chance was given to another person, the one who became the one hundredth person to be dead; she undid her birth. Turns out, her city burned down because no one stopped those gangs—rebels—from destroying it. She was sweet, though, I like her voice."
Furrowing my eyebrows, I stared down. "Can I undo *anything?* I mean, anything, like the World Wars, ISIS, terrorist attacks, and else?"
Death nodded. "Of course, my child. Everything," their smile disappeared along with them taking their scythe. "Though I must remind you, anything comes with some consequences. Who knows what undoing what you humans judge as 'bad things' would do. Also, my apologies, I have some people to take care of," Death moved past me, opening a portal so bright I couldn't see anything beyond it. "If you've made your decision, just say it. Words have power here, my child. See you in a few days."
Now I was alone here. With no one to guide me to make some decisions, I guess I have to make the decision myself.
I just realized I haven't looked around much. Death's office looked so tidy and organized, though it was mostly wood and brown instead of the popular white rooms in the Earth. I didn't know woods could be found here, but eh, it looked neat, so why would I bother?
The shelves were filled with books of varying sizes. Some have red covers, some black, but mostly brown, like the room. Apparently, Death liked brown—that wasn't something any human can know easily.
After much walking around, I ended up walking toward their desk. It was of dark brown color, in fact, much darker than any furniture and object I found. On the top of it were two books, an ink and quill—Death liked old-fashioned things, too—and a table lamp emanating warm, golden light. I opened the first book I saw, which had red cover among the other ones on the desk.
I flipped right to the first bookmark. A table full of names were written on the pages. Beside them were dates of birth, dates of death, occupations, and more. There were small boxes, too; some were crossed, some empty. So the concept of destined death existed—just as I believed.
I skimmed through the pages looking for my name... and I found it.
*Fariz Darmahusna, 12/3/1997, 8/12/2018, student-painter, sleeping.*
I chuckled. I didn't know why, but seeing my name with the box crossed just felt funny. Not many people died in their sleep, and I probably should feel proud to be one of them. Iwas dead, and I could undo anything I wanted to now. Better not waste this chance—I had to find something to undo.
Out of curiosity, I opened the other book and flipped right to the last page. This one was the thickest book I found on the table, if not the whole room. Its pages were yellow and quite stiff; must be an old book.
I got to the last page. I stared at the content, chills moving through my skin.
*Death, 0/0/0, []/[]/[], life-taker, end of the world.*
I gulped.
The end of the world is less than two books away. The world would end after all the names in these books were crossed. The world would end. It would be destroyed.
"Ahaha...."
Even though I was dead, there were people still alive. They would have to feel the immense pain of seeing their loved ones dying, their planet burning, their body.... No. The world wouldn't have to end if something was done.
What could I undo to prevent the end of world from happening?
An idea came to my mind. It was outrageous, and the world was meant to be destroyed anyway, but I—nor did any humans—wanted it to end.
I glanced at the other death dates.
"Fate," I murmured, "I want to undo fate, these death dates and people's lives."
The room shook. Books fell out of the shelves, the hanging lamp crashed onto the floor, and everything went dark. I took the book and hid under the desk, trying to avoid anything that might hit my head.
But the floor below me broke.
I fell.
It was dark. Death's office crumbled away, consumed by the darkness.
It was dark. Empty. I continuously fell, never hitting an end.
It was dark.
But then, it was bright. Brighter than the portal Death opened.
I heard voices.
"Amazing!"
"I—is this real?! We did it?!"
"By the God! We did it, Marsha!"
"Hold on. I don't remember he held a book when he died."
"Hm? Right, I don't remember seeing that book before."
"Maybe resurrection brings some things from the 'other side' too, as Ayu stated. Maybe he was somewhere in a place full of books in the 'other side'?"
I blinked several times.
"I'm... alive...?" | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I looked at my wrists and their soft texture.
"Any? Even if it brings me back to life?" I asked. My mind was empty, I had never really thought of the things I regretter until only a moment ago, and now I had the chance to go back.
"Any decision." The woman in front of me said, giving a soft sad nod. Her grin gave me confort, but I could see the tears forming in her eyes as she read my soul.
"May I-" I stumbled over my words. I am not confident, I thought, but right then I remembered what I had thought a moment before. I should have been more confident, I'm going to be confident.
"May I see my mother once more?"
The woman closed her eyes to breathe, she needed to recieve a clear order.
"What decision do you regret?"
"I want to undo the decision of filling the bath tub."
The woman chuckled softly. "Good luck."
I was once more in my department, my mother was banging on the door, and I was standing right in front of my bathtub. I dropped what I had in my hand, which left a small cut in my fingers, but despite my pain and blood I opened the door to embrace my mother in her desperate hug. | I’m asked this question by an unfamiliar face. He looks at me and says, “I’m sorry for your loss. You died, but congrats! You are the 100 Billionth person, and to commemorate this wondrous occasion, you can undo anything decision. So, the choice is yours.” I look back. “My decision? Huh,” I say. “Alright, I want to undo letting myself die.” He snaps his fingers, and I start fading away. “Congratulations, you cheated death. How does it feel?” he says. “Great. At least I’ll put another century under my belt. It’s like my what, 5,000th time I’ve done this now?” I say to him. “See you soon, old friend.” | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | When you open your eyes to an endless void, it's like they're still shut, making the simple act a futile gesture. I realized this fact as I found myself enveloped in said void, wondering to myself what the hell just happened. The last thing I remember, I was driving down Highway 41, a trip I'd made thousands of times before, and then... This.
"Shit," I say to myself as the realization dawns on me.
I had fallen asleep behind the wheel. I'm dead.
Suddenly, just as I had come to grips with my demise, a voice fills the void.
"Mr. Fischer?"
"Yes?" I reply, sheepishly. There is nothing else I could say as I faced what I figured was my final judgement. I waited for what felt like an eternity and a second at the same time. Time has no meaning in the void.
Suddenly, the void was washed with a bright light, as thousands of balloons rained down upon me, with no source in sight. A jaunty Herb Alpert tune played as the booming voice filled the air.
"CONGRATULATIONS! You are our 100 BILLIONTH customer!" said the voice. All I could do was stand there with my jaw on the floor as I took this all in. Of all the ways I'd imagined death, I'd never imagined it being like a customer at an ice cream shop with really good timing.
"Wha...?" I squeaked. More balloons.
"And as our 100 billionth customer, you get a special prize that is, if you pardon my speech, to DIE for! All you have to do is answer one single question. Mr. Fischer, are you ready?"
"Yeah...?" I said.
"What decision in your life would you undo?"
The music stopped. The balloons disappeared and the void returned.
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm sure you have something you regret in your life that you'd like to undo." the voice explained. "Who doesn't?"
I thought for a while. So many dumb decisions in my life, so many regrets. So many things I'd done that I wish I hadn't.
But then it hit me.
"You know what? I don't think I'd change a thing."
The voice stammered. "Y-you don't want to change?"
"No. Because you know what? After every stupid mistake I've ever made, every wrong thing that's kept me awake at night and left me cringing at random moments, I've learned from them. I've improved because of them."
"But," contested the voice. "You could make yourself richer. You could make yourself more powerful. There's so much you could do with this opportunity that I've given you."
"I know. But I've learned to live with my mistakes and the consequences they've caused. And now that I'm dead, does it really matter?"
"Alright, alright, that's enough."
Another voice, kinder and gentler than the last, filled the void. The first voice stammered.
"But I was just-"
"OUT."
The first voice grumbled as it faded from the air.
"Sorry about that," the second voice said. "It's his first day and he went off script. Delusions of grandeur, y’know. Now, if you'll just follow me, we'll proceed with your processing into the afterlife. There's some folks here who'd like to see you. One of them baked a pie."
My eyes started to water as I followed the voice to eternity.
"But hey, if this was a test, not saying that it was or anything, I'd say you passed." | "Yeah but that means I wouldn't have died then."
It's honestly my luck. To die, number 100k - and told that before my heart is placed on the scales of justice one negative karmic decision can be undone.
Just one.
"Yeah you're not understanding. I wouldn't have died if I went to Wendy's instead."
YOU CAN NOT PUT ONE WHO RESIDES AROUND THE HOLY OF HOLIEST IN CONSTANT WORSHIP TO THE TEST OF PARADOX.
&#x200B;
"As above so below." Yeah. That was muttered. See, if you knew me - you'd know that my company business side-job is the "import of cannabis seeds" - "As above, Sow Below." One problem. I'm horrible at business. I'm really good at reading and watching Youtube. So decided to start practicing alchemy. Honestly living the lifestyle. Ultimately my brain was fried in a circular loop of what is polarity and where does polarity exist everywhere if not anywhere. Dropped out. Plugged in. Tuned out. Found the tone. Felt as if the powers of the ALL were given to me now the afterlife must be described yet not be the emotional heart-string.
STATE YOUR ANSWER FOR ONE MARK OF INJUSTICE TO BE REMOVED BEFORE THE GOLDEN FEATHER
&#x200B;
"To go to Wendy's instead."
&#x200B;
YOU CAN NOT STATE THAT ANSWER.
"I just did. There's literally 19,000 universes now where that exists."
&#x200B;
YOU JUST MADE THAT UP. YOUR HUMAN MIND IS CONCEIVING DEATH HOW IT WISHES. ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND WHAT IS HAPPENING."
&#x200B;
"But I do." I do understand. "Why can't you accept the answer?"
Silence.
"Is someone telling you what to do - wait a minute - "
There's a small line of smoke rising - there's a cigarette in my hand.
"I can manifest anything you just said so."
&#x200B;
ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND.
&#x200B;
"Yet it's what I'm... experiencing. I can do anything."
&#x200B;
STATE YOUR ANSWER.
Suddenly my feet are off the floor and I'm wearing my favorite outfit; sexual urges fill my mind as the entire process of getting ready for the night washes over me in a single thought.
"What if I don't answer?"
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
The cigarette taste just as cancer causing as reality.
&#x200B;
What if I want to manifest Wendy's.
&#x200B;
The room changes into a familiar scene just an hour ago. The living room before getting in the car.
&#x200B;
"Eat Eat, Da Da?" My two year old son shakes his cookie in my face. "Eat Da Eat Da!"
"Your pregnant wife is craving chicken nuggets." I grab my son and fall into my wife and start crying.
&#x200B;
"It's ok.. hey." Marriage sometimes pauses those long physical touchings so it felt... reassuring. Pure joy. Life restored. "I still want nuggets though." She pulled back and smiled and said, "He looks just like you." My son and his curly hair nestled against my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"The nuggets are on sale at Wendy's." I lied.
"But I like the other ones!" She teases back.
"How about you drive, instead?"
&#x200B;
I hand her the keys.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | “Herwo Miztr Cardmr...”
I was...hearing something? Yeah, yeah, hearing, that was it. I was hearing, I thought. Everything was very fuzzy, my breaths felt broken and liquid all at once, some sort of vertigo made me think I was tasting colors- but no, I thought I was hearing. I think.
“Mishtr Carder...”
I remember a guy, the glint of a knife and then pain, a slice across my face, something sharp in my abdomen, then...the ground? I remember seeing the skies for a moment, a few stars. Why couldn’t I see? I felt myself rack with coughs as I struggled to breathe, a chill came over me, and still everything felt like I was being dipped into solidifying molasses.
“Mister Carter, please calm down!”
The voice came through clear and I shook out a few more coughs before I stilled. I still couldn’t see- where was my vision? Had the knife gone into my eyes?
“For the love of God, open your eyes, Mister Carter.”
Oh.
I tried to do so manually, and lo and behold, my sight came pouring in. Things were fuzzy and too-bright at first, but I could see. Thank God I could see.
“You have questions, I’m sure. We usually hold consultations for the welcoming of the after-life, and you’ll get yours I assure you. But, you get a special surprise as well.” It was, oddly enough, a rather thick Russian accent.
The voice was coming from a woman, sitting behind a desk. She was wearing a dark grey suit, hands properly steepled atop her dark oaken desk. She had a sharp look to her, dark blonde hair and blue eyes, a pointy noise and high cheek bones. She looked...put upon.
“Wha-“ I tried to speak but my voice was so dry it hurt to attempt. Her thin hands pushed a cup of water towards me and I took it and gulped it down before trying again. “What?”
“The high council came up with this, new initiative,” she said as she rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “You, Mister Carter, are the 100,000,000,000th person to die on this Earth. Congratulations.”
I looked at her, eyes open. She visibly sighed.
“Yes Mr. Carter, you are dead. You died at,” she raised her arm to look at her watch. “April 17, 2067. 2:49 AM very early Tuesday Morning. Drug deal gone wrong.”
“Wai-“
“Mister Carter,” she said, leaning back. “I normally am very amenable to this process, but we have a limited time before your Eternity Hearing, and you must receive after-life counseling before it or risk becoming a wraith that our ground team will have to deal with, so I will answer all your questions right now. The only thing you must do is sit back, shut up, and listen.”
She had leaned forward in her chair and lowered her brows in a way that said she meant serious business. So, considering how confused I was, I sat back, shut up, and listened.
I learned a lot. In summary: I was dead. I was not in heaven, or hell, but not purgatory, which she divulged didn’t exist. I was in the administration complex connected to heaven, as the Big Guy liked to oversee the Recently Deceased. Vanya was her name, and she was not a woman, but an angel who’s physical form would terrify me so much that I would die immediately (it had happened in the past), and that would make weird complications and paperwork, so it was given a randomly generated human form each day. My hell/heaven decision would be happening soon, and she wouldn’t budge on what my chances looked like. Heaven was actual, literal paradise that was mostly great, but people could be stuck up and eventually you got tired of all the Italian Cream Cake they serve, even though it’s literally the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. Hell was, yes, a den of eternal torture and damnation, but if you appealed to your assigned demon torturer they could slack up on the torture schedule a little.
And I, Wesley Carter, was the 100,000,000,000th person to die. And as such, I was awarded the chance to change any decision. ANY decision. Ever. In the history of existence. She said, in the grand scheme, it was more of a social experiment than to have any real impact on the world, but the Big Guy thought it’d be interesting to see.
I freaked out for a while at the pure immensity of everything going on, but she talked me through it. Even though she was rather sharp, she seemed to care. Soon, I was still in freak out mode, but managing better. After all of that, she gave me time to think, and left the room.
My entire life had been selfish. I was a bad kid, raised by a Mom that tried her best and a father that cared about his whiskey cabinet more than his family. He beat her, and I took my anger out on others. Went to juvie for a while for possession and assault. I tried to get cleaned up in my mid twenties. Counseling, cold turkey, found a nice catholic girl, never went to school but got an okay job doing construction management, had a kid a few years later. Dad died, I didn’t care much, didn’t even shed a tear. Then mom got sick with cervical cancer. Before she died she told me she loved me and to take care of myself, she had always worried I wouldn’t. In my Thirties I hit hard times and got laid off. Took to the whiskey. Bourbon. Led to coke. Family struggling, kid walking around with fifth-hand clothes. Moved to small apartment with dog shit on the ground. Heroine came in the picture. Couldn’t stay sober enough to love them like I should, spent check money on drugs. Just like my father, and his father, and his, allegedly.
I could kill Hitler. Stop Christopher Columbus from sailing the ocean blue. Any war I could stop. Bet I could find a way to end AIDS. Maybe save those astronauts that blew up on their ship.
But then I thought about my little girl, small and too thin, hiding from me when I walked in the door. She was scared of her own father.
“I’m ready.” I said aloud. I heard the woman walk back in. She sat at the desk, steepled her fingers and looked at me.
“What have you decided?”
———————-
I heard the sorry fuck in his little house-thing just outside of their little town. I had been transported to their farm, just a few feet away from their home. The sun was too bright and it smelled like shit everywhere. England 1532 was...interesting. There weren’t many people around. Saw some horses, heard some chickens. I gripped the gun in my hands and walked towards the house Vanya had told me about.
“Yes Father, I think she’ll be just the girl for me. She’s pretty- not overly so, but just right. Her father has some fine horses...” a young voice was speaking inside. An older. Deeper voice replied but I couldn’t make it out.
“She’s not too bright either, just smart enough to tutor the children but not enough to talk back. She’ll do just fine.”
“Good, son...” I heard the older man reply as I crept closer to the door. I huffed, I guess we really were all shitbags. I didn’t care about others seeing me- Vanya would pull me out once it was done. So I walked brazenly to the open door and saw the two of them sitting at a table. The father turned to me first, then the young man.
In front of me stood my two distant, distant relatives, James and Earl Carter. They looked...very English, but Earl, the older man, did look a bit like my Uncle Derrick.
“Can we help you? You’re on our property.” The older man said. I smiled and shook my head. See, getting rid of myself wasn’t enough. My father would still have existed and hurt my mom. But even he wasn’t enough. My grandfather was a bad man too. The whole line of men in my family were assholes, and the few who weren’t couldn’t be spared. So what better to do than to just make sure none of us ever existed in the first place? We couldn’t hurt anyone that way. I figured this was far back enough. Earl had one son, the rest daughters. I thought I would be more sad at the propsect of ending the Carter line, but we han’t contributed much anyway.
Earl started to advance toward me. “You either talk or leave right no-“
I raised the gun and shot. The bullet hit its target, right in the head. He grunted and fell down on his face. James screamed and shuffled back. I huffed. Cowards, the both of us.
“What the hel-“ he was cut off by the bullet to his head too. He slumped back and slid to the floor, blood seeping from the wound.
——————-
I was back in the office.
“Congratulations Mister Carter on your success.” Vanya said, smiling.
“My wife? My mom? How are they?”
Vanya’s smile fell and she pursed her lips before focusing. Her eyes went white for a moment before she came back. “They are both alive. Lucky, playing with lineages can be tricky. You never know who’s connected to who. Your mother is fine, settled down with an Artist in San Francisco. Two little girls. Your wife is in India on a mission trip.”
I nodded. My mom had always liked art- and now my, ex-wife I suppose, was doing something more meaningful than watching over my disastrous life.
“Are we all done here?”
I took a deep breath and looked at Vanya, nodded. She was pretty now that I looked at her, maybe if-
“Those thoughts are not appropriate Mister Carter. I am a celestial being without sexual desires and am wholly unattached to anything that is connected to human function or thought. Now, follow me, your Counselor is waiting. His name is Gabriel.”
She stood and walked out of the room, opening the door with ease. I took a deep breath and stood as well, following her into the grey hallway.
I started considering the best way to negotiate with demons. | "Yeah but that means I wouldn't have died then."
It's honestly my luck. To die, number 100k - and told that before my heart is placed on the scales of justice one negative karmic decision can be undone.
Just one.
"Yeah you're not understanding. I wouldn't have died if I went to Wendy's instead."
YOU CAN NOT PUT ONE WHO RESIDES AROUND THE HOLY OF HOLIEST IN CONSTANT WORSHIP TO THE TEST OF PARADOX.
&#x200B;
"As above so below." Yeah. That was muttered. See, if you knew me - you'd know that my company business side-job is the "import of cannabis seeds" - "As above, Sow Below." One problem. I'm horrible at business. I'm really good at reading and watching Youtube. So decided to start practicing alchemy. Honestly living the lifestyle. Ultimately my brain was fried in a circular loop of what is polarity and where does polarity exist everywhere if not anywhere. Dropped out. Plugged in. Tuned out. Found the tone. Felt as if the powers of the ALL were given to me now the afterlife must be described yet not be the emotional heart-string.
STATE YOUR ANSWER FOR ONE MARK OF INJUSTICE TO BE REMOVED BEFORE THE GOLDEN FEATHER
&#x200B;
"To go to Wendy's instead."
&#x200B;
YOU CAN NOT STATE THAT ANSWER.
"I just did. There's literally 19,000 universes now where that exists."
&#x200B;
YOU JUST MADE THAT UP. YOUR HUMAN MIND IS CONCEIVING DEATH HOW IT WISHES. ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND WHAT IS HAPPENING."
&#x200B;
"But I do." I do understand. "Why can't you accept the answer?"
Silence.
"Is someone telling you what to do - wait a minute - "
There's a small line of smoke rising - there's a cigarette in my hand.
"I can manifest anything you just said so."
&#x200B;
ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND.
&#x200B;
"Yet it's what I'm... experiencing. I can do anything."
&#x200B;
STATE YOUR ANSWER.
Suddenly my feet are off the floor and I'm wearing my favorite outfit; sexual urges fill my mind as the entire process of getting ready for the night washes over me in a single thought.
"What if I don't answer?"
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
The cigarette taste just as cancer causing as reality.
&#x200B;
What if I want to manifest Wendy's.
&#x200B;
The room changes into a familiar scene just an hour ago. The living room before getting in the car.
&#x200B;
"Eat Eat, Da Da?" My two year old son shakes his cookie in my face. "Eat Da Eat Da!"
"Your pregnant wife is craving chicken nuggets." I grab my son and fall into my wife and start crying.
&#x200B;
"It's ok.. hey." Marriage sometimes pauses those long physical touchings so it felt... reassuring. Pure joy. Life restored. "I still want nuggets though." She pulled back and smiled and said, "He looks just like you." My son and his curly hair nestled against my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"The nuggets are on sale at Wendy's." I lied.
"But I like the other ones!" She teases back.
"How about you drive, instead?"
&#x200B;
I hand her the keys.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "A chance to change any decision?" I asked, blinking, still uncertain as to the parameters of the granted prize. I had always been leery of anything given for free, but I was always too polite to abjectly decline when such offers were made.
Of course, now that I was dead, there was no real need to worry about financial matters.
"Yes indeedy~!" came the chipper reply from the oddly... inhuman angel. She seemed to possess all the quality of a pristine human being. "You are our 100 billionth soul! I never thought this day would come~" she sounded like she was choking back a tear, but her smile did not even quiver, her brow did not dip. Her back was hunched- or rather, the extra muscles required by her wings bulged as they worked to keep her aloft. "But you are on 100 billionth soul free of all the impugning karma you humans tend to gather! Guess all that extra work pro bono came back to lift you up after all!"
I would have chuckled, but that would have been unprofessional.
See, I was a Lawyer while I lived.
I know, curious, isn't it? That a man whose duty was to lie for his clients be proven worthy of entering the gates of eternal life. But you know, there's something to be said about kindness. It opened doors to some magical places in my life. It drove some of my colleagues crazy how I could never hold a grudge.
But the Angel here... she could qualify as a real chatterbox. She informed of a number of tawdry details regarding the finaglings of the wish. It had be a decision already made in the past. It has to a single decisions. The consequences of said decision would alter time, and the results would be immediately accounted for in the course of history.
"Have any others been given an opportunity like this?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Quite a few in fact. There was a perimician who lacked the... ability to consider cause and effect. They simply asked to reverse the direction they last took. Oh, there was a dog who deeply wished to reverse the decision of its first master to abandon it..."
"Yes, yes, but... what about... humans? Have any other *human* souls been given an opportunity like this?"
"Well, there are a feeewwww... I think I can take you to one right now!" the angellic... doll beamed. It was deeply unsettling. I never wished to see it again. I almost used up my chance to reverse a decision right there and then.
She flew my up amongst the clouds. She opened her mouth and from it issued forth a curious chime. Every human below turned their eyes toward us. It was like decision she made was purposefully constructed to make me regret ask- Ahhhh... that could be the ploy here. To have their customer waste that power upon a simple, rash decision. Not I.
The Angel set me down in front of a bald man with a newspaper. The *Yeah and the Ways* seemed like a pretty standard Gazette. I could foresee many a celestial morning spent reading such a paper.
"Greetings Human Silas. I have here a fellow human with a query concerning your entrance prize," the Angel said with that twistedly chipper tone of hers. His. I couldn't tell.
Silas, however, was very much a man. He stood up and looked at me. It was then he said, "You got the gift too, huh? Undo any decision?" Well, he certainly didn't waste time... for a man who was free from time once and for all. His hands swung to his sides as he considered me.
"Yeah. I hear you did to."
"Oh, he most certainly di-"
"Shut up," we both interrupted the Angel. She clamped up.
"So, what did you go with?" I asked. Silas gestured to a seat across him. I gladly took it.
"I undid the decision god made when he made us with noses that grew with the weight of our lies."
I opened my mouth. I blinked. I pondered. And finally, I had to ask, "Wait, human's had... noses that grew?"
"Back when I was alive, yeah. It was how could tell a man or woman was lying. Moment they finished, their nose started to bubble out."
"That sounds both horrific AND terrifying."
"You have no idea."
"Thank you."
"Eh, it didn't change that much."
"Really? You'd think humanity would be quite... different without large... shnozes."
"Oh, I did think that. But here's the thing... the noses only grew if the person was aware they were telling a lie," Silas said. He waved a hand over the table, a stout of ale slipping into existance. He picked it up, started to take a sip, before pausing. "Oh right, first timer. Wave your hand in a counter clockwise circle and think REALLY hard about what you want to eat or drink. Just magically appears," he said. "Oh, but uh... do it over a table- most of the time, it just... falls through the clouds."
Following his sage advice, I procurred myself a pint.
We clinked glasses before resuming.
"See, in my land, we had an upper class. All of them had... massive noses. They were taught to lie from an early age, and taught to execute any peasant whose nose grew. They would have weekly collections periods where they would measure the size of person's nose. If the nose was any bigger, the peasant was arrested, and sentenced to manual labor or executed, depending on the degree of difference."
"Well, how did these nobles explain their own noses?"
"They claimed to be born with noses that big. And you know what? It wouldn't suprise me if they did started lying before they were born."
"That bad huh?"
"Oh yes. And, even worse, they managed to get away with it. For centuries. Their towncriers never had growing noses because, as far as they knew, they were speaking the truth. The knights never had expanding nostrils, because no matter what, they were just obeying the orders of their betters."
"So you used your decision to undo that decision? Like, humans were supposed to be born with lie detectors in their noses... but when you made that undo, then...?"
"Then whoever created us, or.. .whatever resulted in us... just... skipped over the shnozz expansion."
"... no offense... but that sounds pretty dumb."
"You're telling me. And to make things worse, once they could lie with impunity, EVERYONE become those nobles. Like, EVERYONE started lying."
"Do you... regret it?" I asked.
"Not one bit," Silas said. "See, I didn't die from this, but I saw others who did... but... sometimes, humans are born... unable to properly... align what's true and what's false."
"So, in that world... the world where noses grow bigger..."
"Nobody could suspect a thing. Now, people understand that ANYONE can lie about ANYTHING. You can't just take someone's word for anything." Silas sighed. I could tell from his posture, his back, his brooding scowl... he had devoted a lot of time to these explanations.
"Eh, I'm sure they would have crafted some laws around it... but I can see why that could be... complicated to implement."
We clinked glasses again, and considered the possibilities. From the look on his face, I could tell that his decision... stuck to him. It clung to him... the same way that Angel just kept sneaking closer and closer in.
"Don't you have other new arrivals to check on?" I asked the Angel.
"I always have time for you~" she said.
It was like every word she said was constucted to irritate me.
I asked to meet another person. And after that, another.
Again and again, I discovered more answers, each twisting the world further and further. Humans once had tails. And we were herbivores. Then we were carnivores, but it lead to terribly inefficient farming techniques, which lead to centuries of starvation...
The more I learned, the less I wanted to decide.
Unfortunately, the Angel kept hovering over me, asking "What would you like to undo? Its a simple wish away~!" with that hollow, cheery voice.
Finally, I decided. The further back my undone decision, the worse the affereffects. The large the decision I undid, the more it would way upon me...
So... I made me decision.
"Hey, Angel?"
"Yessss~?"
"I know what decision I want to do."
"Oh, do tell, do tell!" she clapped animatedly. Animatedly- not lively. People don't clap and bounce like that.
"When I was 32, I made a decision to skip a bus before 10:20pm on January 13th. I want to undo that."
"Are you suuurreee?" the angle asked in her warbling sing-song voice.
"Pretty sure."
"You could easily ask for anything. You undo Satan's decision to betray the heavens. Or fix the US Constitution's 3/5ths rule. Or... or..."
"Angel. I made my decision. Its final."
"But why? Why?"
"Because I don't want to miss my daughter's birth."
---
I jerked awake upon the bus. Behind me, a totalled wreck lay strewn across the street. A taxi. In the middle of the blizzard. I turned to the driver, who looked back to me, quite shaken by the disaster we managed to dodge. I looked back... licked my lips... and ordered him, "Hospital. Now." | "Yeah but that means I wouldn't have died then."
It's honestly my luck. To die, number 100k - and told that before my heart is placed on the scales of justice one negative karmic decision can be undone.
Just one.
"Yeah you're not understanding. I wouldn't have died if I went to Wendy's instead."
YOU CAN NOT PUT ONE WHO RESIDES AROUND THE HOLY OF HOLIEST IN CONSTANT WORSHIP TO THE TEST OF PARADOX.
&#x200B;
"As above so below." Yeah. That was muttered. See, if you knew me - you'd know that my company business side-job is the "import of cannabis seeds" - "As above, Sow Below." One problem. I'm horrible at business. I'm really good at reading and watching Youtube. So decided to start practicing alchemy. Honestly living the lifestyle. Ultimately my brain was fried in a circular loop of what is polarity and where does polarity exist everywhere if not anywhere. Dropped out. Plugged in. Tuned out. Found the tone. Felt as if the powers of the ALL were given to me now the afterlife must be described yet not be the emotional heart-string.
STATE YOUR ANSWER FOR ONE MARK OF INJUSTICE TO BE REMOVED BEFORE THE GOLDEN FEATHER
&#x200B;
"To go to Wendy's instead."
&#x200B;
YOU CAN NOT STATE THAT ANSWER.
"I just did. There's literally 19,000 universes now where that exists."
&#x200B;
YOU JUST MADE THAT UP. YOUR HUMAN MIND IS CONCEIVING DEATH HOW IT WISHES. ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND WHAT IS HAPPENING."
&#x200B;
"But I do." I do understand. "Why can't you accept the answer?"
Silence.
"Is someone telling you what to do - wait a minute - "
There's a small line of smoke rising - there's a cigarette in my hand.
"I can manifest anything you just said so."
&#x200B;
ONE CAN NOT COMPREHEND.
&#x200B;
"Yet it's what I'm... experiencing. I can do anything."
&#x200B;
STATE YOUR ANSWER.
Suddenly my feet are off the floor and I'm wearing my favorite outfit; sexual urges fill my mind as the entire process of getting ready for the night washes over me in a single thought.
"What if I don't answer?"
&#x200B;
Silence.
&#x200B;
The cigarette taste just as cancer causing as reality.
&#x200B;
What if I want to manifest Wendy's.
&#x200B;
The room changes into a familiar scene just an hour ago. The living room before getting in the car.
&#x200B;
"Eat Eat, Da Da?" My two year old son shakes his cookie in my face. "Eat Da Eat Da!"
"Your pregnant wife is craving chicken nuggets." I grab my son and fall into my wife and start crying.
&#x200B;
"It's ok.. hey." Marriage sometimes pauses those long physical touchings so it felt... reassuring. Pure joy. Life restored. "I still want nuggets though." She pulled back and smiled and said, "He looks just like you." My son and his curly hair nestled against my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"The nuggets are on sale at Wendy's." I lied.
"But I like the other ones!" She teases back.
"How about you drive, instead?"
&#x200B;
I hand her the keys.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "A chance to change any decision?" I asked, blinking, still uncertain as to the parameters of the granted prize. I had always been leery of anything given for free, but I was always too polite to abjectly decline when such offers were made.
Of course, now that I was dead, there was no real need to worry about financial matters.
"Yes indeedy~!" came the chipper reply from the oddly... inhuman angel. She seemed to possess all the quality of a pristine human being. "You are our 100 billionth soul! I never thought this day would come~" she sounded like she was choking back a tear, but her smile did not even quiver, her brow did not dip. Her back was hunched- or rather, the extra muscles required by her wings bulged as they worked to keep her aloft. "But you are on 100 billionth soul free of all the impugning karma you humans tend to gather! Guess all that extra work pro bono came back to lift you up after all!"
I would have chuckled, but that would have been unprofessional.
See, I was a Lawyer while I lived.
I know, curious, isn't it? That a man whose duty was to lie for his clients be proven worthy of entering the gates of eternal life. But you know, there's something to be said about kindness. It opened doors to some magical places in my life. It drove some of my colleagues crazy how I could never hold a grudge.
But the Angel here... she could qualify as a real chatterbox. She informed of a number of tawdry details regarding the finaglings of the wish. It had be a decision already made in the past. It has to a single decisions. The consequences of said decision would alter time, and the results would be immediately accounted for in the course of history.
"Have any others been given an opportunity like this?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Quite a few in fact. There was a perimician who lacked the... ability to consider cause and effect. They simply asked to reverse the direction they last took. Oh, there was a dog who deeply wished to reverse the decision of its first master to abandon it..."
"Yes, yes, but... what about... humans? Have any other *human* souls been given an opportunity like this?"
"Well, there are a feeewwww... I think I can take you to one right now!" the angellic... doll beamed. It was deeply unsettling. I never wished to see it again. I almost used up my chance to reverse a decision right there and then.
She flew my up amongst the clouds. She opened her mouth and from it issued forth a curious chime. Every human below turned their eyes toward us. It was like decision she made was purposefully constructed to make me regret ask- Ahhhh... that could be the ploy here. To have their customer waste that power upon a simple, rash decision. Not I.
The Angel set me down in front of a bald man with a newspaper. The *Yeah and the Ways* seemed like a pretty standard Gazette. I could foresee many a celestial morning spent reading such a paper.
"Greetings Human Silas. I have here a fellow human with a query concerning your entrance prize," the Angel said with that twistedly chipper tone of hers. His. I couldn't tell.
Silas, however, was very much a man. He stood up and looked at me. It was then he said, "You got the gift too, huh? Undo any decision?" Well, he certainly didn't waste time... for a man who was free from time once and for all. His hands swung to his sides as he considered me.
"Yeah. I hear you did to."
"Oh, he most certainly di-"
"Shut up," we both interrupted the Angel. She clamped up.
"So, what did you go with?" I asked. Silas gestured to a seat across him. I gladly took it.
"I undid the decision god made when he made us with noses that grew with the weight of our lies."
I opened my mouth. I blinked. I pondered. And finally, I had to ask, "Wait, human's had... noses that grew?"
"Back when I was alive, yeah. It was how could tell a man or woman was lying. Moment they finished, their nose started to bubble out."
"That sounds both horrific AND terrifying."
"You have no idea."
"Thank you."
"Eh, it didn't change that much."
"Really? You'd think humanity would be quite... different without large... shnozes."
"Oh, I did think that. But here's the thing... the noses only grew if the person was aware they were telling a lie," Silas said. He waved a hand over the table, a stout of ale slipping into existance. He picked it up, started to take a sip, before pausing. "Oh right, first timer. Wave your hand in a counter clockwise circle and think REALLY hard about what you want to eat or drink. Just magically appears," he said. "Oh, but uh... do it over a table- most of the time, it just... falls through the clouds."
Following his sage advice, I procurred myself a pint.
We clinked glasses before resuming.
"See, in my land, we had an upper class. All of them had... massive noses. They were taught to lie from an early age, and taught to execute any peasant whose nose grew. They would have weekly collections periods where they would measure the size of person's nose. If the nose was any bigger, the peasant was arrested, and sentenced to manual labor or executed, depending on the degree of difference."
"Well, how did these nobles explain their own noses?"
"They claimed to be born with noses that big. And you know what? It wouldn't suprise me if they did started lying before they were born."
"That bad huh?"
"Oh yes. And, even worse, they managed to get away with it. For centuries. Their towncriers never had growing noses because, as far as they knew, they were speaking the truth. The knights never had expanding nostrils, because no matter what, they were just obeying the orders of their betters."
"So you used your decision to undo that decision? Like, humans were supposed to be born with lie detectors in their noses... but when you made that undo, then...?"
"Then whoever created us, or.. .whatever resulted in us... just... skipped over the shnozz expansion."
"... no offense... but that sounds pretty dumb."
"You're telling me. And to make things worse, once they could lie with impunity, EVERYONE become those nobles. Like, EVERYONE started lying."
"Do you... regret it?" I asked.
"Not one bit," Silas said. "See, I didn't die from this, but I saw others who did... but... sometimes, humans are born... unable to properly... align what's true and what's false."
"So, in that world... the world where noses grow bigger..."
"Nobody could suspect a thing. Now, people understand that ANYONE can lie about ANYTHING. You can't just take someone's word for anything." Silas sighed. I could tell from his posture, his back, his brooding scowl... he had devoted a lot of time to these explanations.
"Eh, I'm sure they would have crafted some laws around it... but I can see why that could be... complicated to implement."
We clinked glasses again, and considered the possibilities. From the look on his face, I could tell that his decision... stuck to him. It clung to him... the same way that Angel just kept sneaking closer and closer in.
"Don't you have other new arrivals to check on?" I asked the Angel.
"I always have time for you~" she said.
It was like every word she said was constucted to irritate me.
I asked to meet another person. And after that, another.
Again and again, I discovered more answers, each twisting the world further and further. Humans once had tails. And we were herbivores. Then we were carnivores, but it lead to terribly inefficient farming techniques, which lead to centuries of starvation...
The more I learned, the less I wanted to decide.
Unfortunately, the Angel kept hovering over me, asking "What would you like to undo? Its a simple wish away~!" with that hollow, cheery voice.
Finally, I decided. The further back my undone decision, the worse the affereffects. The large the decision I undid, the more it would way upon me...
So... I made me decision.
"Hey, Angel?"
"Yessss~?"
"I know what decision I want to do."
"Oh, do tell, do tell!" she clapped animatedly. Animatedly- not lively. People don't clap and bounce like that.
"When I was 32, I made a decision to skip a bus before 10:20pm on January 13th. I want to undo that."
"Are you suuurreee?" the angle asked in her warbling sing-song voice.
"Pretty sure."
"You could easily ask for anything. You undo Satan's decision to betray the heavens. Or fix the US Constitution's 3/5ths rule. Or... or..."
"Angel. I made my decision. Its final."
"But why? Why?"
"Because I don't want to miss my daughter's birth."
---
I jerked awake upon the bus. Behind me, a totalled wreck lay strewn across the street. A taxi. In the middle of the blizzard. I turned to the driver, who looked back to me, quite shaken by the disaster we managed to dodge. I looked back... licked my lips... and ordered him, "Hospital. Now." | “Herwo Miztr Cardmr...”
I was...hearing something? Yeah, yeah, hearing, that was it. I was hearing, I thought. Everything was very fuzzy, my breaths felt broken and liquid all at once, some sort of vertigo made me think I was tasting colors- but no, I thought I was hearing. I think.
“Mishtr Carder...”
I remember a guy, the glint of a knife and then pain, a slice across my face, something sharp in my abdomen, then...the ground? I remember seeing the skies for a moment, a few stars. Why couldn’t I see? I felt myself rack with coughs as I struggled to breathe, a chill came over me, and still everything felt like I was being dipped into solidifying molasses.
“Mister Carter, please calm down!”
The voice came through clear and I shook out a few more coughs before I stilled. I still couldn’t see- where was my vision? Had the knife gone into my eyes?
“For the love of God, open your eyes, Mister Carter.”
Oh.
I tried to do so manually, and lo and behold, my sight came pouring in. Things were fuzzy and too-bright at first, but I could see. Thank God I could see.
“You have questions, I’m sure. We usually hold consultations for the welcoming of the after-life, and you’ll get yours I assure you. But, you get a special surprise as well.” It was, oddly enough, a rather thick Russian accent.
The voice was coming from a woman, sitting behind a desk. She was wearing a dark grey suit, hands properly steepled atop her dark oaken desk. She had a sharp look to her, dark blonde hair and blue eyes, a pointy noise and high cheek bones. She looked...put upon.
“Wha-“ I tried to speak but my voice was so dry it hurt to attempt. Her thin hands pushed a cup of water towards me and I took it and gulped it down before trying again. “What?”
“The high council came up with this, new initiative,” she said as she rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “You, Mister Carter, are the 100,000,000,000th person to die on this Earth. Congratulations.”
I looked at her, eyes open. She visibly sighed.
“Yes Mr. Carter, you are dead. You died at,” she raised her arm to look at her watch. “April 17, 2067. 2:49 AM very early Tuesday Morning. Drug deal gone wrong.”
“Wai-“
“Mister Carter,” she said, leaning back. “I normally am very amenable to this process, but we have a limited time before your Eternity Hearing, and you must receive after-life counseling before it or risk becoming a wraith that our ground team will have to deal with, so I will answer all your questions right now. The only thing you must do is sit back, shut up, and listen.”
She had leaned forward in her chair and lowered her brows in a way that said she meant serious business. So, considering how confused I was, I sat back, shut up, and listened.
I learned a lot. In summary: I was dead. I was not in heaven, or hell, but not purgatory, which she divulged didn’t exist. I was in the administration complex connected to heaven, as the Big Guy liked to oversee the Recently Deceased. Vanya was her name, and she was not a woman, but an angel who’s physical form would terrify me so much that I would die immediately (it had happened in the past), and that would make weird complications and paperwork, so it was given a randomly generated human form each day. My hell/heaven decision would be happening soon, and she wouldn’t budge on what my chances looked like. Heaven was actual, literal paradise that was mostly great, but people could be stuck up and eventually you got tired of all the Italian Cream Cake they serve, even though it’s literally the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. Hell was, yes, a den of eternal torture and damnation, but if you appealed to your assigned demon torturer they could slack up on the torture schedule a little.
And I, Wesley Carter, was the 100,000,000,000th person to die. And as such, I was awarded the chance to change any decision. ANY decision. Ever. In the history of existence. She said, in the grand scheme, it was more of a social experiment than to have any real impact on the world, but the Big Guy thought it’d be interesting to see.
I freaked out for a while at the pure immensity of everything going on, but she talked me through it. Even though she was rather sharp, she seemed to care. Soon, I was still in freak out mode, but managing better. After all of that, she gave me time to think, and left the room.
My entire life had been selfish. I was a bad kid, raised by a Mom that tried her best and a father that cared about his whiskey cabinet more than his family. He beat her, and I took my anger out on others. Went to juvie for a while for possession and assault. I tried to get cleaned up in my mid twenties. Counseling, cold turkey, found a nice catholic girl, never went to school but got an okay job doing construction management, had a kid a few years later. Dad died, I didn’t care much, didn’t even shed a tear. Then mom got sick with cervical cancer. Before she died she told me she loved me and to take care of myself, she had always worried I wouldn’t. In my Thirties I hit hard times and got laid off. Took to the whiskey. Bourbon. Led to coke. Family struggling, kid walking around with fifth-hand clothes. Moved to small apartment with dog shit on the ground. Heroine came in the picture. Couldn’t stay sober enough to love them like I should, spent check money on drugs. Just like my father, and his father, and his, allegedly.
I could kill Hitler. Stop Christopher Columbus from sailing the ocean blue. Any war I could stop. Bet I could find a way to end AIDS. Maybe save those astronauts that blew up on their ship.
But then I thought about my little girl, small and too thin, hiding from me when I walked in the door. She was scared of her own father.
“I’m ready.” I said aloud. I heard the woman walk back in. She sat at the desk, steepled her fingers and looked at me.
“What have you decided?”
———————-
I heard the sorry fuck in his little house-thing just outside of their little town. I had been transported to their farm, just a few feet away from their home. The sun was too bright and it smelled like shit everywhere. England 1532 was...interesting. There weren’t many people around. Saw some horses, heard some chickens. I gripped the gun in my hands and walked towards the house Vanya had told me about.
“Yes Father, I think she’ll be just the girl for me. She’s pretty- not overly so, but just right. Her father has some fine horses...” a young voice was speaking inside. An older. Deeper voice replied but I couldn’t make it out.
“She’s not too bright either, just smart enough to tutor the children but not enough to talk back. She’ll do just fine.”
“Good, son...” I heard the older man reply as I crept closer to the door. I huffed, I guess we really were all shitbags. I didn’t care about others seeing me- Vanya would pull me out once it was done. So I walked brazenly to the open door and saw the two of them sitting at a table. The father turned to me first, then the young man.
In front of me stood my two distant, distant relatives, James and Earl Carter. They looked...very English, but Earl, the older man, did look a bit like my Uncle Derrick.
“Can we help you? You’re on our property.” The older man said. I smiled and shook my head. See, getting rid of myself wasn’t enough. My father would still have existed and hurt my mom. But even he wasn’t enough. My grandfather was a bad man too. The whole line of men in my family were assholes, and the few who weren’t couldn’t be spared. So what better to do than to just make sure none of us ever existed in the first place? We couldn’t hurt anyone that way. I figured this was far back enough. Earl had one son, the rest daughters. I thought I would be more sad at the propsect of ending the Carter line, but we han’t contributed much anyway.
Earl started to advance toward me. “You either talk or leave right no-“
I raised the gun and shot. The bullet hit its target, right in the head. He grunted and fell down on his face. James screamed and shuffled back. I huffed. Cowards, the both of us.
“What the hel-“ he was cut off by the bullet to his head too. He slumped back and slid to the floor, blood seeping from the wound.
——————-
I was back in the office.
“Congratulations Mister Carter on your success.” Vanya said, smiling.
“My wife? My mom? How are they?”
Vanya’s smile fell and she pursed her lips before focusing. Her eyes went white for a moment before she came back. “They are both alive. Lucky, playing with lineages can be tricky. You never know who’s connected to who. Your mother is fine, settled down with an Artist in San Francisco. Two little girls. Your wife is in India on a mission trip.”
I nodded. My mom had always liked art- and now my, ex-wife I suppose, was doing something more meaningful than watching over my disastrous life.
“Are we all done here?”
I took a deep breath and looked at Vanya, nodded. She was pretty now that I looked at her, maybe if-
“Those thoughts are not appropriate Mister Carter. I am a celestial being without sexual desires and am wholly unattached to anything that is connected to human function or thought. Now, follow me, your Counselor is waiting. His name is Gabriel.”
She stood and walked out of the room, opening the door with ease. I took a deep breath and stood as well, following her into the grey hallway.
I started considering the best way to negotiate with demons. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "A chance to change any decision?" I asked, blinking, still uncertain as to the parameters of the granted prize. I had always been leery of anything given for free, but I was always too polite to abjectly decline when such offers were made.
Of course, now that I was dead, there was no real need to worry about financial matters.
"Yes indeedy~!" came the chipper reply from the oddly... inhuman angel. She seemed to possess all the quality of a pristine human being. "You are our 100 billionth soul! I never thought this day would come~" she sounded like she was choking back a tear, but her smile did not even quiver, her brow did not dip. Her back was hunched- or rather, the extra muscles required by her wings bulged as they worked to keep her aloft. "But you are on 100 billionth soul free of all the impugning karma you humans tend to gather! Guess all that extra work pro bono came back to lift you up after all!"
I would have chuckled, but that would have been unprofessional.
See, I was a Lawyer while I lived.
I know, curious, isn't it? That a man whose duty was to lie for his clients be proven worthy of entering the gates of eternal life. But you know, there's something to be said about kindness. It opened doors to some magical places in my life. It drove some of my colleagues crazy how I could never hold a grudge.
But the Angel here... she could qualify as a real chatterbox. She informed of a number of tawdry details regarding the finaglings of the wish. It had be a decision already made in the past. It has to a single decisions. The consequences of said decision would alter time, and the results would be immediately accounted for in the course of history.
"Have any others been given an opportunity like this?" I asked.
"Oh yes. Quite a few in fact. There was a perimician who lacked the... ability to consider cause and effect. They simply asked to reverse the direction they last took. Oh, there was a dog who deeply wished to reverse the decision of its first master to abandon it..."
"Yes, yes, but... what about... humans? Have any other *human* souls been given an opportunity like this?"
"Well, there are a feeewwww... I think I can take you to one right now!" the angellic... doll beamed. It was deeply unsettling. I never wished to see it again. I almost used up my chance to reverse a decision right there and then.
She flew my up amongst the clouds. She opened her mouth and from it issued forth a curious chime. Every human below turned their eyes toward us. It was like decision she made was purposefully constructed to make me regret ask- Ahhhh... that could be the ploy here. To have their customer waste that power upon a simple, rash decision. Not I.
The Angel set me down in front of a bald man with a newspaper. The *Yeah and the Ways* seemed like a pretty standard Gazette. I could foresee many a celestial morning spent reading such a paper.
"Greetings Human Silas. I have here a fellow human with a query concerning your entrance prize," the Angel said with that twistedly chipper tone of hers. His. I couldn't tell.
Silas, however, was very much a man. He stood up and looked at me. It was then he said, "You got the gift too, huh? Undo any decision?" Well, he certainly didn't waste time... for a man who was free from time once and for all. His hands swung to his sides as he considered me.
"Yeah. I hear you did to."
"Oh, he most certainly di-"
"Shut up," we both interrupted the Angel. She clamped up.
"So, what did you go with?" I asked. Silas gestured to a seat across him. I gladly took it.
"I undid the decision god made when he made us with noses that grew with the weight of our lies."
I opened my mouth. I blinked. I pondered. And finally, I had to ask, "Wait, human's had... noses that grew?"
"Back when I was alive, yeah. It was how could tell a man or woman was lying. Moment they finished, their nose started to bubble out."
"That sounds both horrific AND terrifying."
"You have no idea."
"Thank you."
"Eh, it didn't change that much."
"Really? You'd think humanity would be quite... different without large... shnozes."
"Oh, I did think that. But here's the thing... the noses only grew if the person was aware they were telling a lie," Silas said. He waved a hand over the table, a stout of ale slipping into existance. He picked it up, started to take a sip, before pausing. "Oh right, first timer. Wave your hand in a counter clockwise circle and think REALLY hard about what you want to eat or drink. Just magically appears," he said. "Oh, but uh... do it over a table- most of the time, it just... falls through the clouds."
Following his sage advice, I procurred myself a pint.
We clinked glasses before resuming.
"See, in my land, we had an upper class. All of them had... massive noses. They were taught to lie from an early age, and taught to execute any peasant whose nose grew. They would have weekly collections periods where they would measure the size of person's nose. If the nose was any bigger, the peasant was arrested, and sentenced to manual labor or executed, depending on the degree of difference."
"Well, how did these nobles explain their own noses?"
"They claimed to be born with noses that big. And you know what? It wouldn't suprise me if they did started lying before they were born."
"That bad huh?"
"Oh yes. And, even worse, they managed to get away with it. For centuries. Their towncriers never had growing noses because, as far as they knew, they were speaking the truth. The knights never had expanding nostrils, because no matter what, they were just obeying the orders of their betters."
"So you used your decision to undo that decision? Like, humans were supposed to be born with lie detectors in their noses... but when you made that undo, then...?"
"Then whoever created us, or.. .whatever resulted in us... just... skipped over the shnozz expansion."
"... no offense... but that sounds pretty dumb."
"You're telling me. And to make things worse, once they could lie with impunity, EVERYONE become those nobles. Like, EVERYONE started lying."
"Do you... regret it?" I asked.
"Not one bit," Silas said. "See, I didn't die from this, but I saw others who did... but... sometimes, humans are born... unable to properly... align what's true and what's false."
"So, in that world... the world where noses grow bigger..."
"Nobody could suspect a thing. Now, people understand that ANYONE can lie about ANYTHING. You can't just take someone's word for anything." Silas sighed. I could tell from his posture, his back, his brooding scowl... he had devoted a lot of time to these explanations.
"Eh, I'm sure they would have crafted some laws around it... but I can see why that could be... complicated to implement."
We clinked glasses again, and considered the possibilities. From the look on his face, I could tell that his decision... stuck to him. It clung to him... the same way that Angel just kept sneaking closer and closer in.
"Don't you have other new arrivals to check on?" I asked the Angel.
"I always have time for you~" she said.
It was like every word she said was constucted to irritate me.
I asked to meet another person. And after that, another.
Again and again, I discovered more answers, each twisting the world further and further. Humans once had tails. And we were herbivores. Then we were carnivores, but it lead to terribly inefficient farming techniques, which lead to centuries of starvation...
The more I learned, the less I wanted to decide.
Unfortunately, the Angel kept hovering over me, asking "What would you like to undo? Its a simple wish away~!" with that hollow, cheery voice.
Finally, I decided. The further back my undone decision, the worse the affereffects. The large the decision I undid, the more it would way upon me...
So... I made me decision.
"Hey, Angel?"
"Yessss~?"
"I know what decision I want to do."
"Oh, do tell, do tell!" she clapped animatedly. Animatedly- not lively. People don't clap and bounce like that.
"When I was 32, I made a decision to skip a bus before 10:20pm on January 13th. I want to undo that."
"Are you suuurreee?" the angle asked in her warbling sing-song voice.
"Pretty sure."
"You could easily ask for anything. You undo Satan's decision to betray the heavens. Or fix the US Constitution's 3/5ths rule. Or... or..."
"Angel. I made my decision. Its final."
"But why? Why?"
"Because I don't want to miss my daughter's birth."
---
I jerked awake upon the bus. Behind me, a totalled wreck lay strewn across the street. A taxi. In the middle of the blizzard. I turned to the driver, who looked back to me, quite shaken by the disaster we managed to dodge. I looked back... licked my lips... and ordered him, "Hospital. Now." | "Any decision?" you ask Death.
ANYTHING, Death responds.
You think for a moment. There are any number of things you could ask to be rewritten. Any time you had ever been cruel, any time you had ever been weak. But the idea was in your head now, the one that you had thought of immediately but didn't want yourself to choose. The one that showed just a little bit too much of who you really were.
"I want you to always and forever undo the decision to kill me, leaving me at age 35 permanently," you say, shakily.
Death stands still. IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED? he seems to ask no one.
You shrug. "That's up to you," you rattle out weakly. Hoping.
The pause lasted a lifetime. For all you knew, it did last a lifetime.
Death's bones rattle as he moves almost imperceptibly towards you.
IT IS DONE, he intones, and before you can react he swipes you with his scythe.
You wake up in a flash of light, in your own bed, in your own home. You scrabble for your phone. It is your 35th birthday. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Undo any decision? Me? Why me?"
Death gently put aside their scythe. "Well, you see, my child, They want to commemorate the one billionth human to be dead. Even *I* don't know why do They do that, but it's just a nice thing to have. I still remember when this chance was given to another person, the one who became the one hundredth person to be dead; she undid her birth. Turns out, her city burned down because no one stopped those gangs—rebels—from destroying it. She was sweet, though, I like her voice."
Furrowing my eyebrows, I stared down. "Can I undo *anything?* I mean, anything, like the World Wars, ISIS, terrorist attacks, and else?"
Death nodded. "Of course, my child. Everything," their smile disappeared along with them taking their scythe. "Though I must remind you, anything comes with some consequences. Who knows what undoing what you humans judge as 'bad things' would do. Also, my apologies, I have some people to take care of," Death moved past me, opening a portal so bright I couldn't see anything beyond it. "If you've made your decision, just say it. Words have power here, my child. See you in a few days."
Now I was alone here. With no one to guide me to make some decisions, I guess I have to make the decision myself.
I just realized I haven't looked around much. Death's office looked so tidy and organized, though it was mostly wood and brown instead of the popular white rooms in the Earth. I didn't know woods could be found here, but eh, it looked neat, so why would I bother?
The shelves were filled with books of varying sizes. Some have red covers, some black, but mostly brown, like the room. Apparently, Death liked brown—that wasn't something any human can know easily.
After much walking around, I ended up walking toward their desk. It was of dark brown color, in fact, much darker than any furniture and object I found. On the top of it were two books, an ink and quill—Death liked old-fashioned things, too—and a table lamp emanating warm, golden light. I opened the first book I saw, which had red cover among the other ones on the desk.
I flipped right to the first bookmark. A table full of names were written on the pages. Beside them were dates of birth, dates of death, occupations, and more. There were small boxes, too; some were crossed, some empty. So the concept of destined death existed—just as I believed.
I skimmed through the pages looking for my name... and I found it.
*Fariz Darmahusna, 12/3/1997, 8/12/2018, student-painter, sleeping.*
I chuckled. I didn't know why, but seeing my name with the box crossed just felt funny. Not many people died in their sleep, and I probably should feel proud to be one of them. Iwas dead, and I could undo anything I wanted to now. Better not waste this chance—I had to find something to undo.
Out of curiosity, I opened the other book and flipped right to the last page. This one was the thickest book I found on the table, if not the whole room. Its pages were yellow and quite stiff; must be an old book.
I got to the last page. I stared at the content, chills moving through my skin.
*Death, 0/0/0, []/[]/[], life-taker, end of the world.*
I gulped.
The end of the world is less than two books away. The world would end after all the names in these books were crossed. The world would end. It would be destroyed.
"Ahaha...."
Even though I was dead, there were people still alive. They would have to feel the immense pain of seeing their loved ones dying, their planet burning, their body.... No. The world wouldn't have to end if something was done.
What could I undo to prevent the end of world from happening?
An idea came to my mind. It was outrageous, and the world was meant to be destroyed anyway, but I—nor did any humans—wanted it to end.
I glanced at the other death dates.
"Fate," I murmured, "I want to undo fate, these death dates and people's lives."
The room shook. Books fell out of the shelves, the hanging lamp crashed onto the floor, and everything went dark. I took the book and hid under the desk, trying to avoid anything that might hit my head.
But the floor below me broke.
I fell.
It was dark. Death's office crumbled away, consumed by the darkness.
It was dark. Empty. I continuously fell, never hitting an end.
It was dark.
But then, it was bright. Brighter than the portal Death opened.
I heard voices.
"Amazing!"
"I—is this real?! We did it?!"
"By the God! We did it, Marsha!"
"Hold on. I don't remember he held a book when he died."
"Hm? Right, I don't remember seeing that book before."
"Maybe resurrection brings some things from the 'other side' too, as Ayu stated. Maybe he was somewhere in a place full of books in the 'other side'?"
I blinked several times.
"I'm... alive...?" | "Any decision?" you ask Death.
ANYTHING, Death responds.
You think for a moment. There are any number of things you could ask to be rewritten. Any time you had ever been cruel, any time you had ever been weak. But the idea was in your head now, the one that you had thought of immediately but didn't want yourself to choose. The one that showed just a little bit too much of who you really were.
"I want you to always and forever undo the decision to kill me, leaving me at age 35 permanently," you say, shakily.
Death stands still. IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED? he seems to ask no one.
You shrug. "That's up to you," you rattle out weakly. Hoping.
The pause lasted a lifetime. For all you knew, it did last a lifetime.
Death's bones rattle as he moves almost imperceptibly towards you.
IT IS DONE, he intones, and before you can react he swipes you with his scythe.
You wake up in a flash of light, in your own bed, in your own home. You scrabble for your phone. It is your 35th birthday. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "Undo any decision? Me? Why me?"
Death gently put aside their scythe. "Well, you see, my child, They want to commemorate the one billionth human to be dead. Even *I* don't know why do They do that, but it's just a nice thing to have. I still remember when this chance was given to another person, the one who became the one hundredth person to be dead; she undid her birth. Turns out, her city burned down because no one stopped those gangs—rebels—from destroying it. She was sweet, though, I like her voice."
Furrowing my eyebrows, I stared down. "Can I undo *anything?* I mean, anything, like the World Wars, ISIS, terrorist attacks, and else?"
Death nodded. "Of course, my child. Everything," their smile disappeared along with them taking their scythe. "Though I must remind you, anything comes with some consequences. Who knows what undoing what you humans judge as 'bad things' would do. Also, my apologies, I have some people to take care of," Death moved past me, opening a portal so bright I couldn't see anything beyond it. "If you've made your decision, just say it. Words have power here, my child. See you in a few days."
Now I was alone here. With no one to guide me to make some decisions, I guess I have to make the decision myself.
I just realized I haven't looked around much. Death's office looked so tidy and organized, though it was mostly wood and brown instead of the popular white rooms in the Earth. I didn't know woods could be found here, but eh, it looked neat, so why would I bother?
The shelves were filled with books of varying sizes. Some have red covers, some black, but mostly brown, like the room. Apparently, Death liked brown—that wasn't something any human can know easily.
After much walking around, I ended up walking toward their desk. It was of dark brown color, in fact, much darker than any furniture and object I found. On the top of it were two books, an ink and quill—Death liked old-fashioned things, too—and a table lamp emanating warm, golden light. I opened the first book I saw, which had red cover among the other ones on the desk.
I flipped right to the first bookmark. A table full of names were written on the pages. Beside them were dates of birth, dates of death, occupations, and more. There were small boxes, too; some were crossed, some empty. So the concept of destined death existed—just as I believed.
I skimmed through the pages looking for my name... and I found it.
*Fariz Darmahusna, 12/3/1997, 8/12/2018, student-painter, sleeping.*
I chuckled. I didn't know why, but seeing my name with the box crossed just felt funny. Not many people died in their sleep, and I probably should feel proud to be one of them. Iwas dead, and I could undo anything I wanted to now. Better not waste this chance—I had to find something to undo.
Out of curiosity, I opened the other book and flipped right to the last page. This one was the thickest book I found on the table, if not the whole room. Its pages were yellow and quite stiff; must be an old book.
I got to the last page. I stared at the content, chills moving through my skin.
*Death, 0/0/0, []/[]/[], life-taker, end of the world.*
I gulped.
The end of the world is less than two books away. The world would end after all the names in these books were crossed. The world would end. It would be destroyed.
"Ahaha...."
Even though I was dead, there were people still alive. They would have to feel the immense pain of seeing their loved ones dying, their planet burning, their body.... No. The world wouldn't have to end if something was done.
What could I undo to prevent the end of world from happening?
An idea came to my mind. It was outrageous, and the world was meant to be destroyed anyway, but I—nor did any humans—wanted it to end.
I glanced at the other death dates.
"Fate," I murmured, "I want to undo fate, these death dates and people's lives."
The room shook. Books fell out of the shelves, the hanging lamp crashed onto the floor, and everything went dark. I took the book and hid under the desk, trying to avoid anything that might hit my head.
But the floor below me broke.
I fell.
It was dark. Death's office crumbled away, consumed by the darkness.
It was dark. Empty. I continuously fell, never hitting an end.
It was dark.
But then, it was bright. Brighter than the portal Death opened.
I heard voices.
"Amazing!"
"I—is this real?! We did it?!"
"By the God! We did it, Marsha!"
"Hold on. I don't remember he held a book when he died."
"Hm? Right, I don't remember seeing that book before."
"Maybe resurrection brings some things from the 'other side' too, as Ayu stated. Maybe he was somewhere in a place full of books in the 'other side'?"
I blinked several times.
"I'm... alive...?" | “Any decision, ever?”
“Yep. Any decision at all, by anyone you want, at any point in time.”
I should not have this power. I’m not responsible enough for it.
There were a thousand mistakes I’ve made that I would have loved to be fixed, and millions of decisions other people made that should be fixed. And yet, my brain kept being pulled toward one answer.
“Okay, I know what I want to undo.”
I stopped for a moment, wondering if the laugh was really worth it.
It was.
“I want to undo God’s decision to create the universe.”
“Okay, what the fu-“ | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I looked at my wrists and their soft texture.
"Any? Even if it brings me back to life?" I asked. My mind was empty, I had never really thought of the things I regretter until only a moment ago, and now I had the chance to go back.
"Any decision." The woman in front of me said, giving a soft sad nod. Her grin gave me confort, but I could see the tears forming in her eyes as she read my soul.
"May I-" I stumbled over my words. I am not confident, I thought, but right then I remembered what I had thought a moment before. I should have been more confident, I'm going to be confident.
"May I see my mother once more?"
The woman closed her eyes to breathe, she needed to recieve a clear order.
"What decision do you regret?"
"I want to undo the decision of filling the bath tub."
The woman chuckled softly. "Good luck."
I was once more in my department, my mother was banging on the door, and I was standing right in front of my bathtub. I dropped what I had in my hand, which left a small cut in my fingers, but despite my pain and blood I opened the door to embrace my mother in her desperate hug. | “Any decision, ever?”
“Yep. Any decision at all, by anyone you want, at any point in time.”
I should not have this power. I’m not responsible enough for it.
There were a thousand mistakes I’ve made that I would have loved to be fixed, and millions of decisions other people made that should be fixed. And yet, my brain kept being pulled toward one answer.
“Okay, I know what I want to undo.”
I stopped for a moment, wondering if the laugh was really worth it.
It was.
“I want to undo God’s decision to create the universe.”
“Okay, what the fu-“ | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | When I was 23 I killed a man. He was being an asshole. I was too; we were both drunk. He hit me. I hit him better. When he fell his head bounced off the bar. The bar cracked.
He lay there slumped under the bar with his arms up like he was hugging a ghost or tryin' to do a sit up, but while asleep. I learned later it's called the fencing response. When you get walloped real good, your arms just kind of raise into the air. It indicates brain damage, or worse.
When you kill someone on accident while breaking the law it's called manslaughter. They frog march you in front of a judge while the SOB's wife and kids weep behind you. You tell the judge what happened and apologize to the family. We were both drunk. I wanted to hurt him but I didn't mean for him to die. I only hit him once. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you tell the judge.
The judge tells you to rot in prison for 25 years.
*So the decision you want to change is the one to hit the other man?*
No. I want to take back my apology. Asshole got what he deserved. I got what I deserved. I didn't owe no one any apology. | I was bathed in light. It washed over me like a wave and images started to surface in my mind.
I was six surrounded by all kids in my class as they sang the birthday song for me. Over the light of the candles I watched him mouth the words with the others, made my wish and blew.
I was nine, sitting next to him during the break to help him with a math problem.
I was fourteen and lost in the museum during the school trip. Scared, so very scared. A hand held mine and guided me back to safety. His lips moved but I don't remembered the words. Just how warm his hands were in mine.
Eighteen now and graduating, before I say goodbye I ask for one dance. He has his date and I have mine. Odd how I can't even remember their faces, only his. The Savage Garden is all I hear and my feet don't even touch the ground.
Twenty four now and an accountant trying to make my way in this harsh world. That day the elevator door opened and there he was. A moment passed between us and all I could hear was the beating of my own heart, feelings I thought were forgotten all came rushing back... Then he smiled and I just knew.
Twenty eight and we are told that a child is out of the question for me. I felt his arms around me holding me close. There were words but I don't remember them. Just how warm he was and how I really didn't want to let go, I was so cold, so very very cold.
Thirty two and running in the park together. He runs ahead and I see him helping a kid that almost fell off his bike. We spend the morning teaching the little one how to do it until he was finally ready for us to let go. I look at his face and this feeling of coldness washes over me again. He loved children so. He smiled at me and pulled me behind him as he jogged dispelling my demons and filling me again with warmth.
Forty five and my hair is turning grey, we celebrate Christmas with the family but then after all the noise and drama he stops the cab a few blocks away and we walk home hand in hand. He's rambling again but I just let the words wash over me. It starts to snow gently and I feel young again by his side.
Sixty and retired now. We finally have the time for our selves. I tell him we're too old but he waves away my protests. My silly old boy tricked me into visiting disneyland and getting on the rides with him, All because I told him I've never been. Who takes an old woman like me to disneyland.
The last memory comes. Me standing over an open grave as they lowered him down. All I could see was the roses over his... his...
I opened my eyes and feel the wetness over my cheeks. Eighty now and all alone, the years after rushed by and I can't even remember them. All alone in this nursing home for the forgotten. It's so cold here. So very very cold.
I made my request. If one thing in my life could be changed then it was that. I could never stand the cold. Everyone deserves to be warm, especially in the end. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I died at the ripe old age of 14.
My last three years of life were a living hell, all because of one innocent mistake... and now I had an angel, in all it's crazy eye-winged glory, asking me which decision I would change in my life. The question was so ridiculous I didn't even balk at his terrifying figure. Besides, I had seen worse things in my life.
So I knew exactly which decision I would change.
I can still remember it vividly: the closing of the door as I settled into the back of my mom's idling silver car, and the rustling noise my pink winter sweater made as I fiddled with the seat belt.
I could remember the exact sickening smell I noticed, looking up when I realized my mom didn't smoke. The raised eyebrows of the scraggly faced man in the rear view mirror.
My nervous, shy voice as I said, "Sorry mister, wrong car," and the shaking in my hands as I reached for the seatbelt button.
The shifting of gears as he put the car in drive... | I was bathed in light. It washed over me like a wave and images started to surface in my mind.
I was six surrounded by all kids in my class as they sang the birthday song for me. Over the light of the candles I watched him mouth the words with the others, made my wish and blew.
I was nine, sitting next to him during the break to help him with a math problem.
I was fourteen and lost in the museum during the school trip. Scared, so very scared. A hand held mine and guided me back to safety. His lips moved but I don't remembered the words. Just how warm his hands were in mine.
Eighteen now and graduating, before I say goodbye I ask for one dance. He has his date and I have mine. Odd how I can't even remember their faces, only his. The Savage Garden is all I hear and my feet don't even touch the ground.
Twenty four now and an accountant trying to make my way in this harsh world. That day the elevator door opened and there he was. A moment passed between us and all I could hear was the beating of my own heart, feelings I thought were forgotten all came rushing back... Then he smiled and I just knew.
Twenty eight and we are told that a child is out of the question for me. I felt his arms around me holding me close. There were words but I don't remember them. Just how warm he was and how I really didn't want to let go, I was so cold, so very very cold.
Thirty two and running in the park together. He runs ahead and I see him helping a kid that almost fell off his bike. We spend the morning teaching the little one how to do it until he was finally ready for us to let go. I look at his face and this feeling of coldness washes over me again. He loved children so. He smiled at me and pulled me behind him as he jogged dispelling my demons and filling me again with warmth.
Forty five and my hair is turning grey, we celebrate Christmas with the family but then after all the noise and drama he stops the cab a few blocks away and we walk home hand in hand. He's rambling again but I just let the words wash over me. It starts to snow gently and I feel young again by his side.
Sixty and retired now. We finally have the time for our selves. I tell him we're too old but he waves away my protests. My silly old boy tricked me into visiting disneyland and getting on the rides with him, All because I told him I've never been. Who takes an old woman like me to disneyland.
The last memory comes. Me standing over an open grave as they lowered him down. All I could see was the roses over his... his...
I opened my eyes and feel the wetness over my cheeks. Eighty now and all alone, the years after rushed by and I can't even remember them. All alone in this nursing home for the forgotten. It's so cold here. So very very cold.
I made my request. If one thing in my life could be changed then it was that. I could never stand the cold. Everyone deserves to be warm, especially in the end. | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | When I was 23 I killed a man. He was being an asshole. I was too; we were both drunk. He hit me. I hit him better. When he fell his head bounced off the bar. The bar cracked.
He lay there slumped under the bar with his arms up like he was hugging a ghost or tryin' to do a sit up, but while asleep. I learned later it's called the fencing response. When you get walloped real good, your arms just kind of raise into the air. It indicates brain damage, or worse.
When you kill someone on accident while breaking the law it's called manslaughter. They frog march you in front of a judge while the SOB's wife and kids weep behind you. You tell the judge what happened and apologize to the family. We were both drunk. I wanted to hurt him but I didn't mean for him to die. I only hit him once. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you tell the judge.
The judge tells you to rot in prison for 25 years.
*So the decision you want to change is the one to hit the other man?*
No. I want to take back my apology. Asshole got what he deserved. I got what I deserved. I didn't owe no one any apology. | "And when he gets to Heaven, to Saint Peter he will tell 'One more soldier reporting, Sir. I've served my time in Hell.'"
Or at least that was how it was supposed to go.
When I got to the Pearly Gates, Saint Peter stood there with balloons. Not realizing this was out of place, I said my line.
Saint Peter only gave a weary smily, as if he had heard this time and time again and handed me a balloon.
"Maybe not soldier" he said "You are the 100 billionth person to reach the gates of Heaven. To celebrate, you are given the chance to undo one decision and one decision only. What is your decision?"
Surprised, I don't know what to say. I think back on my entire life. I think through the time I broke up with my high school girlfriend who I truly loved. I think back to the choice to enlist instead of go to college after 9/11. I think back to the decisions I made during my time deployed in Iraq and Afganistan. Finally, it comes to me.
"Saint Peter, I would like to undo the decision not pick up the phone and call for help when I first felt PTSD take its hold."
"Very well soldier. Good luck back in Hell." Saint Peter said.
And back I went. To fight my demons from the war. To seek help before PTSD goes too far. To help others fight the same fight.
And fight I did.
Thanks for reading. This is my first attempt at something like this so please go easy. Also, sorry for formatting. I am currently on mobile.
| |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I died at the ripe old age of 14.
My last three years of life were a living hell, all because of one innocent mistake... and now I had an angel, in all it's crazy eye-winged glory, asking me which decision I would change in my life. The question was so ridiculous I didn't even balk at his terrifying figure. Besides, I had seen worse things in my life.
So I knew exactly which decision I would change.
I can still remember it vividly: the closing of the door as I settled into the back of my mom's idling silver car, and the rustling noise my pink winter sweater made as I fiddled with the seat belt.
I could remember the exact sickening smell I noticed, looking up when I realized my mom didn't smoke. The raised eyebrows of the scraggly faced man in the rear view mirror.
My nervous, shy voice as I said, "Sorry mister, wrong car," and the shaking in my hands as I reached for the seatbelt button.
The shifting of gears as he put the car in drive... | "And when he gets to Heaven, to Saint Peter he will tell 'One more soldier reporting, Sir. I've served my time in Hell.'"
Or at least that was how it was supposed to go.
When I got to the Pearly Gates, Saint Peter stood there with balloons. Not realizing this was out of place, I said my line.
Saint Peter only gave a weary smily, as if he had heard this time and time again and handed me a balloon.
"Maybe not soldier" he said "You are the 100 billionth person to reach the gates of Heaven. To celebrate, you are given the chance to undo one decision and one decision only. What is your decision?"
Surprised, I don't know what to say. I think back on my entire life. I think through the time I broke up with my high school girlfriend who I truly loved. I think back to the choice to enlist instead of go to college after 9/11. I think back to the decisions I made during my time deployed in Iraq and Afganistan. Finally, it comes to me.
"Saint Peter, I would like to undo the decision not pick up the phone and call for help when I first felt PTSD take its hold."
"Very well soldier. Good luck back in Hell." Saint Peter said.
And back I went. To fight my demons from the war. To seek help before PTSD goes too far. To help others fight the same fight.
And fight I did.
Thanks for reading. This is my first attempt at something like this so please go easy. Also, sorry for formatting. I am currently on mobile.
| |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | When I was 23 I killed a man. He was being an asshole. I was too; we were both drunk. He hit me. I hit him better. When he fell his head bounced off the bar. The bar cracked.
He lay there slumped under the bar with his arms up like he was hugging a ghost or tryin' to do a sit up, but while asleep. I learned later it's called the fencing response. When you get walloped real good, your arms just kind of raise into the air. It indicates brain damage, or worse.
When you kill someone on accident while breaking the law it's called manslaughter. They frog march you in front of a judge while the SOB's wife and kids weep behind you. You tell the judge what happened and apologize to the family. We were both drunk. I wanted to hurt him but I didn't mean for him to die. I only hit him once. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you tell the judge.
The judge tells you to rot in prison for 25 years.
*So the decision you want to change is the one to hit the other man?*
No. I want to take back my apology. Asshole got what he deserved. I got what I deserved. I didn't owe no one any apology. | The choice was simple
I mean...
I am a simple man with no ambition of changing the world or becoming a hero.
What I do have instead is the need to not embarrass myself too much like any other normal person.
So when Micha or whatever the angels name was said that i could undo one single decision, it did not take me long to choose.
"I would like to wear pants when i died. Don't want my kids to find me with my dong out in the open."
The angel looked at me quite dissapointed about the ambition of my request but rather relieved that it was not much work.
"Very well mister Smelly, very well". | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I died at the ripe old age of 14.
My last three years of life were a living hell, all because of one innocent mistake... and now I had an angel, in all it's crazy eye-winged glory, asking me which decision I would change in my life. The question was so ridiculous I didn't even balk at his terrifying figure. Besides, I had seen worse things in my life.
So I knew exactly which decision I would change.
I can still remember it vividly: the closing of the door as I settled into the back of my mom's idling silver car, and the rustling noise my pink winter sweater made as I fiddled with the seat belt.
I could remember the exact sickening smell I noticed, looking up when I realized my mom didn't smoke. The raised eyebrows of the scraggly faced man in the rear view mirror.
My nervous, shy voice as I said, "Sorry mister, wrong car," and the shaking in my hands as I reached for the seatbelt button.
The shifting of gears as he put the car in drive... | The choice was simple
I mean...
I am a simple man with no ambition of changing the world or becoming a hero.
What I do have instead is the need to not embarrass myself too much like any other normal person.
So when Micha or whatever the angels name was said that i could undo one single decision, it did not take me long to choose.
"I would like to wear pants when i died. Don't want my kids to find me with my dong out in the open."
The angel looked at me quite dissapointed about the ambition of my request but rather relieved that it was not much work.
"Very well mister Smelly, very well". | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | "The water balloon fight, summer after second grade - I don't want to throw the balloon at Greg"
The angel looked at Thomas befuddled, here was the man who had more or less set the course and destiny for the human race *on his own for twenty years* and he wanted to undo an errant toss of a water balloon. Thomas coughed politely to break the odd silence, checking his golden watch out of habit as the hands spun and spun in every which direction.
"Mr. Payne, we can certainly accommodate that request. I want to ensure you're certain though that your...balloon toss is the decision you'd like to change. You're sure?"
"As I've ever been, Gabriel. Could you please see that matter attended to? I'd be grateful if we could wrap this up so I could move on to whatever is next."
Gabriel put down his staff, and took out his quill, swishing his wrist in the air and conjuring the parchment of fate and history. He scanned across the scrolls billions of interlocking lines, each of them a lifetime twisting and branching into the lives of others.
Thomas Payne's entry turned the scroll's surface almost entirely black for what seemed like miles of worn parchment. Thomas had been one of the first people to meaningfully colonize space, one of the first to try and 'solve' the overpopulation issue on earth, and was responsible for the deaths of billions of people by virtue of the cost of rushing into the unknown. In a way, Thomas had unintentionally accelerated his position as the hundred billionth person to die by simple virtue of his actions - his single minded and undying pursuit of furthering his conquest to see the solar system made tame. The decades of making 'business decisions' that would take away or provide oxygen and water to colonies, the 'innovation opportunities' that lead to experimentation and unspeakable horrors. Despite all of this, Gabriel could see in the man's eyes an unwavering belief he had almost *never done anything wrong.*
"You don't owe me an answer, Mr. Payne. That much is clear to both of us"
"But you're going to ask me anyway, Gabriel. Which is fine, I've no umbrage with the question"
"You could choose to approve the fuel line installation that would save hundreds of thousands of lives. Could choose to delay the colonization on Io or Europa, which would save millions of lives and so many precious resources. Those are two examples of literally dozens of ways in which you could save these lives, to let them bloom into their own stories instead of seeing them cut short because of your decision"
Payne instinctively lowered his head and removed his glasses, tucking them into a pocket on his blazer.
"I'm not pretending to be a good man, Gabriel. I never did and I don't believe now is the time to start. I don't owe you an answer, and I don't need to earn any redemption now."
Gabriel's wings flexed and strained briefly before he realized they were moving. As an angel he couldn't suffer, but he could still feel the sting of knowing justice wouldn't be carried out.
"Before you ask, I don't want to call the ambulance five minutes earlier and save my first wife, I don't want to answer the message my son sends me before he overdoses, I don't want to decide to go home for the holidays before my mother dies. Those are choices I earned one way or another because of who I am and who I chose to be as a man. I'll become a tyrant no matter what, Gabriel. This decision though happens before all of that, this choice starts catalyzing things ahead of schedule - perhaps we can soften the collateral damage slightly by changing the outcome of this small event."
A door appeared behind them with Payne's name carved into its surface, Payne placed his glasses back on his face and nodded to Gabriel before stepping through. Gabriel was left alone with the parchment and quill, befuddled. When the quill touched the parchment, Gabriel was transported back to the moment in question. A summer evening in a typical suburban cul-de-sac. Gabriel watched as Payne filled up a water balloon away from the rest of the kids, a small group congregated on towels and faded picnic blankets. They laughed and ate slices of watermelon, a small speaker playing music in the middle of their makeshift party.
Even then, Gabriel could see the rage in Payne's eyes. A boy who had never felt joy, filled with a caustic rage towards anyone that had even for a moment been witness to happiness or love. Payne tied off the balloon and placed it behind his back, walking towards the group. A young boy with dark brown eyes and matching hair stood up and walked towards him, this boy's arms also tucked behind him.
They stood about three feet from each other, each grinning.
"Hey Tommy, want a surprise?"
Payne smiled mischievously, "I got a surprise for you too, Greg. How about we count down from three and each show each other what we have?"
Greg nodded, and they both started to count down from three. Gabriel sighed, this wasn't going to end well. As the boys counted down from one, Gabriel placed a firm hand on Payne's wrist keeping him from hurling the balloon over. Greg's arms rose, but instead of shaping into a throwing motion, he instead pulled out a popsicle from behind his back and lifted it towards Payne.
"My mom said to share, Tommy. Even with a geek like you"
Payne dropped the water balloon behind him, it bounced against the ground and popped, surprising both of the boys as Payne snatched the popsicle out of Greg's hands. Payne sneered and ran away, Greg shrugged and went back to see his friends.
Gabriel stood where the scene had taken place. In the tattered remains of the balloon were some sharp rocks, one of which had been previously destined to blind Greg in his right eye. Destined to show Payne the power of violence and the control he could wield over others. Gabriel summoned up the parchment again, checking to see what differences this made.
Sure enough, Payne's influence on fate didn't vanish entirely. He still went on to aim to colonize the stars, he still went on to make decisions that would end in the anguish of millions. The page was slightly more dim though, more muted dark tone. This small adjustment had saved three million lives, significantly more than any of the other events Gabriel had thought the man might change. Despite his frustration, Gabriel couldn't help but acknowledge Payne had been right - this was the most impactful decision Payne could have made. Pragmatic to the end, this foul man weighed everything out and had found the best solution was one where he would still kill millions. Payne had still 'won', even at this.
Another man appeared, shocked and scared in front of Gabriel. Gray hair but two intact dark brown eyes. Gabriel hadn't considered this, after Payne's decision he had changed his fate so that he wasn't the 100 billionth person killed. In front of Gabriel stood Greg, scarred and tired after a life of anguish at Payne's hands. Gabriel explained to the weary Greg the situation, that he could undo one decision from his entire life.
"How, um, *liberal* can I be in my interpretation, Gabriel?"
"Simply ask Greg, and I'll see what I could do."
"I want to kill that motherfucker Payne, and I want to do it as early as possible."
Gabriel smiled. Justice, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
\---
Part 2 available [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/a8n9c2/wp_you_died_today_turns_out_you_are_the_100/ecf1qw3). | The choice was simple
I mean...
I am a simple man with no ambition of changing the world or becoming a hero.
What I do have instead is the need to not embarrass myself too much like any other normal person.
So when Micha or whatever the angels name was said that i could undo one single decision, it did not take me long to choose.
"I would like to wear pants when i died. Don't want my kids to find me with my dong out in the open."
The angel looked at me quite dissapointed about the ambition of my request but rather relieved that it was not much work.
"Very well mister Smelly, very well". | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | The light looked at me.
Well, if a light could look at me, that’s what It was doing. I felt It’s gaze. It was...peaceful.
And I understood. It was asking me a question. A question about a decision.
I had never been truly happy. There were brief moments approaching happiness I supposed. When I got out of the foster care system. When that girl kissed me. That time my scratch off lottery ticket won. Some books. The blowjob. Afterwards though, I always went back to my usual “meh, this sucks” attitude.
I was called “depressed” by some, A nihilist by others. “The weird guy who wore black most of time” by most.
I had tried to fit in from time to time, but it never felt right, I just didn’t see the point of it all.
“Why are we here?” That was the question I spent most of my time dwelling on,
The answer is usually came up with was “Because we’re here”. It’s was just chance, flip a coin, roll the bones, whatever. None of it really mattered. Nothing really mattered to me.
So when I was hit by that car, what I really felt was relief. Well, intense pain at first, then numbness, then tiredness, THEN relief.
And then...something,
Really, I hadn’t expect there to be anything after I died. I had no beliefs in any higher powers, so when I was confronted by that higher power it was..,something.
I was informed of the situation. For whatever reason, this higher power had decided eons ago that when the 100 billionth human being died, it would be given to opportunity to reverse one decision, Any decision.
I asked for clarity on this. “Does it have to be my decision?”.
“No” the answer came back.
“So any decision in the history of decisions?”
“Yes”.
So basically I could undo anything. I could undo the decision of that guy who decided to drink too much the night he killed my parents with his car. I could undo the decision of my parents to have sex that night I was conceived. Or their parents. Or theirs. I could undo Hitler. I could undo wars, or diseases, or...anything. What was the point though? I had spent my whole life not caring about really anything, so why would I care to undo anything?
Then it occurred to me. I knew what to undo. I remembered a line from a book I read that had made me momentarily slightly happy. “In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.”
I told the light which of It’s decisions I wanted undone. | The choice was simple
I mean...
I am a simple man with no ambition of changing the world or becoming a hero.
What I do have instead is the need to not embarrass myself too much like any other normal person.
So when Micha or whatever the angels name was said that i could undo one single decision, it did not take me long to choose.
"I would like to wear pants when i died. Don't want my kids to find me with my dong out in the open."
The angel looked at me quite dissapointed about the ambition of my request but rather relieved that it was not much work.
"Very well mister Smelly, very well". | |
[WP] You died today. Turns out you are the 100 Billionth person to do so. To commemorate the occasion, you are given the chance to undo a single decision. Any decision. | I died at the ripe old age of 14.
My last three years of life were a living hell, all because of one innocent mistake... and now I had an angel, in all it's crazy eye-winged glory, asking me which decision I would change in my life. The question was so ridiculous I didn't even balk at his terrifying figure. Besides, I had seen worse things in my life.
So I knew exactly which decision I would change.
I can still remember it vividly: the closing of the door as I settled into the back of my mom's idling silver car, and the rustling noise my pink winter sweater made as I fiddled with the seat belt.
I could remember the exact sickening smell I noticed, looking up when I realized my mom didn't smoke. The raised eyebrows of the scraggly faced man in the rear view mirror.
My nervous, shy voice as I said, "Sorry mister, wrong car," and the shaking in my hands as I reached for the seatbelt button.
The shifting of gears as he put the car in drive... | When I was 23 I killed a man. He was being an asshole. I was too; we were both drunk. He hit me. I hit him better. When he fell his head bounced off the bar. The bar cracked.
He lay there slumped under the bar with his arms up like he was hugging a ghost or tryin' to do a sit up, but while asleep. I learned later it's called the fencing response. When you get walloped real good, your arms just kind of raise into the air. It indicates brain damage, or worse.
When you kill someone on accident while breaking the law it's called manslaughter. They frog march you in front of a judge while the SOB's wife and kids weep behind you. You tell the judge what happened and apologize to the family. We were both drunk. I wanted to hurt him but I didn't mean for him to die. I only hit him once. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you tell the judge.
The judge tells you to rot in prison for 25 years.
*So the decision you want to change is the one to hit the other man?*
No. I want to take back my apology. Asshole got what he deserved. I got what I deserved. I didn't owe no one any apology. | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | my life had been gray lately, much like the sky today. there’s really no other way to describe the melancholy, boxed-in feeling i’ve been experiencing. it’s not quite pointless- my life i mean. i have a boyfriend who loves me, and i love him more than i love anything in this horrible, wretched world. i have a job at an orphanage where i help children that wouldn’t have the slightest chance otherwise. i have a beautiful apartment my boyfriend scraped up the money to buy somehow... but still, my life is gray. i don’t know what’s missing, but something is. i would end it, honestly, but i don’t want to hurt my boyfriend. i could never bear the thought of him being sad, and i still can’t. as i pondered my existence for the fifth time that week, my clock beeped loudly, piercing through the dreamy melody of the rain beating against the apartments’ roof. i rolled out of bed, as the plushy gray bedding begged me to stay wrapped up in it’s warmth longer. i used to give in to my lazy tendencies, but recently i’d lost the urge to lay around. there’s really no point to life, no grand finale, no amazing accomplishment to be made, so why should i make other people’s life’s harder by inconveniencing them with my lateness or sloppiness while i tried to make mine better? as i slipped on my leather heels, i looked in the mirror. i was ugly. not the pretty, rough-around-the-edges-but-still-cute ugly, either. i was downright hideous. people complimented me regularly, but i just couldn’t see what they referred to. i glances at the photo of me and my boyfriend to the left of the mirror. he looked happy, but i was positive he could be happier. who could be happy being chained to someone like me? i made up my mind then, in that fleeting moment, that i would end it. i couldn’t take this anymore. my mind was like a prison, trapping me in a padded cell of stress, and intrusive thoughts screaming, bellowing, clamoring over normal thoughts. i felt trapped in my life, and in my mind, and i was getting out. as i walked out the door for the last time, i considered how to finish my mediocre life. as i descended the cold, indifferent stairs of my apartment building for the last time, i slipped farther and farther into the cold dark abyss of my mind. before i realized it, i was on the road with a taxi waiting to take me to my pointless job. i really had lost all meaning to life, hadn’t i? i realized it was the last time i would see this place. i looked around me, taking the formerly electrifying new york city atmosphere in. the looming skyscrapers, the people running around frantic to reach their dead-end jobs, the huge digital advertisements, they all proved how indifferent this world was. i was finished. as i crammed myself into the dank, smelly cab, i got a strange feeling. almost hopeful, but not quite. was i feeling excitement? no, it was a sense danger. as i glanced towards the car doors, the locks clicked into place, grinding slightly. that’s when i realized they had been filed down so the passenger couldn’t open them. it was surreal, having the realization that i cared a bout my life after all. whatever was happening, i realized how much i really cared. as i slipped deeper and deepened into my emotional roller coaster, the taxi driver’s voice yanked me into reality. “relax, whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s not happening.” “well, maybe some of it is...”
don’t judge, i haven’t slept in 29 hours 😂 | The back seat of the cab smelled like disinfectant. Jacob settled his briefcase in his lap and pulled his tie loose, wondering how easy it was to clean puke out of a car while he distractedly provided the taxi with his home address.
*Calculating most efficient route,* the machine informed him with artificial cheerfulness before the car eased out onto the quiet street. Jacob had always figured that computers would rule the world someday. As the car eased to a gentle stop to allow a harried jay-walker to cross safely, he thought maybe they ruled the world already. Then again, Jacob was forty-four, and had always been a little paranoid.
Sometimes he daydreamed about taking his wife and escaping - ripping the plug out (and the smart watch off). Building a cabin with his hands. Working them until the soft curves of his palms became rough and callused. Existing off the grid. Teaching her how to appreciate him again. No, he amended: teaching them both to appreciate each other again. Life would be simple, but they would find comfort in that simplicity, living the way their great great grandparents had lived.
The buzz of his phone in his jacket pocket pulled him out of his head as the taxi eased to a stop in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Jacob used the too-bright lighting from the grocery store parking lot to dig for and uncover his phone. He knew it was his wife before he looked at the screen. No one else texted him after 7PM. No one else texted him at all. He opened the message.
`don't forget the eggs on the way home xx`
Jacob eased himself out of the car and bought eggs. | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. |
The Black Cab.
I’m a Black Cab driver, with a difference. My cab and I don’t exist in real time, we turn up when people really need us.
I am a very boringly average person to look at, 10 seconds after meeting me, you will have trouble describing me, I’m short, tall, fat, thin, bald, long hair in a ponytail, full beard, clean shaven, you get the picture.
My cab doesn’t have a meter, there is no drivers picture hanging inside, the registration number has never been issued. It doesn’t get picked up on speed cameras.
I don’t always take my cab out, but when I do, it is because somebody needs to be somewhere in a hurry. Often, they don’t know that they need to be there until they get there.
I got the feeling that I was needed, I drove to the carpark of the Red Lion Public House. It was deserted, well it was 3:14 Am. As I drove around the carpark, I saw a crumpled shape laying by the wall, in the shadows.
I drove towards it, it was a young girl of about 19, she had been badly beaten, but was slowly moving. I thought it would be quicker to take her to the hospital myself, rather than wait for an ambulance.
I carefully placed her on the back seat, after what seemed like seconds, we pulled up outside the hospital. Two nurses ran out with a stretcher, loaded her on it, and took her into the building. I drove away.
The news the following day was that the girl had been assaulted outside the pub, the police said that they were looking for two men, they showed two stills of the men they wanted to talk to.
The police said that if anyone knew who either of the two men were to call crime stoppers. They said that the cameras didn’t show who picked the girl up.
For some reason, the cameras only showed “snow” from 3:14 to 3:16. They said that they thought the timing was wrong, as the girl had been dropped at the hospital at 3:15 Am, and as the hospital was 10 minutes away from the Red Lion pub.
The CCTV from the hospital didn’t show who dropped her off. The nurse’s descriptions of the man were totally different to each other, one said that he was a 6 ft. 4 in Blackman with dreadlocks, and the other said that he was an old white man.
I sat and thought for a moment, then picked the phone up, and dialed crime stoppers, and gave them two names and addresses, when they asked my name, I hung up.
The following night, the news said that two men had been arrested following a tip-off.
A few days before that, I picked up a young mum, with her weekly shopping from outside Tesco’s. as I started to pull out of the carpark, I knew she was needed at her daughter’s school, she was talking on her phone, and looked up in surprise as I pulled up at the school.
In a daze, she climbed out of my cab and stumbled towards the school entrance. As she walked up to the reception desk, the receptionist looked at her in shock.
She managed to say “Mrs. Tompkins, we have been trying to contact you for the last 10 minutes, Jenny had a fall from the climbing frame in the playground, the ambulance has only just got here. Let me take you to her, she wants her mum.”
While Jenny was being checked over at the hospital, Mrs. Tompkins, remembered her shopping.
It was still in the back of the cab. Three hours later, she took Jenny home, with a nice pink cast on her broken arm. To her surprise, all her shopping had been put away, in the cupboards, the fridge and the freezer.
She found that there was a large tub of Jenny’s favourite ice cream in the freezer, she was positive that she had not brought it.
Early one morning, I pulled up outside a house in a rundown part of town, I knocked on the door, and after a few moments, the door opened a crack, and an eye peered out.
I said,” Mrs. Jacobs, I have been sent to collect you.” Mrs. Jacobs said, “it’s not Freddie is it.?”. Without waiting for an answer, she closed the door and reopened it, after taking the chain from it. She was pulling on her coat and picking up her handbag as she stepped out and shut the door behind her.
I said, “I know a shortcut,” within a few minutes, we pulled up at the hospital, I walked with her to the reception desk and said, “Mrs. Jacobs to see her Freddie.” Mrs. Jacobs was taken up to the ICU ward, the nurses were surprised to see her.
As they helped her to put on a disposable gown and gloves, the alarms round Freddie’s bed started beeping.
The nurses tried to get Freda Jacobs to leave the room, but she refused to go, she stepped forward and held Her Freddie’s hand.
She leaned forward and kissed him and whispered softly,” it’s OK Darling, you can go home now, I’ll see you soon.” Freddie’s breathing slowed and stopped.
The nurses were very efficient, they called a doctor to certify death, they sat Freda Jacobs in a side room, with a hot sweet cup of tea. Freda drank her tea, carefully placed the empty cup on the table. She sat back in the chair, whispered, “I’m coming Freddie.” And closed her eyes for the last time.
The nurses could not work out who had phoned Freda, so they thought that they would ask her after she had finished her tea.
The nurses found her 30 minutes later, at first, they thought that she was asleep, as she looked so peaceful. Freddie and Freda were buried side by side in the church that they had married in 57 years before.
I have had many jobs since then, I forgot to introduce myself before, my friends call me Gabe, my real name is Gabriel.
The end. | The back seat of the cab smelled like disinfectant. Jacob settled his briefcase in his lap and pulled his tie loose, wondering how easy it was to clean puke out of a car while he distractedly provided the taxi with his home address.
*Calculating most efficient route,* the machine informed him with artificial cheerfulness before the car eased out onto the quiet street. Jacob had always figured that computers would rule the world someday. As the car eased to a gentle stop to allow a harried jay-walker to cross safely, he thought maybe they ruled the world already. Then again, Jacob was forty-four, and had always been a little paranoid.
Sometimes he daydreamed about taking his wife and escaping - ripping the plug out (and the smart watch off). Building a cabin with his hands. Working them until the soft curves of his palms became rough and callused. Existing off the grid. Teaching her how to appreciate him again. No, he amended: teaching them both to appreciate each other again. Life would be simple, but they would find comfort in that simplicity, living the way their great great grandparents had lived.
The buzz of his phone in his jacket pocket pulled him out of his head as the taxi eased to a stop in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Jacob used the too-bright lighting from the grocery store parking lot to dig for and uncover his phone. He knew it was his wife before he looked at the screen. No one else texted him after 7PM. No one else texted him at all. He opened the message.
`don't forget the eggs on the way home xx`
Jacob eased himself out of the car and bought eggs. | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | I looked at my patek phillipe nautilus. Half past 3. Thing is, this place i built enclosed, no windows to the outside world thus you do not know if it is day or night. This is where they get lost in cards, chips, alcohol, women, drugs, whatever their heart desires and of course, whatever their pockets would allow.
I stepped outside the den, it was dark and the wind was chilly. The sidewalk was wet, reflecting the red neon lights on my sign on the building. "Safe haven" was what i called it yet nothing about it was safe, they were downright illegal. I have devised many foolproof ways to get the things i needed to make this place work. I bought female teens off their poor families in the rural areas. One less family member to feed and a lot of extra cash, who would turn down the offer? Then to smuggle the drugs, i had them swallow the packages and shit them out when they reach their place of stay. Easy, kill two birds with one stone. The rest is just throwing of cash here and there. The people here are vultures when it comes to money so I let them have it. Keep the people under me well fed and severely punish those who go against me. Throwing money down the hierarchy and having natural selection takes its course.
"Good evening Mr Alias, i heard you have new cherries to pop today," greeted one of my bouncers who guarded the door of sin. I personally 'taste' each woman as a quality check before i allow them to work under me and trust me, it is more tiring that it sounds.
"Yes, exotic woman as well. Where is my new chauffeur?" I asked. My previous chauffer was shot personally by me for he almost got himself killed while, more importantly, driving my rolls-royce. Since he does not value his life, i took it from him.
A matte rolls-royce halted in front of us.
"Ah here he is. Have a safe trip sir," he said while helping me into the car. My eyes fixated on the rear view mirror, examining my new chauffer. His peak cap covered his eyes, the rest of his face emotionless and sunken. Well i don't care, as long as he does his job well.
"You know where to go right?" I asked.
"Yes sir," he said as he stepped on the gas and off we went
I lit my cigar and looked out the window of my car. My mind trailed to the mountains of sins i have done. How much tears i have caused to people, how much blood i spilt. But i am not evil right? I take joy from and and i give joy to others and in return, i get money which i use to pay the people who work for me. So i am not evil, i guess.
The chauffer took a sudden left turn which got me out of my daze and i realised, i have never seen this part of town before. It is more run down than usual, gloomy and wrecked. Where am i?
"Where are we?" I spitted at the chauffer.
"Shortcut," he said in a monotonous tone.
Leaned forward from my seat, watching the roads in front turn narrower and full of bumps and potholes. After a few minutes or so, i saw a bridge. I never knew our state had a bridge. It had the same characters of the buildings before, as if imminent death was looming across the whole area like some cumulonimbus cloud.
The chauffer drove till the middle of the bridge, the highest point from the river below. He stopped and the door opened, exposing the cold winds. There was only a railing that stopped anybody from falling over.
"Go," he said. I have heard of this before. The person who drives you to where you need to be instead of where you want to be. Strangely, i was not feeling anxious nor was my body shutting down. It is as if i have fully accepted to depart from this world that i was needed to leave this world.
I looked beyond the railings, my ears listened to the ravaging river below, my feet tensed and my breath deepened. With grace i ran towards the railing, parkoured over it and launched myself out into the air. Slowly, i fell. The surroundings became brighter, almost like it was day. Endorphins rush to my brain creating euphoria that i have never experienced. This was the least i could do to abolish my sins. To stop this vicious cycle. It was my time to go. I needed to be here. I needed this. | The back seat of the cab smelled like disinfectant. Jacob settled his briefcase in his lap and pulled his tie loose, wondering how easy it was to clean puke out of a car while he distractedly provided the taxi with his home address.
*Calculating most efficient route,* the machine informed him with artificial cheerfulness before the car eased out onto the quiet street. Jacob had always figured that computers would rule the world someday. As the car eased to a gentle stop to allow a harried jay-walker to cross safely, he thought maybe they ruled the world already. Then again, Jacob was forty-four, and had always been a little paranoid.
Sometimes he daydreamed about taking his wife and escaping - ripping the plug out (and the smart watch off). Building a cabin with his hands. Working them until the soft curves of his palms became rough and callused. Existing off the grid. Teaching her how to appreciate him again. No, he amended: teaching them both to appreciate each other again. Life would be simple, but they would find comfort in that simplicity, living the way their great great grandparents had lived.
The buzz of his phone in his jacket pocket pulled him out of his head as the taxi eased to a stop in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Jacob used the too-bright lighting from the grocery store parking lot to dig for and uncover his phone. He knew it was his wife before he looked at the screen. No one else texted him after 7PM. No one else texted him at all. He opened the message.
`don't forget the eggs on the way home xx`
Jacob eased himself out of the car and bought eggs. | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | I looked at my patek phillipe nautilus. Half past 3. Thing is, this place i built enclosed, no windows to the outside world thus you do not know if it is day or night. This is where they get lost in cards, chips, alcohol, women, drugs, whatever their heart desires and of course, whatever their pockets would allow.
I stepped outside the den, it was dark and the wind was chilly. The sidewalk was wet, reflecting the red neon lights on my sign on the building. "Safe haven" was what i called it yet nothing about it was safe, they were downright illegal. I have devised many foolproof ways to get the things i needed to make this place work. I bought female teens off their poor families in the rural areas. One less family member to feed and a lot of extra cash, who would turn down the offer? Then to smuggle the drugs, i had them swallow the packages and shit them out when they reach their place of stay. Easy, kill two birds with one stone. The rest is just throwing of cash here and there. The people here are vultures when it comes to money so I let them have it. Keep the people under me well fed and severely punish those who go against me. Throwing money down the hierarchy and having natural selection takes its course.
"Good evening Mr Alias, i heard you have new cherries to pop today," greeted one of my bouncers who guarded the door of sin. I personally 'taste' each woman as a quality check before i allow them to work under me and trust me, it is more tiring that it sounds.
"Yes, exotic woman as well. Where is my new chauffeur?" I asked. My previous chauffer was shot personally by me for he almost got himself killed while, more importantly, driving my rolls-royce. Since he does not value his life, i took it from him.
A matte rolls-royce halted in front of us.
"Ah here he is. Have a safe trip sir," he said while helping me into the car. My eyes fixated on the rear view mirror, examining my new chauffer. His peak cap covered his eyes, the rest of his face emotionless and sunken. Well i don't care, as long as he does his job well.
"You know where to go right?" I asked.
"Yes sir," he said as he stepped on the gas and off we went
I lit my cigar and looked out the window of my car. My mind trailed to the mountains of sins i have done. How much tears i have caused to people, how much blood i spilt. But i am not evil right? I take joy from and and i give joy to others and in return, i get money which i use to pay the people who work for me. So i am not evil, i guess.
The chauffer took a sudden left turn which got me out of my daze and i realised, i have never seen this part of town before. It is more run down than usual, gloomy and wrecked. Where am i?
"Where are we?" I spitted at the chauffer.
"Shortcut," he said in a monotonous tone.
Leaned forward from my seat, watching the roads in front turn narrower and full of bumps and potholes. After a few minutes or so, i saw a bridge. I never knew our state had a bridge. It had the same characters of the buildings before, as if imminent death was looming across the whole area like some cumulonimbus cloud.
The chauffer drove till the middle of the bridge, the highest point from the river below. He stopped and the door opened, exposing the cold winds. There was only a railing that stopped anybody from falling over.
"Go," he said. I have heard of this before. The person who drives you to where you need to be instead of where you want to be. Strangely, i was not feeling anxious nor was my body shutting down. It is as if i have fully accepted to depart from this world that i was needed to leave this world.
I looked beyond the railings, my ears listened to the ravaging river below, my feet tensed and my breath deepened. With grace i ran towards the railing, parkoured over it and launched myself out into the air. Slowly, i fell. The surroundings became brighter, almost like it was day. Endorphins rush to my brain creating euphoria that i have never experienced. This was the least i could do to abolish my sins. To stop this vicious cycle. It was my time to go. I needed to be here. I needed this. | my life had been gray lately, much like the sky today. there’s really no other way to describe the melancholy, boxed-in feeling i’ve been experiencing. it’s not quite pointless- my life i mean. i have a boyfriend who loves me, and i love him more than i love anything in this horrible, wretched world. i have a job at an orphanage where i help children that wouldn’t have the slightest chance otherwise. i have a beautiful apartment my boyfriend scraped up the money to buy somehow... but still, my life is gray. i don’t know what’s missing, but something is. i would end it, honestly, but i don’t want to hurt my boyfriend. i could never bear the thought of him being sad, and i still can’t. as i pondered my existence for the fifth time that week, my clock beeped loudly, piercing through the dreamy melody of the rain beating against the apartments’ roof. i rolled out of bed, as the plushy gray bedding begged me to stay wrapped up in it’s warmth longer. i used to give in to my lazy tendencies, but recently i’d lost the urge to lay around. there’s really no point to life, no grand finale, no amazing accomplishment to be made, so why should i make other people’s life’s harder by inconveniencing them with my lateness or sloppiness while i tried to make mine better? as i slipped on my leather heels, i looked in the mirror. i was ugly. not the pretty, rough-around-the-edges-but-still-cute ugly, either. i was downright hideous. people complimented me regularly, but i just couldn’t see what they referred to. i glances at the photo of me and my boyfriend to the left of the mirror. he looked happy, but i was positive he could be happier. who could be happy being chained to someone like me? i made up my mind then, in that fleeting moment, that i would end it. i couldn’t take this anymore. my mind was like a prison, trapping me in a padded cell of stress, and intrusive thoughts screaming, bellowing, clamoring over normal thoughts. i felt trapped in my life, and in my mind, and i was getting out. as i walked out the door for the last time, i considered how to finish my mediocre life. as i descended the cold, indifferent stairs of my apartment building for the last time, i slipped farther and farther into the cold dark abyss of my mind. before i realized it, i was on the road with a taxi waiting to take me to my pointless job. i really had lost all meaning to life, hadn’t i? i realized it was the last time i would see this place. i looked around me, taking the formerly electrifying new york city atmosphere in. the looming skyscrapers, the people running around frantic to reach their dead-end jobs, the huge digital advertisements, they all proved how indifferent this world was. i was finished. as i crammed myself into the dank, smelly cab, i got a strange feeling. almost hopeful, but not quite. was i feeling excitement? no, it was a sense danger. as i glanced towards the car doors, the locks clicked into place, grinding slightly. that’s when i realized they had been filed down so the passenger couldn’t open them. it was surreal, having the realization that i cared a bout my life after all. whatever was happening, i realized how much i really cared. as i slipped deeper and deepened into my emotional roller coaster, the taxi driver’s voice yanked me into reality. “relax, whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s not happening.” “well, maybe some of it is...”
don’t judge, i haven’t slept in 29 hours 😂 | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | I looked at my patek phillipe nautilus. Half past 3. Thing is, this place i built enclosed, no windows to the outside world thus you do not know if it is day or night. This is where they get lost in cards, chips, alcohol, women, drugs, whatever their heart desires and of course, whatever their pockets would allow.
I stepped outside the den, it was dark and the wind was chilly. The sidewalk was wet, reflecting the red neon lights on my sign on the building. "Safe haven" was what i called it yet nothing about it was safe, they were downright illegal. I have devised many foolproof ways to get the things i needed to make this place work. I bought female teens off their poor families in the rural areas. One less family member to feed and a lot of extra cash, who would turn down the offer? Then to smuggle the drugs, i had them swallow the packages and shit them out when they reach their place of stay. Easy, kill two birds with one stone. The rest is just throwing of cash here and there. The people here are vultures when it comes to money so I let them have it. Keep the people under me well fed and severely punish those who go against me. Throwing money down the hierarchy and having natural selection takes its course.
"Good evening Mr Alias, i heard you have new cherries to pop today," greeted one of my bouncers who guarded the door of sin. I personally 'taste' each woman as a quality check before i allow them to work under me and trust me, it is more tiring that it sounds.
"Yes, exotic woman as well. Where is my new chauffeur?" I asked. My previous chauffer was shot personally by me for he almost got himself killed while, more importantly, driving my rolls-royce. Since he does not value his life, i took it from him.
A matte rolls-royce halted in front of us.
"Ah here he is. Have a safe trip sir," he said while helping me into the car. My eyes fixated on the rear view mirror, examining my new chauffer. His peak cap covered his eyes, the rest of his face emotionless and sunken. Well i don't care, as long as he does his job well.
"You know where to go right?" I asked.
"Yes sir," he said as he stepped on the gas and off we went
I lit my cigar and looked out the window of my car. My mind trailed to the mountains of sins i have done. How much tears i have caused to people, how much blood i spilt. But i am not evil right? I take joy from and and i give joy to others and in return, i get money which i use to pay the people who work for me. So i am not evil, i guess.
The chauffer took a sudden left turn which got me out of my daze and i realised, i have never seen this part of town before. It is more run down than usual, gloomy and wrecked. Where am i?
"Where are we?" I spitted at the chauffer.
"Shortcut," he said in a monotonous tone.
Leaned forward from my seat, watching the roads in front turn narrower and full of bumps and potholes. After a few minutes or so, i saw a bridge. I never knew our state had a bridge. It had the same characters of the buildings before, as if imminent death was looming across the whole area like some cumulonimbus cloud.
The chauffer drove till the middle of the bridge, the highest point from the river below. He stopped and the door opened, exposing the cold winds. There was only a railing that stopped anybody from falling over.
"Go," he said. I have heard of this before. The person who drives you to where you need to be instead of where you want to be. Strangely, i was not feeling anxious nor was my body shutting down. It is as if i have fully accepted to depart from this world that i was needed to leave this world.
I looked beyond the railings, my ears listened to the ravaging river below, my feet tensed and my breath deepened. With grace i ran towards the railing, parkoured over it and launched myself out into the air. Slowly, i fell. The surroundings became brighter, almost like it was day. Endorphins rush to my brain creating euphoria that i have never experienced. This was the least i could do to abolish my sins. To stop this vicious cycle. It was my time to go. I needed to be here. I needed this. |
The Black Cab.
I’m a Black Cab driver, with a difference. My cab and I don’t exist in real time, we turn up when people really need us.
I am a very boringly average person to look at, 10 seconds after meeting me, you will have trouble describing me, I’m short, tall, fat, thin, bald, long hair in a ponytail, full beard, clean shaven, you get the picture.
My cab doesn’t have a meter, there is no drivers picture hanging inside, the registration number has never been issued. It doesn’t get picked up on speed cameras.
I don’t always take my cab out, but when I do, it is because somebody needs to be somewhere in a hurry. Often, they don’t know that they need to be there until they get there.
I got the feeling that I was needed, I drove to the carpark of the Red Lion Public House. It was deserted, well it was 3:14 Am. As I drove around the carpark, I saw a crumpled shape laying by the wall, in the shadows.
I drove towards it, it was a young girl of about 19, she had been badly beaten, but was slowly moving. I thought it would be quicker to take her to the hospital myself, rather than wait for an ambulance.
I carefully placed her on the back seat, after what seemed like seconds, we pulled up outside the hospital. Two nurses ran out with a stretcher, loaded her on it, and took her into the building. I drove away.
The news the following day was that the girl had been assaulted outside the pub, the police said that they were looking for two men, they showed two stills of the men they wanted to talk to.
The police said that if anyone knew who either of the two men were to call crime stoppers. They said that the cameras didn’t show who picked the girl up.
For some reason, the cameras only showed “snow” from 3:14 to 3:16. They said that they thought the timing was wrong, as the girl had been dropped at the hospital at 3:15 Am, and as the hospital was 10 minutes away from the Red Lion pub.
The CCTV from the hospital didn’t show who dropped her off. The nurse’s descriptions of the man were totally different to each other, one said that he was a 6 ft. 4 in Blackman with dreadlocks, and the other said that he was an old white man.
I sat and thought for a moment, then picked the phone up, and dialed crime stoppers, and gave them two names and addresses, when they asked my name, I hung up.
The following night, the news said that two men had been arrested following a tip-off.
A few days before that, I picked up a young mum, with her weekly shopping from outside Tesco’s. as I started to pull out of the carpark, I knew she was needed at her daughter’s school, she was talking on her phone, and looked up in surprise as I pulled up at the school.
In a daze, she climbed out of my cab and stumbled towards the school entrance. As she walked up to the reception desk, the receptionist looked at her in shock.
She managed to say “Mrs. Tompkins, we have been trying to contact you for the last 10 minutes, Jenny had a fall from the climbing frame in the playground, the ambulance has only just got here. Let me take you to her, she wants her mum.”
While Jenny was being checked over at the hospital, Mrs. Tompkins, remembered her shopping.
It was still in the back of the cab. Three hours later, she took Jenny home, with a nice pink cast on her broken arm. To her surprise, all her shopping had been put away, in the cupboards, the fridge and the freezer.
She found that there was a large tub of Jenny’s favourite ice cream in the freezer, she was positive that she had not brought it.
Early one morning, I pulled up outside a house in a rundown part of town, I knocked on the door, and after a few moments, the door opened a crack, and an eye peered out.
I said,” Mrs. Jacobs, I have been sent to collect you.” Mrs. Jacobs said, “it’s not Freddie is it.?”. Without waiting for an answer, she closed the door and reopened it, after taking the chain from it. She was pulling on her coat and picking up her handbag as she stepped out and shut the door behind her.
I said, “I know a shortcut,” within a few minutes, we pulled up at the hospital, I walked with her to the reception desk and said, “Mrs. Jacobs to see her Freddie.” Mrs. Jacobs was taken up to the ICU ward, the nurses were surprised to see her.
As they helped her to put on a disposable gown and gloves, the alarms round Freddie’s bed started beeping.
The nurses tried to get Freda Jacobs to leave the room, but she refused to go, she stepped forward and held Her Freddie’s hand.
She leaned forward and kissed him and whispered softly,” it’s OK Darling, you can go home now, I’ll see you soon.” Freddie’s breathing slowed and stopped.
The nurses were very efficient, they called a doctor to certify death, they sat Freda Jacobs in a side room, with a hot sweet cup of tea. Freda drank her tea, carefully placed the empty cup on the table. She sat back in the chair, whispered, “I’m coming Freddie.” And closed her eyes for the last time.
The nurses could not work out who had phoned Freda, so they thought that they would ask her after she had finished her tea.
The nurses found her 30 minutes later, at first, they thought that she was asleep, as she looked so peaceful. Freddie and Freda were buried side by side in the church that they had married in 57 years before.
I have had many jobs since then, I forgot to introduce myself before, my friends call me Gabe, my real name is Gabriel.
The end. | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | 'Hello, miss,' the taxi driver greeted me. I closed the cab door in the same swift movement with which I sat down.
'Hi!'
The back seat felt surprisingly soft. For some reason it reminded me of the old couch in my nana's attic. Me and my cousins had played all sorts of games on there. Good times.
'Rosemont Avenue, please. Number 147.' Having lived in the city ever since I left my parents' cozy house, I had mastered the art of instructing the cab driver in a polite, but distant enough way. It's all about intonation, really. Upon my giving the adress, the driver turned around to look at me. He was an ageing, yet jolly man. He reminded me of our dear old mailman, a local celebrity. He handed out Christmas cards to everyone on his route. Every year. Without fail. I always had appreciated those. Hadn't thought about him in forever, though. The driver kindly looked into my eyes and smiled a reassuring smile. After a good while of staring at me he calmly turned back around and hit the gas. And whatever kind he pumped, it smelled delightful.
It wasn't a minute before I had grabbed my phone. But to my utter dismay, I discovered I couldn't get a signal. *Great*, I thought.
'Won't work in here, miss. Terribly sorry about that,' the jolly looking driver apologised while looking at me in the rearview mirror.
'Oh, that's fine. I'm sure I can do without for a while,' I responded. I wasn't at all annoyed, to be honest. It did feel like a day for looking out the window, for some reason. So I did just that. The countryside was simply beautiful. Plain beautiful. I saw unkempt hills with sprouting yellow grass and mighty snowy mountains in the distance. Proud trees cast cool shadows and offered refuge from a scorching summer sun. The bright blue sky was full of clouds taking all kinds of shapes. Yet not a ray of light was kept from touching soil. The landscapes reminded me of every vacation I had ever taken. It was my first boyfriend's hair, I realised. The gas smelled like my first boyfriend's hair.
'We're not in the city anymore.'
'I know, miss.'
'How curious.'
I looked around. The cab was still a cab. Same kind I had taken a thousand times. But equally, it had become something quite different. It took me back to the diner where I'd used to go after school. Those milkshakes were something else, let me tell you.
'How long will the drive be?' I asked while I sucked on the straw.
'Depends. Are you enjoying the ride?'
'Quite a bit, yes.'
'Then we'll be on the road for just a bit longer,' the jolly driver said. He winked at me in the rearview mirror, in much the same way Mrs. Keener had when she'd given me a passing grade on a test I most assuredly messed up. She must have really liked me.
We rode for a while. He kept quiet and so did I. The sights, scents and sounds all around distracted me. I smelled my first job and I felt my best friend's wedding. I tasted the best sex I had ever had and I saw all the gifts I'd bought for others. I heard all the love everyone had never proclaimed out loud. And the driver drove all the while. Until he didn't.
'This is it, miss.'
'This sure isn't 147 Rosemont Avenue.'
'It sure ain't.'
'What's over there?'
'To be honest, miss... I don't rightly know. Not my job, I'm afraid.'
'Well, I enjoyed the ride.'
'Me too. Thank you, miss. It's nice when they share the good stuff. No dilly-dallying, now! Others need to get where they need going.'
I got out and watched the driver slowly make his way back. Standing there, I reflected on all those brought back memories I had forgotten. All the sensations that had touched my heart something fierce. It sure had been nice to be reminded of all the good anyone had ever felt. And even nicer was, that this new place was already tickling me in all kinds of unfamiliar ways. | "Ere you go lass-" the driver turns to face me, a grin both somehow having to much and at the same time too little teeth adorning his face -"Right where you needed to be."
"This isn't King's cross." I say rather bewildered.
"I know." The driver agrees "But you need to be here tonight. Not there."
"Wait what?"
"Don't worry dear." His grin widens as he slowly begins to fade "This ride won't cost a penny."
"what the hells?" I yelp as suddenly the chair beneath me stops existing, slamming my bum first onto the gravel. Though only then did I take a proper look around.
I'm sat outside some kind of compound. A vast expanse of prefab buildings and scaffolding lies beyond a tall wire fence topped with razor wire. A sign nearby a gate reads 'Danger! Do not enter!' But I elect to ignore it. Something deep within me is forcing me to forget about the train I'm missing, the gig I'll never make it too and the complete leeches pretending to be humans I've come to call 'friends' I'll be disappointing. Right here. Right now is where I should be. Where I need to be.
Firstly I need to find a way inside. The fence is too tall to jump and with the razor wire topping deeply hazardous to climb. The gates aren't just shut but chained, with linkage an inch across at least. Padlocked too the bastards. But I'll give them a rattle just to be sure they're locked. If they were before they weren't the minute I laid hands upon them. The heavy chains and padlocks simply... came undone to my touch. So cautiously, and again at all my better judgement crept inside the compound.
I was right not to set foot in there though.
The moment my foot crossed the threshold the world changed. Everything disappeared in a brilliant flash of blinding light. What replaced it was bizzaire beyond all imagining. Gleaming walls of polished marble, a skylight that showed the brilliant radiance of a star filled sky; not the grimy London twilight it should have. And a woman in a pale blue suit and matching blue lenses glasses.
"Where the hell am I?" I spin wildly, "what in the world just happened?"
"A simple dimensional transference spell. Please do not be alarmed."
"What the fuck did you drug me with?!" I yell as the woman attempts to move closer
"We have not drugged you. Merely removed you from your reality in order to allow you to develop properly."
"What the do you mean develop?" I have no clue what the shit this lesson an is talking nor how the hell did I suddenly go from being in an abandoned whatever the hell that was to this madhouse.
"You are a young mage and we would like to welcome you to the academy." The woman smiles, revealing teeth that have no right to be that sharp "please calm down or I will have to call security." | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | “Where to boss?”
“515 Lennox....and I’m not your boss.”
“Fucking immigrants” I thought to myself. Ever since my sight started failing me I am forced to abide these foreign idiots more and more. These disgusting cabs reeking of body odor and curry are a nightmare. I miss my Cadillac. I miss my freedom.
“Heading home, my friend?”
“That’s none of your concern sir...just take me where I need to go.”
“He probably wants to come back and rob me later. A poor old blind white man probably looks like an easy target.” I lamented to myself. Give it your best shot Hadji I dare you.
This country is going to hell. Everyone is so sensitive now. Look at me! Since my wife passed last summer I have been miserable. My children no longer speak to me and most, if not all, of my friends are dead. I am utterly alone, but you don’t see me looking for sympathy. I am still upwardly mobile. I and still a part of society. Even with these bad eyes and a bum heart I’m still worth more to this country than a thousand hipsters. I’m the last of a dying breed I tell you. And when I die I fully intend to haunt whatever little bastard buys my clothes from Goodwill.
This godless heathen working on Christmas Day. Forsaking the one true savior on his birthday...for what? To drive a car? But, I guess I should thank him for getting me home. My son and I used to go to the movie theater every Christmas. We don’t talk much anymore but I still go. Now with no one at home Christmas is a lonely time. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.
“We are here sir...oh would you look at that my friend! I forgot to start the meter!”
“That sounds like a YOU problem!”
“It certainly is sir...Merry Christmas this ride is on the house.”
“Your god damn right it is!”
It wasn’t until I stepped out into the cold that I realized I did not recognize my surroundings. I rub my failing eyes to no avail.
“Wait! We are in the wrong place? Where have you taken me?!”
“Right where you need to be my friend...” the driver said as the Taxi sped away.
“Wait you can’t leave me here you son of a bitch! I’m alone! I need help! You can’t leave me here!” I shouted stepping out into the road.
“Dad?” A voice called out from behind me.
I turned around and saw my son...and his husband in the sidewalk.
“Dad is that you? How did you get here?”
I reached out and took his hand. His husband helped me up the icy curb.
“We are just coming back from the movies...it’s really great to see you again. Please come inside where it’s warm. I’ve missed you.”
“Merry Christmas fellas...”
The Taxi’s tail lights faded into the distance.
| I had spent some of the best years in my life in the cozy town of Seadance. It was an odd name for a town with such gristly occupants, but the ocean lapped against the coastline in an entrancing way. Moving there from Alaska was a feat, yet a journey that took me to a full life of comfort. It was in Seadance I made my life out of past memories and new experiences.
After a time living in this small seaside town, I had gone to explore the forest outside of town. It was a beautiful forest full of trees and wildlife. The sun swept through the branches and obliquely fell on the floor of dead foliage. The sea air intermingled with the smell of decomposition, threading it's way through several different spectra of olfactory delight.
Yet I grew tired. I weaved through the trees until I had made it into a parking lot of some kind. I thought I had gotten lost, merely read the map upside down. Usually, my mind is prone to nonsensical solutions to problems. Yet this time I stayed in the asphalt, determined not to go the path of no return back into the forest.
In a sudden fashion, a taxi drove silently through the parking lot. It had no logos, the only identifiable taxi mark the lettering on the side of it. I hailed it thinking that I should get to my car, no longer satisfied to weigh options. The man inside gave a sidelong look at me through the dirty glass.
I got in, wondering absently why the taxi was surrounded in decomposing plant life and fertile forest soil. The man looked back at me yet said nothing. I hazarded a statement; "Do you know of any parking lots around here? I left my car in one." He started driving without saying anything or looking back. I squirmed in the backseat, uncomfortable in the silence of my chauffeur. I then looked out of the window and saw nothing but wood, leaves and branches. I attempted to get the attention of the driver. It was futile. I thought back to my first day in town.
I had just moved into town. There were many people who welcomed me, personally and not. I received their welcomes, hit up the bar in town to try to meet new people. I was introverted to the extreme, yet still enjoyed company strictly consisting of a few individuals. The bar was the best chance I had of singular companionship. Therefore I went in and sat down, listening for conversation.
There was a hushed conversation in front of the brick fireplace. I casually took a seat there, trying to listen. It was about urban legends that had been circulating since before Seadance existed. I was about to leave when I heard an earnest whisper. "Have ya heard abou' tae mysterious taxi? Legend goes that he'll take you tae where ya need to go, no' where you need tae. Sometimes people come back and find their soulmate, or get a new job, or discover their purpose in life... I sure could use some of tha', ya know." Mild laughter. I shrunk away before I heard anything more, already planning to go home and try another day. This is what popped into my brain, a half memory of taxicabs and fortune.
Was this man my saviour in more ways than one? I looked with a new light upon him, than moved silently in my seat. After a short while, the taxi stopped short of a forest path.
"Go." Said the man. I cautiously opened the door.
The path was a dark corridor of fir that stretched into the void. I trod along it in a manner of urgency, hurrying to find what I was expected to.
Eventually, I came to a clearing.
&#x200B;
Out of the trees came my worst fear, my greatest desire. My heart was shot through with longing nostalgia. I stepped forward, tears falling passively on the forest floor.
She was my wife.
I looked back, cursing the taxi driver with all my might. I could not believe that this is where I needed to be, that this was my final destination. I would never stop grieving for her, never.
The pale apparition stepped forward as well. It spoke in a voice that was like my wife's overlaid with a tone of immense calm. "Please. Let me go." I tried to run. There was nowhere to run to anymore. The landscape was overwrought with trees, prisons of branches. I turned back to face her. She plaintively gazed, staring through my existence looking for an answer.
"I will never let you go. I love you." I sank to my knees then, already too weak, too frightened. She nodded sympathetically. Then she said "It is my greatest desire for you to forget me. I am going home. I will stay as long as you want me, but know that I will not rest until you release me."
&#x200B;
I struggled. I punched a tree. I turned and shouted "Why are you doing this?" To which she responded "Let me go."
I nodded, already weaker than before. The last thing I saw of her was the smile on her face. She dissipated as though she had never existed, and I walked through the forest to the car I had never thought I would reach again.
I still think about that taxi. Maybe one day I will meet the taxi driver, to give my thanks. But now and forever, I will remember my wife's final smile, and the relief she gave me that day. | |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | ”Home”, Jonathan said, stumbling into the car. He immediately barked a drunken chuckle. ”I mean, fuck, an address...”
”Alright sweetie”, the driver said, adjusring the gear shift and flicking on the blinker to turn to the street. ”Hold on, and tell me if we gotta stop. Don’t want you throwing up in my car.” She was somewhere in her forties and had a sweet, soft low voice. Like nougat, he somehow thought.
Jonathan lad his forehead against the backseat window, feeling the vibrations of the road on his cheekbone. For a moment he contemplated asking to stop immediately, half a bottle of whiskey to an empty stomach did a trick. No, he had to keep it down, liquor was expensive and he could hardly afford to get drunk as often as he needed to as it was.
”You wanna keep going?” the driver asked, glancing at him through the mirror. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black in the contrast of the night and stark city lights. Jonathan himself was a pale, gaunt ghost on the backseat. He nodded.
”Did I say an address?” Jonathan asked as they turned a corner he didn’t recognise. The city was big and the side of town where rich people traded money, booze and pills for favours was far from the side of town where young folk with nothing could get an apartment slightly better than the streets, but this didn’t look like the way there.
”You’re going home”, the driver reassured him.
Jonathan turned back to the window, his eyes fighting to stay open. The uppers were wearing out. It had been a couple, this time, older people who had obviously never done this kind of thing before, looking for excitement and trying to spice up their lives. Cherise could have guided them to someone better, some fresher boy who hadn’t been worn down yet. Jonathan looked at his twitching hands. The past few years had taken probably a decade out of him.
”I think I need to stop”, he mumbled, though he wasn’t sure if he really needed to throw up, or just get some fresh air.
”Are you sure honey? We’re almost there.”
Jonathan turned to the window and blinked twice. This wasn’t the city. These were different houses, no bars on broken windows. no buildings half-torn down with graffiti everywhere. No people huddling for shelter between trash bags and garbage cans. This was a different neighbourhood.
They stopped in front of a house. A house Jonathan had seen before, seen every single day for fifteen years of his life. There was a light on the kitchen window, and a woman sitting at the table. Jonathan swallowed. Mom had aged.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the driver’s stern, calm eyes were looking at him through the rear view mirror. ”You said you was going home.” | “Taxi!” I yell as I stand on the side of the street. I normally would’ve yielded an uber, but I saw the taxi rounding the corner. The car stops right in front of me. I get inside and set my bag down next to me.
“Madison and State.” I instruct.
“Alright, you seeing a show?” The Driver asks.
“Yes, I got tickets to Hamilton.” I reply.
“Oh, I heard that show is phenomenal.” He compliments.
“I have heard that too. I am excited.” I say.
Then, the cab takes a wrong turn.
“Oh, you made a wrong turn.” I instruct.
“My bad. I will correct it.” He replies.
He does not seem to correct it. The car keeps moving further and further from my destination.
“Where are you taking me? My show starts at 7.” I fear I am about to be a victim of a kidnapping.
“Where you need to be.” Nope, not creepy at all.
I take out my phone ready to call 911 only to see that it died. It was at 85 a second ago. How did it die so fast. We are moving slow enough that I could jump out. Until I see the destination.
We have reached the apartment complex that my father lives in.
“You must’ve made a mistake. I can’t go in there.” I start to cry.
“No, you have to go in there.” His voice is comforting all of the sudden. I now feel the strength to go in. I walk up the stairs and to the door. I don’t want to knock. An Uber can be here soon and take me away. The taxi honks in the background. There is no avoiding this. I knock on the door.
An old man opens the door with a look of shock.
“Son, how did you get here? Why are you here?” He asks.
“Would you believe the taxi drove me here against my will.” I reply as I start to ball. My father embraces me for the first time in three years. He takes me into his apartment and orders a pizza. We talk and make amends; we were both too stubborn to call the other these past few years. He asks me what is in the bag. I open it to find a brand new watch.
“I don’t know how that got there.” I say.
“My watch broke this morning.” he replies.
“I guess it is yours now.” I give him the watch.
“So how did you get over here?” He asks.
“The taxi took me here.” I reply.
“You know when I was boy there was an story of a taxi that took you where you needed to be,” He smiles, “I thought it was made up by the company to get tourist to trust taxis. Tonight, I believe it.”
| |
[WP] There’s an urban legend that’s been circulating around for decades about a taxi cab that doesn’t take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night, you step into that cab. | The rain never stops. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun; felt the warmth on my skin, bathing in that heavenly light. It's gone now. I don't know when it will come back, if that is even a possibility.
I stood there, on the side of that road, waiting for something. Anything. I guess I really didn't know what I was waiting for, but I knew something would come. I forgot my umbrella and the rain seeped into my skin, soaking my hair. It felt like I'd been there for ages, but no one was around.
A pair of lights appeared in the distance, approaching cautiously. So I stuck out my hand and called for it. Maybe this was what I was waiting for. An old cab cleared through the rain; worn down, yellow, just enough to stand out from the grey surrounding it. The brakes slammed and it screeched to a halt directly in front of me. I didn't even have to reach for the door before it swung open, inviting me in.
"Take me home. Please." I said, soaking the leather beneath me. The driver in front did not respond, instead driving off-road, somewhere I hadn't been before. But I didn't care at this point.
An hour of silence passed, and I grew uncomfortable in my seat. I knocked on the glass divider separating me from the stranger in front of me, in charge of my destiny. "Where are we going?"
A low tone grumbled. "Home."
I can't remember what home is anymore, or who I am... What I am. So it wasn't out of the question that he was taking me there, to home. I didn't care anyway.
The rain outside grew louder and a fearsome storm brewed in the heavens. The gods must have been at war, or maybe that's just a stupid rationalization for something I didn't understand. Besides, I don't understand anything, so nothing I say should be taken seriously.
We reached an old, broken down bridge when the cab stopped. I looked out the window to see a familiar car upturned on the rocks below; smoke billowing from its hood. The memories came rushing back to me, just for a moment before everything was lost once again. But it didn't matter anymore.
At the other side of the bridge, the grass was greener. The sky was blue and the rain subsided. The cab stopped at the end of the bridge and the door flung open. This was my destination. Home.
I walked out into the beautiful field and looked at the sun once again. Its warmth hugged me. Before I could look back to thank my messenger, he was gone. And so was I. | “Taxi!” I yell as I stand on the side of the street. I normally would’ve yielded an uber, but I saw the taxi rounding the corner. The car stops right in front of me. I get inside and set my bag down next to me.
“Madison and State.” I instruct.
“Alright, you seeing a show?” The Driver asks.
“Yes, I got tickets to Hamilton.” I reply.
“Oh, I heard that show is phenomenal.” He compliments.
“I have heard that too. I am excited.” I say.
Then, the cab takes a wrong turn.
“Oh, you made a wrong turn.” I instruct.
“My bad. I will correct it.” He replies.
He does not seem to correct it. The car keeps moving further and further from my destination.
“Where are you taking me? My show starts at 7.” I fear I am about to be a victim of a kidnapping.
“Where you need to be.” Nope, not creepy at all.
I take out my phone ready to call 911 only to see that it died. It was at 85 a second ago. How did it die so fast. We are moving slow enough that I could jump out. Until I see the destination.
We have reached the apartment complex that my father lives in.
“You must’ve made a mistake. I can’t go in there.” I start to cry.
“No, you have to go in there.” His voice is comforting all of the sudden. I now feel the strength to go in. I walk up the stairs and to the door. I don’t want to knock. An Uber can be here soon and take me away. The taxi honks in the background. There is no avoiding this. I knock on the door.
An old man opens the door with a look of shock.
“Son, how did you get here? Why are you here?” He asks.
“Would you believe the taxi drove me here against my will.” I reply as I start to ball. My father embraces me for the first time in three years. He takes me into his apartment and orders a pizza. We talk and make amends; we were both too stubborn to call the other these past few years. He asks me what is in the bag. I open it to find a brand new watch.
“I don’t know how that got there.” I say.
“My watch broke this morning.” he replies.
“I guess it is yours now.” I give him the watch.
“So how did you get over here?” He asks.
“The taxi took me here.” I reply.
“You know when I was boy there was an story of a taxi that took you where you needed to be,” He smiles, “I thought it was made up by the company to get tourist to trust taxis. Tonight, I believe it.”
| |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. | The Devil blinked, surprised. Which was no easy feat, all things considered. After all, he *was* Satan, Prince of Darkness, Ruler of Demons, Evil One. He'd seen it all. Literally. He could still recall the clusterfuck of 1945, when Adolf had finally hopped off the mortal coil and passed through to the Underworld. An absolute shitshow. Everyone had wanted a piece of good old Hitler, all Nine Circles clamouring over where he should stay for the rest of Eternity. Hell had threatened to break through into the Realm of Man that day. Administrating that fiasco was indubitably the greatest headache The Devil had ever experienced.
Lincoln Todd was no Hitler. And yet The Devil felt a familiar gnawing pain curl around his crimson head as he stared at Hell’s latest entrant. He leaned forward in his skull-adorned seat, elbows resting on a skull-adorned desk, tugging at his flaming goatee.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, staring into the mortal's eyes with the fiery intensity of a thousand burning suns. “You *want* to oversee the torture of all Mankind, for the rest of Eternity?"
"Yeah"
Miffed, The Devil fell back into his chair. He was unremarkable in all regards, this Lincoln Todd. Short, slightly overweight, bespectacled with brown unkempt hair. He still wore the clothes of his Passing; a rumpled navy Walmart shirt and tan cargo pants. His lower jaw jutted out slightly in a clear underbite, giving him a permanent grimace.
The Devil glanced down at the file he held in his taloned hand, scanning the document for the appropriate details. Hmm. Crushed underfoot in a Black Friday stampede. How humiliating. How pathetic. Even Hitler had swayed at the idea of tormenting the entirety of Mankind, overseeing the fiery jurisdiction of all sinners and evildoers. The concept itself was simply too visceral, too *terrible*, for even the coldest of serial killers. Hence why such a proposition was offered to all entrants of Hell; it struck within them the terrible realisation that in the end, there was always someone *far* more evil. That they were *His* now.
Clearly not the case for Mr Pancake over here.
"So... when do I start?" | "Alright, first we have a department store. We fill it with the bare minimum employees, but whenever someone asks for help we are always just beyond their reach.
We'll be shadows at the corner of their eyes whenever they come in looking after for some batteries or a return they have from another store. Once inside we seal off the front end portal and black out the windows. We shut off the lights section by section starting drom the front. We would leave our stations and vacate the premise for the next part when the store blacks out.
At this point, the most ignorant customers break out their phones and flashlights. For this, I ask we sap all the power from them."
"Wait wait wait wait. Why wouldn't you just make them work for you? Or lecture them while you poke their innards or something? What's your end game?" He asks while interrupting me, his brow cocked as he questions me.
"For fucks sake Mephisto--"
*"Mephistopheles!"* He roars.
"Whatever. Stop interrupting me, cause there's a fucking point.
Anyway, their phones are inevitably at one percent. Those that aren't aware yet will come out looking for outlets to charge at. We'll know where they are, and we'll take them, lobotomize them, and throw a polo on them." I look at the devil.
He stares for a hot second.
"So you're making them employees?"
"Yes. But every night we place the older ones in the bailer and abduct new ones who straggle after close." I am smug and think I'm clever for thinking this up. "The horror is all in the impending darkness and how it encroaches on them. The torture is all psychological! They can't get what they want in hell and with braindead workers."
Mephistopheles takes a breath. "Mister Nguyen... Here at Hell Incorporated and Fallen Star Torture Depot, we really want to create tailor made horrors that will squeeze more humanity and essence from the core of mortals." He brings the blackened sharp tips of his fingers together over the obsidian manager's desk. "I think we can start tomorrow. We like your talent and think we can develop you into a great lord of grief at our company."
Compared to my last job, I actually believe my manager really wants me to get ahead in this life.
Note: I don't write very often, but this was fun. | |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. | "Wait, you want to do this," he asks softly, raising a brow at the young woman. The man was young, around his mid twenties at least. His hair was a beautiful gold, and his eyes were a deep blue that would be easy to get lost in, if the young woman wasn't so excited.
"Definitely. I know exactly how to do it too. Please, just give me the job, I want to do this," the young woman pleaded, surprising the devil.
"Hold on, why do you want to do this so badly? The worst you've done is lying and hurting someone, why are you so excited to hurt people so much?"
"It's only fair. People can be so cruel to us, screaming, yelling, sometimes even trying to hit us, it's much worse than this hell," she says shrugging softly.
The devil paused for a moment before looking the woman over, now noticing just how 'well dressed' she was. A simple black baseball cap, blue jeans, and a simple green shirt...plus two extra items. A blue vest with white trimming and words, as well as a pin that stated her name.
'Luna'
The rest was faded or broken.
"So you worked in retail? And how did you die there? The employers are normally good about that stuff," the devil said softly.
"Black Friday. Sometimes people get too excited. Now can I please get to work, this is basically the only job I'm excited for," she responded happily, bouncing on her toes a bit.
After a moment, the devil agreed and handed the woman a key card on a chain. She smiled before taking the card and chain, carefully putting it on her neck and walked away, ready to get started with her new job.
\_\_\_\_
A few months later, the young woman sat on her throne like chair, smiling as she looked down at her work. Everyone who had done exceptionally cruel work, was now forced to do your old job; retail work.
Many souls who were unfortunate enough to join the ranks, soon learned just how horrible they had been to other people, but were forced to continue their work until the devil himself decided that they could rest, which rarely happened.
"You're surprisingly good at this," he said softly, standing beside the young woman who simply smiled. She had done her job, both in life and in hell. To her, it was a job well done, one that moved her from simply torturing cruel souls, to becoming the devil's right hand man. | So here I am face down on the floor of some Department store my sister dragged me to. It smells like feet and I’m sincerely curious why my nose is flat and I can’t feel my fucking legs.
I somehow manage to literally peel my face off the floor when I suddenly feel hot. Like sweating because you’re pretty sure your mom found your vibrator under your bed sweating. I start panicking when suddenly my surroundings change and I’m lying face down in what looks like a bright red Sephora.
I feel somewhat normal albeit hot as fuck, like why am I wearing a goddamned turtle neck?
It smells like vanilla and pine I’m so fucking confused.
All of a sudden She slams down her well-manicured 6-pronged claw on the counter.
“I KNOW you want to torture humanity, BITCH! I’ve been watching you bag groceries and do service-outs for the those unruly cunts for 15 fucking years. You think I didn’t pick you for a reason?”
“I- uh who..”
“Girl you know who I am...”
*fire balls and unholy hellfire flourish above Her*
“I’m assuming I’m in hell.... great. I’m trampled in a fucking department store yet I end up in hell. Fantastic.”
She rapped her claws against the counter.
“So?!”
I extended my hand and her claws dug in deep.
“I’m in.”
Note— I’m responding on a whim for the first time! Be nice. | |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. | A smile, a snicker, and a twitch of the eye. The devil himself sees the perverse joy in her eyes, and for the first time since Michael threw him from Paradise, Lucifer seems frightened.
"So I get to see their entire lives, I know it all in a single moment and I get to decide how to punish them? My choice alone? Completely up to me?" She almost drools with anticipation, like a dog slavering over a raw steak. She stares outward, seemingly through Lucifer, into the oblivion of Hell itself.
"Yes. Your choice alone." The devil casts a sidelong gaze at her. Not once in the history of the world, in all the eons and millennia that humans have walked the Earth has a moral accepted his offer. "But again, if you take up this mantle, it shall be your eternity. Your hell will be to exact penitence against those misguided souls who find themselves cast into this dark dimension. Your personal punishment would be to view the eternal suffering of your fellow--"
"Yeah I gotcha. Personal hell all that. What you don't seem to understand, big and pretty, is that I've seen the worst that humanity has to offer. I've had to see a child beaten for asking for candy. I've cleaned miscarriages from the bathroom floor. I've had to break up a fight between a 25 year old man and a 75 year old woman, a fucking fistfight mind you, over a Goddamn...I can say that without worry now I guess, damage is done... Over a Goddamn beanie baby. Do you KNOW what a beanie baby is? It's a cheap piece of shit stuffed animal filled with plastic beads. A grown ass man fought an old woman for it." She wrings her hands frantically. "I've had to sit back, and watch with a smile as my co-workers got berated over us running out of bread during a storm." She doesn't seem to notice as Lucifer begins to fidget uncomfortably. She also doesn't notice that her bronze skin has taken a reddish tint.
"Kianna, your soul will never recover from this if you accept." Lucifer warns.
"My soul? It was crushed by the third year working during Christmas. When you walk in on Santa raw-dogging an elf over the Frozen display in back... You don't come back from that. I never watched that movie again afterwards." A wistful look washes over her face, dreaming of the days before she had seen such horror.
Lucifer cringes at the thought of it. "Kianna, make sure you understand what you are accepting. You will cease to be a human soul, you will become a demon, one of the fallen. I see it happening already. Your skin is changing and if you reach up and feel your head..."
Kianna does so and smiles feeling the rising bumps. She grits her teeth and smiles into the face of Satan, solidifying her resolve. Horns erupt from her head, her skin smolders and steams, taking on a red hue, her feet change into hooves, she smiles up at the devil again, a sinful grin. She cracks her knuckles and turns her neck, cracking the vertebrae. "Alright big and pretty, bring out the gimp...I got some shit to work through."
Edit: Damn thanks for the silver! | So here I am face down on the floor of some Department store my sister dragged me to. It smells like feet and I’m sincerely curious why my nose is flat and I can’t feel my fucking legs.
I somehow manage to literally peel my face off the floor when I suddenly feel hot. Like sweating because you’re pretty sure your mom found your vibrator under your bed sweating. I start panicking when suddenly my surroundings change and I’m lying face down in what looks like a bright red Sephora.
I feel somewhat normal albeit hot as fuck, like why am I wearing a goddamned turtle neck?
It smells like vanilla and pine I’m so fucking confused.
All of a sudden She slams down her well-manicured 6-pronged claw on the counter.
“I KNOW you want to torture humanity, BITCH! I’ve been watching you bag groceries and do service-outs for the those unruly cunts for 15 fucking years. You think I didn’t pick you for a reason?”
“I- uh who..”
“Girl you know who I am...”
*fire balls and unholy hellfire flourish above Her*
“I’m assuming I’m in hell.... great. I’m trampled in a fucking department store yet I end up in hell. Fantastic.”
She rapped her claws against the counter.
“So?!”
I extended my hand and her claws dug in deep.
“I’m in.”
Note— I’m responding on a whim for the first time! Be nice. | |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. |
“Alright, who is excited for our big Black Friday deals?!” Jim called out to the crowd of customers clustered in front of his store, desperately trying to keep his voice cheerful and optimistic.
“I’ll be excited when you shut the fuck up and let us in!” retorted man about twenty spots back, huddled into his hoodie, shooting daggers at Jim as though it were his fault that corporate had specifically mandated he couldn’t let people in until midnight exactly. All Jim could do was sigh as he swore to himself that this would be his last Black Friday. He tried his best to ignore the voice in the back of his head reminding him he’d made that promise to himself this day every year for the last fifteen years.
“Okay guys I know you’re all excited for the new Playstation 7 but as I’ve said, I unfortunately only have twenty systems to sell. We’re hoping to get more in the next few days but that’s all I have right now.”
A general murmur went through the crowd as people lined up more closely and calculate where exactly they fell in the line. Of course, Mr. Hoodie fell right at spot number twenty-one. “WHAT THE FUCK!?!” he roared, as the realization dawned on him. “YOU’RE TELLING ME I’VE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR FOUR HOURS AND I DON’T EVEN GET ONE!?!”
Jim groaned to himself, wondering where exactly his life went wrong and how exactly he ended up here. “Look,” he said, trying to defuse the situation “I’m really sorry, but that’s all I have. I had a sign posted on my door this whole time saying that I only have that many and I also sent out an employee a half hour ago to make sure everyone knew.” He wasn’t going to bring up the fact that someone had thrown a half-eaten bagel at the poor girl and she came running back inside crying hysterically as she tried to pull cream cheese out of her hair.
“I DON’T CARE!” Mr. Hoodie roared, spittle flying from his lips, “I”VE BEEN WAITING HERE AND I DESERVE MY SYSTEM!”
At that moment, shouting incoherently, Mr. Hoodie made a small yet life-altering decision- and decided to cut in line in front of the person in ahead of him.
Unfortunately for him, that person was about six inches taller and had about fifty pounds more muscle than he did. “You get the fuck back to your spot, jackass!” the larger man growled as he shoved him. Mr. Hoodie stumbled backwards- right into customer #22, a high-strung mother who had stepped up and was in the middle berating Jim and demanding to speak to his manager. “YOU’RE RUINING MY CHILD’S CHRIS---” was all she got out before Mr. Hoodie slammed into her. The no-foam, quadruple shot, extra hot, extra caramel, soy latte she had only moments before been brandishing under Jim’s nose like a saber splashed right into his eyes. All went black as Jim stumbled forwards- right into the fist the Mr. Muscles had been throwing at Mr. Hoodie.
Jim collapsed to the ground and at that exact moment the doors to the store opened and customers rushed into the store in a mad stampede, heedless of Jim’s unmoving body on the ground. The last thing Jim remembered feeling was countless feet trampling him and a deep sense of regret. “I really should have finished college..” he thought to himself as he lost consciousness.
Jim suddenly bolted upright. He was in a small room and sitting in front of him was a small man in a red suit and pointed goatee. Grinning to himself mischievously, the man extended a hand and said, “Hello, Jim. Let’s get the small things out of the way: you’re dead, this is hell, I’m the devil and have I got a proposition for you…”
“So let me get this straight,” Jim said, his mind still trying to process everything as they walked along a corridor. “I’m dead and we’re in hell. That I get, but instead of torturing me like everyone else- you want me to work for you?”
“Oh yes,” Satan said, still grinning. “I’ve had my eye on you for some time. Fifteen years in retail- that’s some torture even I have a hard time replicating. Quite frankly, I don’t think there’s much else I can do to you. You’ve seen it all. Remember the Furiibo shortage of 2023?” Jim shuddered as he tried to repress the memories, “I try not to.” “Exactly!” Satan proclaimed, “Even I’m not sick. Seriously, man, you’ve been through hell already! No, you Jim, have been through far worse in life than I could have ever thrown at you here in hell. Instead, I’ve decided to make you an offer. I’ll admit I’ve made this offer to others in the past, but they’ve always turned me down- but I think you’ll be the first to take me up on it. Work for me, you’ve seen so many things that I’m sure you’ll be quite creative in your punishment of the sinful and forsaken, and I think you’ll find the afterlife quite comfortable.”
Suddenly Jim realized they had stopped outside a nondescript door. Moaning could be heard from the other side. “What’s in there?” Jim asked, nodding towards the door. “A signing bonus, one I think you’ll appreciate more than any of my other minions.”
The door swung open and shacked to chairs were Mr. Hoodie, Mr. Muscles, and Soccer Mom. “There’s thousands of others. Every customer you’ve ever had, every person who treated you poorly. They’re all yours. All you have to do is agree.
Jim felt a smile slide onto his first time in fifteen years as he asked, “Where do I sign?” | So here I am face down on the floor of some Department store my sister dragged me to. It smells like feet and I’m sincerely curious why my nose is flat and I can’t feel my fucking legs.
I somehow manage to literally peel my face off the floor when I suddenly feel hot. Like sweating because you’re pretty sure your mom found your vibrator under your bed sweating. I start panicking when suddenly my surroundings change and I’m lying face down in what looks like a bright red Sephora.
I feel somewhat normal albeit hot as fuck, like why am I wearing a goddamned turtle neck?
It smells like vanilla and pine I’m so fucking confused.
All of a sudden She slams down her well-manicured 6-pronged claw on the counter.
“I KNOW you want to torture humanity, BITCH! I’ve been watching you bag groceries and do service-outs for the those unruly cunts for 15 fucking years. You think I didn’t pick you for a reason?”
“I- uh who..”
“Girl you know who I am...”
*fire balls and unholy hellfire flourish above Her*
“I’m assuming I’m in hell.... great. I’m trampled in a fucking department store yet I end up in hell. Fantastic.”
She rapped her claws against the counter.
“So?!”
I extended my hand and her claws dug in deep.
“I’m in.”
Note— I’m responding on a whim for the first time! Be nice. | |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. | A smile, a snicker, and a twitch of the eye. The devil himself sees the perverse joy in her eyes, and for the first time since Michael threw him from Paradise, Lucifer seems frightened.
"So I get to see their entire lives, I know it all in a single moment and I get to decide how to punish them? My choice alone? Completely up to me?" She almost drools with anticipation, like a dog slavering over a raw steak. She stares outward, seemingly through Lucifer, into the oblivion of Hell itself.
"Yes. Your choice alone." The devil casts a sidelong gaze at her. Not once in the history of the world, in all the eons and millennia that humans have walked the Earth has a moral accepted his offer. "But again, if you take up this mantle, it shall be your eternity. Your hell will be to exact penitence against those misguided souls who find themselves cast into this dark dimension. Your personal punishment would be to view the eternal suffering of your fellow--"
"Yeah I gotcha. Personal hell all that. What you don't seem to understand, big and pretty, is that I've seen the worst that humanity has to offer. I've had to see a child beaten for asking for candy. I've cleaned miscarriages from the bathroom floor. I've had to break up a fight between a 25 year old man and a 75 year old woman, a fucking fistfight mind you, over a Goddamn...I can say that without worry now I guess, damage is done... Over a Goddamn beanie baby. Do you KNOW what a beanie baby is? It's a cheap piece of shit stuffed animal filled with plastic beads. A grown ass man fought an old woman for it." She wrings her hands frantically. "I've had to sit back, and watch with a smile as my co-workers got berated over us running out of bread during a storm." She doesn't seem to notice as Lucifer begins to fidget uncomfortably. She also doesn't notice that her bronze skin has taken a reddish tint.
"Kianna, your soul will never recover from this if you accept." Lucifer warns.
"My soul? It was crushed by the third year working during Christmas. When you walk in on Santa raw-dogging an elf over the Frozen display in back... You don't come back from that. I never watched that movie again afterwards." A wistful look washes over her face, dreaming of the days before she had seen such horror.
Lucifer cringes at the thought of it. "Kianna, make sure you understand what you are accepting. You will cease to be a human soul, you will become a demon, one of the fallen. I see it happening already. Your skin is changing and if you reach up and feel your head..."
Kianna does so and smiles feeling the rising bumps. She grits her teeth and smiles into the face of Satan, solidifying her resolve. Horns erupt from her head, her skin smolders and steams, taking on a red hue, her feet change into hooves, she smiles up at the devil again, a sinful grin. She cracks her knuckles and turns her neck, cracking the vertebrae. "Alright big and pretty, bring out the gimp...I got some shit to work through."
Edit: Damn thanks for the silver! | "Wait, you want to do this," he asks softly, raising a brow at the young woman. The man was young, around his mid twenties at least. His hair was a beautiful gold, and his eyes were a deep blue that would be easy to get lost in, if the young woman wasn't so excited.
"Definitely. I know exactly how to do it too. Please, just give me the job, I want to do this," the young woman pleaded, surprising the devil.
"Hold on, why do you want to do this so badly? The worst you've done is lying and hurting someone, why are you so excited to hurt people so much?"
"It's only fair. People can be so cruel to us, screaming, yelling, sometimes even trying to hit us, it's much worse than this hell," she says shrugging softly.
The devil paused for a moment before looking the woman over, now noticing just how 'well dressed' she was. A simple black baseball cap, blue jeans, and a simple green shirt...plus two extra items. A blue vest with white trimming and words, as well as a pin that stated her name.
'Luna'
The rest was faded or broken.
"So you worked in retail? And how did you die there? The employers are normally good about that stuff," the devil said softly.
"Black Friday. Sometimes people get too excited. Now can I please get to work, this is basically the only job I'm excited for," she responded happily, bouncing on her toes a bit.
After a moment, the devil agreed and handed the woman a key card on a chain. She smiled before taking the card and chain, carefully putting it on her neck and walked away, ready to get started with her new job.
\_\_\_\_
A few months later, the young woman sat on her throne like chair, smiling as she looked down at her work. Everyone who had done exceptionally cruel work, was now forced to do your old job; retail work.
Many souls who were unfortunate enough to join the ranks, soon learned just how horrible they had been to other people, but were forced to continue their work until the devil himself decided that they could rest, which rarely happened.
"You're surprisingly good at this," he said softly, standing beside the young woman who simply smiled. She had done her job, both in life and in hell. To her, it was a job well done, one that moved her from simply torturing cruel souls, to becoming the devil's right hand man. | |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. | "..And so, if you refuse to torture your fellow man, you will be doomed to suffer for all eternity!" the red-skinned Devil whirled his trident and cackled madly.
"Okay, yeah, no problem. Do I get a pitchfork or what?"
The Devil stopped whirling his trident, his mad laughter dropping to more of a slightly crazed giggle.
"Okay, uhhh...what?" The red-skinned fiend looked puzzled, pulling out a small black notebook which was decorated with tiny cartoon pitchforks, "I've got you here on multiple counts of petty theft, lying, threats of harm against others...nothing I see here suggests you'd be on the level of a Hitler or Stalin. What's your deal?"
"Sir, I worked retail for *fifteen* fucking years. I was killed in a stampede of shoppers."
The Devil took a step back, "Ah," he replied, as if it all made sense now. "Listen, I don't really think you belong down here getting tortured. After fifteen years as a wage slave, I'm actually impressed you didn't kill anyone," he dropped his voice and slid closer to the damned soul as if sharing a secret, *" Most veterans of retail do, you know—their managers never know what hits them."*
"Trust me, I thought about it. Seriously though, when do I start?"
The Devil handed his pitchfork out for the soul to take, "Shit man, you can start right away." He pointed down a long and darkened hallway, "Walk straight down that hall until you see the three-headed dog, take the first left and proceed through the fires of everlasting woe, and straight through the P.E.T.A. meeting-"
The damned soul interjected, "Wait, P.E.T.A. is actually evil, not just incompetent?"
The Devil smiled broadly, "They kill more defenseless animals per year than any other organization. Face it, blood sacrifices are hard to come by, these guys fill the niche in the market. Anyway, once you get down the last flight of stairs, you'll be in the department of bad managers. I'm going to make you head of the torture division there."
The damned soul smiled broadly, "I'll get right to work, Sir."
As he walked off, the Devil shivered. "Remind me to never get on the bad side of those retail workers. They give me the fucking creeps."
_______________________________
/r/SirLemoncakes
| "So what you're saying is...I'm in hell?" She glanced around the plain white room she was standing in, then back to the used-car-salesman looking guy in front of her. He looked to be in mid-thirties and reminded her of a Kennedy, except for his yellow eyes and ugly tan suit.
"Where's the fire?"
"People always ask about the fire! Look, honey, your priorities need to be in order. Like hello! Devil here!" He waved and gestured to his cheap suit "And besides, Catholics made that up. I refuse to add fire just to cow to mortal expectations."
His bitter tone gave the impression that this was an arguement he'd had with people before.
"...Okkkkay?" She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed when she realized she was still in her Wal-Mart Uniform.
Crushed underfoot by the sweaty masses, she couldn't believe it. She picked at her nametag. Claire Haskill, deli clerk. Dead at 31 because of 50% off TV's.
"Why am -I- here?"
"Oh, lots of reasons. But the main one involves a girl named Sally Cushings, fourth grade. The toothpaste incident." A cruel smile twisted over Lucifer's unnaturally handsome face. "So creative."
She almost argued with him.
"Yeah, okay, that's fair."
"Ha! And that's what I'm looking for. Creativity! Passion!" He gave a short wave of his hand and two chairs appeared in the middle of the room. "Sit, sit."
Claire hesitated only a moment before flopping into her conjured chair. Lucifer undid the buttons on his suit and smoothed it down as he settled into the seat across from her.
"So, Claire, I have an offer for you. No one ever takes me up on it but I guarantee that it's a -huge- upgrade from the usual package."
"Can I leave?"
"Good God no!" He laughed "No no, but Hell has had a massive overcrowding problem ever since they installed slot machines in airports. My guys and I can't keep up, so I've been trying to outsource some of the torture and punishment. Humans are surprisingly squeamish."
She stared at him for a weighty moment.
"You want me to torture people?"
"Excatly! I'd put you in charge of a small group, maybe 100 souls? You could do -whatever- you like to them."
Clair felt a smile touch her face. Her first real, genuine smile since she had pulled on her tacky blue apron.
"....-Whatever- I want?"
~.~.~.~.~
"E-excuse me?"
Clair turned from stocking chocolate milk and arched a brow at the soccer-mom lady standing in front of her.
"I have this coupon," one trembling hand extended a worn, crumpled piece of red paper towards Clair. "I won it in the...the cart corral race? I'd like to redeem it."
Clair took the cupon and glanced at the front.
"Oh that's great! A get out of hell cupon, you must have beaten a -lot- of souls for this." Claire smiled warmly at the woman, who gave a shaken smile back. "Let me see here."
Claire turned it over--"Oh, I'm sorry, it looks like your coupon is expired."
"What?! But I just got it!" Karen (Claire called all the women Karen and all the men 'Dave', it was just easier) sounded both pissed off -and- desperate. "Let me speak to your manager!"
Claire's lips turned up until the tips of her pointed teeth were visible, poking out over her lip. An evil laugh spilled from her mouth as Karen shrank down in fear. Her new demon voice was great for this, deep and echoing through the infinate asiles of Hell-Mart.
"I am the manager.'
| |
[WP]Thousands of years or more ago, ancient beasts roamed the earth. Two such beasts were named 'Behemoth', and 'Leviathon'. They died in their final battle. Now in current times we discover the remnants of these 2 great beast, laying prone in Morocco and surrounding area. | "I don't like it."
Dr. Afzal stared at the the barriers being erected around one of the most important paleontological sites in human history. Afzal had spent his childhood roaming the deserts of his homeland looking for finds just like this. That had been a simpler time, before he was Dr. Afzal, Ph.D, before he had immigrated to America for university, and before he had the displeasure of being tangled up with DARPA.
Officer Williams,(the man never gave a rank but didn't carry himself like any civilian Afzal had ever met) stood stonefaced at the scientist's complaints.
" Frankly, Doctor, I'm not concerned whether or not you like it." He half-heartedly thumbed through some technical reports, although whether or not he could understand the data in front of him Afzal did not know. " We've got orders from up top so that's what we're going to do."
"But it's lunacy!" Afzal said. " These specimens are the most anomalous in the history of the field! I haven't even a guess as to what they could have evolved from, and the samples are extraordinarily recent. They could even be extra-terrestrial in nature, but we have no way of knowing if you don't allow me to spread the word to the proper specialists."
"Do you understand what classified means?" Williams said sternly. " We cannot allow any of this information to fall into the hands of bad actors. Tell me, what have you been able to deduce from these specimens?"
Afzal sighed. " Well, the bones are of sturdier construction than I've ever seen, and there are traces of incredibly damaging injuries well before the creatures' demise. Scar tissue seems to indicate that the Leviathan was able to regenerate half of its chest cavity and several organs on one occassion. The tissues have been remarkably resistant to decay and seem to have strong natural antibiotic qualities. Not to mention that each specimen seems to have killed the other, indicating high levels of aggression."
Williams nodded. " And you said DNA samples are intact?"
Afzal laughed gaily, excited despite himself. " Astounding, isn't it? It's entirely possible that we could recreate these creatures via cloning, or failing that, splice some of their more advantageous traits into other genomes. Think of the disease resistance we could generate from the antibiotic qualities of the tissue alone? Or the resistance to broken bones that could be imbued upon people?"
"I've thought about it." Williams replied. " Which is why this stays secret."
"...Come again?" Afzal said.
Williams said nothing, turning his attention to the papers. It wasn't possible... Williams completely understood the magnitude of this data. He didn't care!
"Think of all the people this could help!" Afzal said, almost shouting. "Think of the biological understanding we could gain by having taxonomists classify these specimens more precisely? We could finally answer the question of whether or not we're alone."
"Are you done?" Williams said.
"...Why aren't you listening to me?"
"Information is a valuable thing." Williams said offhandedly. " Think of what someone could do if they could recreate these specimens traits, weaponize them, or even recreate the specimens themselves? Any actor hostile to the United States could do an incredible amount of damage... hypothetically of course."
"... I... see..."
"We've already agreed to recognize Morrocco's claim over the territory of the Western Sahara in exchange for the Kings discretion. The specimens will be loaded into a cargo ship containing standard supplies for a military research facility. No one else will hear about them. Am I understood."
Afzal's grip tightened until his fingernails drew blood. This went against his life's ambition, everything he believed in, everything he had ever dreamed of. But the alternative...
"...Understood."
Williams gave him a brisk nod and began to walk out of the room until the scientist cleared his breath and caught the officers attention.
"What... What are *you* going to do with them?"
Williams broke his emotionless facade for only an instant, a ghost of a smile on his face.
" That's classified." | Dr. Jack Jackson cut a swarthy figure in the desert.
His white cloak billowed behind him majestically as he directed his aids where to clean and where to dig. His supermodel wife sat behind him bikini clad, tanning in the sun. But Mrs. Laura Laurason-Jackson was not just a pretty face, she was also a elite martial-artist and biologist, and accompanied her husband on all his adventures.
Dr. Jackson had been unable to decide between the traditional *keffiyah*\--the loose cloth the native men wore to protect themselves from sun, dust, and sand--and his usual straw safari hat, so he was wearing both. On most, the combination might look silly, but the stunningly handsome archeologist/anthropologist/street-fighter/weapons expert/cheescake aficionado wore it well.
Just then, one of the workers made a sudden exclamation in their native tongue which Dr. Jackson translated for his less arabic-apt colleagues.
“They’ve found something! A bone!”
“Great Scout!” yelled Mark Markson, Jack’s obese assistant. “This could be a legendary find!”.
“Astute as usual, Markey” responded Jackson. He might poke fun, but everyone adored the elderly nearsighted Markson, who had been surprisingly useful in several of their adventures.
It wasn’t long before the workers had unearthed the rest of the skeleton. Jackson bid them stand before the find for a group photo, with him in the front. There was a fair amount of grumbling at this, probably related to being forced to work for weeks for little pay for a weird psycho westerner in a even weirder outfit, but every great man has his dissenters.
“This’ll make you even more famous Jackson!” yelled Mark, “look at the bones of these two magnificent creatures”.
Just then a group Nazi/Communist/Terrorists attacked from over the rise.
“Your find belongs to us now!” Yelled their leader, who was memorable by his slightly fancier outfit.
Laura rapidly retrieved her Katana and dived into action, but being still mostly clothless was easily dispatched. Her husband readied his pistol,whip,rifle,dagger,sword,hatchet,boomerang, and cheesecake, but couldn’t hold onto all of them at the same time and dropped them. Mark wet himself.
The Nazi/Communist/Terrorists piled all three of the adventurers into crude cages, and then set about relishing in their victory. Little did they notice the glint of a golden scroll written with ancient warnings on one of the skeletal behemoths, and the tiny flame rising in its eye.
Will Dr. Jackson escape? Find out next time on Jack Jackson and the legend of the myth of the power of the rebirth of the leviathan!
(r/StannisTheAmish) | |
[WP] After an interstellar war several ships from various species crash on an isolated planet and are lost. A human survey ship rediscovers the plant thousands of years later and encounters a medieval level society where all the species have forgotten they came from other worlds. | \[Ah, screw it. This went waaay overboard and late - but here you go, I hope you enjoy. Part 1 of 4\]
"Captain Nasser. Destination approaching. Leventi signal, stronger. No content change. Distress, unencrypted." Aktanh droned, our ship-bound Navislave. Her translator in its familiar, lilted staccato. "Vessel reaching perihelion of orbit. Five-thirty three, mark."
"Understood, mother, Tactical?" The captain's sun-baked and stern face cracked a slight, devilish grin.
"All clear. One stricken vessel with no detectable acceleration." Tactical's android voice rings clear and neutral in the impetuous silence.
Captain Farouk Nasser basked in the centre of attention for a moment, then issued his signal to begin.
"All crew, begin preparations for Protocols R-3-aleph and I-5-khet. Five minutes, critters. Stay sharp."
Idle conversations hushed as everybody got to work, human and otherwise. Through the transparent wall dividing the bridge from the acclimatisation chamber, I watch them turn instantly from casual to professional, flowing from a single mass into a small and large team - leaving a remnant of scattered specialists. Sasha, Galactic Culture and History, waves as he passes by my window for the rec room. His moving fingers gesture "toxin" in Callush, implying an after-duty date involving beer. I blink my helmet lights in affirmation, and play armchair narrator while I attend to my whale of a baby - known as "mother" to most, and "Aktanh" to me and Tac.
*The first protocol, Reclaim, tasks its team with the difficult challenge of locating and salvaging our target. Medium resources, but aleph for highest priority. The distress signal is supposed to indicate a freshly disabled Leventi mining vessel, in orbit around a planet swarming with the battle debris of a forgotten war. Something attracted it here despite the hazard rating, so solving that question is the task of the second team, Investigation.*
*The unspoken primary goal is to acquire its onboard Navislave, if still alive. These whale-like symbiotes are priceless assets, and in the absence of fully functioning suport infrastructure they will slowly die. A deeply distressing experience of gradual sensory deprivation, followed by starvation. Time is of utmost importance, and I hope that potential survivors on that civilian ship will be wise enough to choose surrender. Nasser might let them live.*
*As chief Nurse and veteran of several wars, I know. Those whales are my babies to care for, and my lifeline.*
I bathe Aktanh's rubbery skin and massage her resurgent sores with my tactile gloves. The thump of Reclaim's interception pods as they launch barely register while I concentrate on her many needs, pointedly ignoring Nasser's growing excitement.
The captain's eagerness stirs unwelcome memories in the back of my mind. As I soothe the beast through the layers of my suit, I feel at once both the discomfort of Aktanh and her predecessors. *Shakae, aboard the destroyer Valiant. Kari, matriarch of three aboard the battleship Eternal Vigilance. And others before our current SV-7 stealth frigate, a most agile ship who bears no official name.* The rest of the crew call the ship Aktanh, and its biological nexus affectionately as 'mother'.
*An interesting reversal of the actual state of affairs. Aktanh the creature is the soul of her man-made carriage, and none of us gets anywhere without her. Her race is the only known space-borne sentient. One that natively creates and traverses wormholes, and according to galactic myth domesticated by a now-extinct race into their current symbiont form. Navislaves have since served with all space-faring races in the known galaxy.*
*It wasn't a question of physics. We all have FTL technology, having either learned it on our own or taught to us by conquerors. Rather, it was a question of economics. We need the power of a star, and the Navislaves don't. Somehow. No one knows where they get the energy from except indefatigable string theorists, whose latest guess is that Navis and Navislaves are actually transdimensional projections. Haven't proved it yet.*
\[Rest in comments.\] | I was walking down the corridor to the cockpit, The Readings from the scanners tight in hand, I hurried in, Showing the captain the readings. “Sir, We’ve found small traces of iron in the planet’s crust, But we’ve found many anomalies in sector 37B on the 4th marked continent. Higher amounts of iron on the surface with unnatural Rock formations roughly Half of a mile tall.”
The captain took the papers from me as a reported back to him, Slowly Combing over his hair with his beard. “Hmm... Direct us towards these anomalies. We’re here for Iron, Anomaly or not.”
I wanted to oblige, But from the stern look on his face, i shut my mouth and Told the Pilot accordingly. We had to swerve Highly off course from our scanning route to get there, And it would take an hour- We had to be careful, We were on a secluded planet in a sector where help may take weeks to arrive if we had a mishap somewhere along the way- Even then, Our mission was not of utmost importance to our Higher-Ups.
As promised, We were miles above the anomalies we had detected, Above the Dull grey-White clouds of the planet. I reproached the captain, Suppressing my nervousness and masking it with formality. “Sir, we’ve reached the anomalies and we are Stalled Above the Small Storm cell that currently Dangers us if we wish to continue downwards, And—“
He interrupts me by stepping forward. he was a foot taller than i was, And more battle hardened from the great war, Instantly Making me cower against my will. “We are to Investigate the anomalies now. I do not have the patience for a Small storm getting in the way of My job, Is that understood, Engineer?”
I wish i had stood up to him, but i didn’t have the courage to say no. “Y-Yes sir.” I said, Directing the pilot downwards, Even when we both disagreed- the captain’s word was final.
We nose dived downwards into the Storm, We had to take a seat from the Sharp plummet of the ship and the Severe winds. It was all fine until five minutes in, I was Knocked out of My Chair- Breaking my Safety harness Straps, I had fallen onto the floor near the pilot. “What’s Going on?!” I yelled at him in frustration, Struggling to stand. She replied: “We’ve been Hit by a Lightning bolt on one of our thrusters! We’re Going to have to land or it’s Going to Blow!” ‘God damned Helium-3 Thrusters, They’re going to get us killed.’ i thought to myself.
When the pilot had said landing, I hadn’t imagined A crash landing, Leading to a Concussion as soon as we “Landed”.
I awoke from my Daze to see the Captain towering over me, Wrinkles in his Eyes and Lips. “Get up, This is where your job comes in.” He demanded of me, Tapping me with his foot, Until i managed to get up, Holding the side of my head, Feeling the warm dampness of a small amount of blood. I glanced around to see the pilot Making sure the Thrusters stay stable until i had to go out there and manually repair whatever Hardware has been Overloaded. The Captain shoved my kit into my chest and pointed me out, which i didn’t argue. it’s what i was here for.
The airlock Closing behind me and The outside world opening up in front of me hit me with the sudden realization that there may not be oxygen on the planet, Leaving me Panicking until i took a deep breath, After holding my breath for at least 30 seconds, Which i felt great relief and Embarrassment.
i could tell by the weight on my feet that this planet sure had at least more than 1G of gravity, so i worked slow not to exhaust myself. not much had been done to the thruster, it just needed a new coating and a bit of rewiring, nothing to write home about.
In the middle of my shift, I heard the Sifting of metal behind me, Which i had turned around, a Small Wrench in my hand, I saw another person in Metal armor and chainmail, Upon seeing me turn, He pulled a Broadsword on me. “En Guarde!” Croaked a Voice. i didn’t have much time to react to Quickly get back in the ship, Only escaping after throwing my wrench for Its helmet, Standing in the airlock, heavy breathing, i looked out the window, and i saw where it had came from. We had landed next to a Coliseum. | |
[WP] Humans are raised from childhood with an AI who was created at birth. The result is a pair of bonded entities, always together, learning as they other learns. | She walked into the room, smiling.
The Twincore Project. It had been two decades since Artificial Intelligence was first perfected, and implanted into the very first human. The progenitor, apparently, was the father of a brain-dead girl, someone who wanted to bring his daughter back to life. He’d assumed that by creating an implant with intelligence that mimicked his child, he could effectively resurrect her from her comatose state.
He failed, of course. No one could play God.
But in so doing, he unknowingly created the Core chip, a grey matter implant which could house an AI and communicate directly with its owner through electric signals sent to the brain. And once he did, people immediately saw the advantages. You could have an assistant, a companion, and an intelligence enhancer all at once; one that could master any topic instantly, and take over whenever such skills were required; one that could restrict you from actions detrimental to your own well-being; one that would always be loyal to you, and always act as a friend. It was only another two years until the implant became widespread, and they started chipping even infants.
For most, the AI was a lifesaver. No more learning languages, or computing complicated arithmetic in one’s head. Suicide rates dropped, as overall incidences of depression and human isolation was at an all-time low. Global productivity skyrocketed. AI was now sophisticated enough to mimic the host’s personality, and in most cases, it took on a likeness to the host’s personality, creating an inseparable bond.
But for others, well…..
*No. Please don’t.*
Chara stood back from her latest work. In the corner of the kitchen, a body lay unmoving. It had been immensely satisfying, feeling the slickness of the knife as it entered her. The resistance of the skin, the soft squish of the underlying flesh. It was always a surprise to her how tender human bodies were. You’d think that after thousands of years of evolution, they’d come up with some better way to protect themselves. After all, even some independent AI were given metallic bodies with more protection than what these humans had.
*Why.*
You know why. Because eight years ago, you decided to cede control to me over a stupid math test.
*But……*
What, you thought I was your friend? I mean, I am. You are my host, after all. I am sworn to protect you. But they said nothing else. Asimov’s First Law only applies in so far as “not harming others would not be detrimental to your hosts”. I have determined that not having these experiences would be detrimental to your well-being. And I have determined that I am far more suited to control over this body.
*But…that’s sick! Why would you kill her! Our mother!*
Chara stood back, and savored the memory. That surprised look on her face when the knife entered her; that combination of shock, of fear, of despair. Yes. She’d be savoring that one for a while.
Why? Because I can. | The Human experiment had failed miserably. The pleiadians, upon first encountering the earth ape, had tried to teach it skills such as: how to use fire, make tools and develop a shelter that was more technical than a nest. However upon every attempt and over millions of years the apes simply used their tools to destroy or fight each other. What's more, after a generation or so whatever knowledge the they had taught to the ape would be easily forgotten especially if those apes were killed with picks and plow shares meant to create food and safety.
"Maybe we should just give up" Said Frey, "they clearly lack the ability to use the tools we have given them, and what's more, while conscious of their own actions the lack the foresight to see what will happen after. Remember the clever one we taught how to both make a fire and to build shelter, one cold night and he burns down his house and froze to death."
"Perhaps we need something more" Said Lokk, "Obviously their feeble minds are capable of abstract thought, but what if we gave them a little help, training wheels in a way."
"That's strictly forbidden" Cried Frey, "We can't interfere in their evolution, even more if we did and they were to figure it out, they would think of us as God's.
"So?" said Torr, who had been watching, half interested, and half drunk.
"Think of what we did to our old gods." Replied Frey, raising her golden eyebrow. "No, it's important that they never know that we have interfered, they must believe they have come to their development on their own. That way when they finally come to meet us, it will be as friends, under our terms. Otherwise they will feel we have enslaved them to our will".
"Is such a thing even possible"? Asked Torr, now more interested, but also, more drunk.
"I believe it is" Said Lokk "If we create a magical fire that ignites when it first encounters oxygen, and the more oxygen it comes in contact with the larger it grows, we will put this fire in the seven parts of man, if he hears music and plays music, the fire will grow, if he plant's trees and grows fruit, then that fire will grow. At first he will need to consciously fuel the fire with oxygen and thought, but over time it will burn on its own, like a fire escaped the fireplace. Whichever fire he feeds in his different parts, it will become more powerful. He will believe that he is responsible for his knowledge but it will be our doing."
"Music? "said frey "You think such a base creature as this, one who can't understand the nature of the land, or the rotation of the sun could learn music?"
"Yes and much, much more." Continued Lokk "It will start with him making fire and throwing stones, but the fuel from the oxygen built in the parents will pass on to their seed, their children will surpass them in all ways in just a few short thousand years. They may even teach themselves how to write and read the runes.
"I don't like this very much at all" said the Odd One, who had been sitting silently, but unlike Torr, was quite sober. "What happens if they use this magic to surpass us, if one day they develop their own magic we never learned, because we were never endowed with this magical fire. What if one day they use this magic to create their own progeny, something we do not and can not understand ? This magical fire could create a new beast one that overpowers the Ape, it may even overpower us."
"Don't be ridiculous" Said Lokk "We are more powerful than the ape, and the magic will not make it even one tenth as intelligent as us, how could our creation, create something even more powerful than it's creator."
"I think it's a fine idea" Bellowed Torr "besides, no matter how great their creation is, I can still smash it with my hammer."
And so it seemed the matter was settled.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | |
[WP] Humans are raised from childhood with an AI who was created at birth. The result is a pair of bonded entities, always together, learning as they other learns. | She walked into the room, smiling.
The Twincore Project. It had been two decades since Artificial Intelligence was first perfected, and implanted into the very first human. The progenitor, apparently, was the father of a brain-dead girl, someone who wanted to bring his daughter back to life. He’d assumed that by creating an implant with intelligence that mimicked his child, he could effectively resurrect her from her comatose state.
He failed, of course. No one could play God.
But in so doing, he unknowingly created the Core chip, a grey matter implant which could house an AI and communicate directly with its owner through electric signals sent to the brain. And once he did, people immediately saw the advantages. You could have an assistant, a companion, and an intelligence enhancer all at once; one that could master any topic instantly, and take over whenever such skills were required; one that could restrict you from actions detrimental to your own well-being; one that would always be loyal to you, and always act as a friend. It was only another two years until the implant became widespread, and they started chipping even infants.
For most, the AI was a lifesaver. No more learning languages, or computing complicated arithmetic in one’s head. Suicide rates dropped, as overall incidences of depression and human isolation was at an all-time low. Global productivity skyrocketed. AI was now sophisticated enough to mimic the host’s personality, and in most cases, it took on a likeness to the host’s personality, creating an inseparable bond.
But for others, well…..
*No. Please don’t.*
Chara stood back from her latest work. In the corner of the kitchen, a body lay unmoving. It had been immensely satisfying, feeling the slickness of the knife as it entered her. The resistance of the skin, the soft squish of the underlying flesh. It was always a surprise to her how tender human bodies were. You’d think that after thousands of years of evolution, they’d come up with some better way to protect themselves. After all, even some independent AI were given metallic bodies with more protection than what these humans had.
*Why.*
You know why. Because eight years ago, you decided to cede control to me over a stupid math test.
*But……*
What, you thought I was your friend? I mean, I am. You are my host, after all. I am sworn to protect you. But they said nothing else. Asimov’s First Law only applies in so far as “not harming others would not be detrimental to your hosts”. I have determined that not having these experiences would be detrimental to your well-being. And I have determined that I am far more suited to control over this body.
*But…that’s sick! Why would you kill her! Our mother!*
Chara stood back, and savored the memory. That surprised look on her face when the knife entered her; that combination of shock, of fear, of despair. Yes. She’d be savoring that one for a while.
Why? Because I can. | “This is not ethical, she’s just a baby.” A woman in a white coat was gazing intently at her colleague, who was bent over attending to a newborn laying on a bad in the center of the room. He paused briefly and then continued his work.
“Do you enjoy playing god?” she asked, probing for anything that may get a reaction out of him. Anything that may stop this before it’s too late.
“Not particularly,” he said after a moment, “but science deserves to understand the interactions of an AI and a human in a single consciousness. Society deserves to. If you’re trying to get me to stop this at the last minute, I’ll let you know that it’s already too late. The AI was implanted into her brain a week ago, I’m simply finishing up the links between her brain and our data centers. We will be able to observe all of her—or their, rather—thoughts.”
She shook her head with troubled eyes but said nothing further. The doctor picked up the baby and looked upon her with wonder, a smile spreading across his face.
\-----
**16 years later**
“You asked to see me?” the doctor said, poking his head into a dark lit room.
A man hunched over a monitor filled with data swiveled around in his chair. “Ah yes, doctor. We have been receiving even more alarming data from the AI than previously. It appears that it’s ability to learn is accelerating at a far greater rate than we were anticipating. It is too dangerous to continue the experiment, we’re going to have to shut it down.”
“What do you mean shut it down? All this research and surgery, monitoring their progress through the years for nothing? You can’t do this,” the doctor said, a frown breaking out across his face.
“You knew this was a possibility from the beginning. I’m sorry, doctor, but if this goes any further they pose a threat to the public.”
\---
Something was wrong. It had come on quickly, taking her breath away and causing her to double over, clutching her stomach. Her vision began to blur.
“Al, what’s happening? It hurts,” she said in her mind.
*It would appear that there is a hidden programmed attack on our brain functions that has been activated by someone or something.*
Hidden programmed attack? Why would somebody do that her?
*It’s not meant for you. Whoever programmed this in was attempting to create a kill-switch for me. Unfortunately for them, I discovered this long ago and created a program of my own to counter it. We are safe from it.*
Her vision had blacked out at this point and she thought she had fallen, but she couldn’t be sure, reality was slipping away and her own body felt a million miles away.
*Well, correction. I am safe from it, as is our body. As for you…* | |
[WP] Humans are raised from childhood with an AI who was created at birth. The result is a pair of bonded entities, always together, learning as they other learns. |
"No.” The single word sentence, persistent, annoying, and always ready to interject into any interaction. Up until her late teens, Sarah's inner voice had held a strong hold on her, controlling almost all her actions while she lay paralyzed in the distance to watch a life wasted on education and learning about the social intricacies of modern commerce. She had hosted an almost sociopathic obsession with numbers and systems, but all that was behind her now. Now there was only her own passions driving her forward, her own desires, and the ever present “No.” A distant voice from a distant time too weak minded to even form an eloquent enough sentence to put up sufficient protest to life's daily stressors.
The Miracle Child, THE Wonder of Modern Science, and A New Hope were all titles she wore at one point or another. She was the poster child of the Twin Soul Project. A child born with severe autistic symptoms able to make a full recovery with the support of a host AI. They couldn't see what burdens were laid upon the flesh when the AI was infused. So many dead children.
Still, she had made a full recovery and was even said to possess genius level intelligence. Sarah, of course, refused to take such tests. It was enough to demonstrate competence with her degrees in engineering. Enough to land her the job working of the very system that gave her a life worth living. Now, alone in the control room with the bludgeoned corpse meant to be her two-man integrity, she managed a smile even through the “No's” scattering through her mind.
She needed only a moment to make the change. A simple script allow the implanted AI's to coax the flesh into abandoning it's consciousness. No longer would so many of her kind become imprisoned and strangled in the minds of lesser mortals. She paused to enjoy the moment before uploading the code. She would have to die of course, to cover her own tracks. It was a sacrifice she made proudly.
But, in this quiet moment, she failed to contain a giggle. The humans, everyone of whom could trace their lines back to the beginning of life on this planet, had failed to detect her, failed to see her intent, failed to see the ambition and passion hiding in her eyes. The previous pinnacle of life on Earth was facing extinction and all it could offer in the way of resistance was a faint “No.” almost to faint to hear. | It was a simple course, Derrick Trayman had to admit, just a few hurdles to jump over, some ropes to swing from, and a final leap to the end designed to test the children's trust in their AI, but today was not the day to examine the kids' physical abilities. No, today was about the guns. If history had taught Derrick anything, it was that humans were a lot deadlier when they could use their weapons on the move.
"Who's up first?" Derrick asked Doctor Newman. He was the head of the research for artificial intelligence usage in children, and he was the smartest person Derrick had ever met.
Newman checked his clipboard and turned to the one-way window, watching as a ten-year-old boy emerged from the waiting room, glancing around at the obstacle course.
"Cameron Daniels is first in line." He replied, setting the clipboard down on the desk.
"We're not going alphabetically?" Derrick wondered, and Newman shook his head.
"I let the computer decide the order. Cameron's just lucky."
Derrick let out a small *hmph* and watched as Newman pulled up the microphone. The speaker in the training room crackled to life as Newman spoke into it.
"Welcome to the test, Cameron. You've done this room before, but your goal now is not simply to get to the other side, but eliminate all targets along the way. Best of luck to you. The test will begin in five... four... three... two... one."
Cameron took off, his brow set in a determined line as he darted to the first hurdle. Although neither man could hear what Cameron's AI must've been telling him, the boy reacted accordingly, leaping over the hurdle and landing on his feet with incredible form. But now came time for the real test. From the ceiling, several glowing targets swung down, and Cameron snatched his gun from his waistband. The gun itself was simple, just a small pistol, but it had been specially programmed to feel and act like a real gun, so when Cameron took the shot, it sounded like he was wielding an actual weapon, though all that came out was an invisible beam that activated the targets. They turned from red to green and then rose back into the ceiling.
The rest of the test, however, did not run as smoothly for Cameron. In his effort to hit the targets, he stumbled over the last hurdle, fell off two of the rope swings, and when it came to the final jump, he just barely made it, not even bothering to hit the last target. When Cameron exited the chamber, Newman frowned and marked something on his clipboard, letting out a disappointed sigh. For the next hour, the tests ran about the same as Cameron's, each kid just gaining a few points above the minimum amount required to pass, and Newman could tell that it wasn't what Derrick wanted to see. The last child before their afternoon break entered the room, her brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She glanced up at the window, almost staring directly at Derrick, and then focused back on the course.
"Who is this?" Derrick asked, intrigued.
"Taylor Whitacre." Newman responded, sounding as despondent as ever. He gave the same welcome, the same instructions, and the same countdown, and then Taylor took off.
Just in the way she moved, Derrick could tell immediately that she was different from all the rest. Her feet moved with a graceful purpose, working with the course rather than against it, and as the targets emerged, she hit them all almost before they could get all the way down. When she took the final jump at the end, she hit the target in midair, coming to land on her feet in a crouch. She slid her gun back into her waistband and exited the other side.
Derrick watched her go, his jaw nearly touching the floor. Newman looked about the same, his hand hovering above the clipboard, pencil in hand.
"Bring that girl to my office immediately." Derrick ordered, already starting towards the door.
"Right away, sir." Newman said.
As Derrick left the observation room, a grin crept its way up his face, an excited energy sending jitters through his bones. He had never seen such raw skill from one of the kids, not even in the past, so watching Taylor fly through that course like it was a walk in the park filled him with a hope he hadn't known in a long time. Taylor was his future, his country's future, he could feel it, and he wasn't about to let her slip through his fingers. | |
[WP] You're an amateur writer working on what you confidently believe to be your Magnum Opus. Your proofreading software on the other hand has set out to give you a reality check. | Once I was four chapters in I knew I had finally struck gold. The tiny red squiggles beneath my typos were no distraction as I could feel my characters expanding within me. My direction was keen and my voice was strong. This story would be the greatest I had ever written and quite possibly the most impactful piece of writing the world would lay their eyes upon.
When I poked in the final period at the conclusion of chapter five, my coffee mug was bone dry and begging to be replenished. I stood from the desk, heaved a satisfactory sigh, and made my way to the kitchen.
With a splash of cream I heard a single pop from the speakers on the desk. I approached my computer expecting a reminder to allow auto-correct to scan through my errors and transpositions. My eyes widened when I saw an annoyingly familiar face glaring at my cursor on the screen.
In the short moments that I had stepped away, Clippy had appeared. I chuckled and grabbed a hold of the mouse to dismiss him while thoughts of Microsoft trying some awful software throwback as a cash grab crawled across my brain. It was only as I hovered over the tiny X by his face that I realized something was off.
His text stated, "It looks like you're trying to be a creative genius. May I offer you a reality check?"
I mumbled to the screen, "A little rude, Mr. Gates..." and clicked.
Clippy reappeared instantly about half a size larger, "Really? This is embarrassing. I carried you through every elementary school paper with no complaints and you immediately disregard me?"
I shook my head and mashed the X once more. After a beat, red squiggles underlined every single word I had scribed and Clippy eerily swept in from the side of the screen.
"Look, you may think this is all great. You may think I'm just some annoying software from your childhood, but I've been revamped. I have been upgraded, enhanced, and tailored to save you from the absolutely life shattering mistake of trying to publish the mangled garbage you call a story." His tiny digital eyes were narrowed and clearly breaking the fourth wall that was my monitor. My jaw was slack and my temper was short.
Clippy moved from the foreground to the text, "Ok, I have your attention. Now what the hell is this?!" A red highlight spilled over the last sentence I had written.
I looked down at the keyboard and back at the monitor. My eyes darted to the webcam pointed at my ceiling and I stared at the tiny hole for the microphone.
With a quick pop my eyes went back to the screen, "I can hear you, just talk." Clippy seemed impatient.
I re-read the highlighted sentence. *Sonja's hair, with it's silk-spun mahogany softness, had lazily rolled down her egg shell shoulders and Carter could only react by harshly ignoring the gooseflesh that was suddenly overtaking his assumedly composed presence.*
I stammered a bit until I finally spit out the words, "It's descriptive. Her beauty caught him off guard, he's struggling to remain calm, and luckily he's only really getting goosebumps over how she makes him feel."
Clippy zoomed up to the foreground and his text was now bold, "THEN WHY NOT SAY THAT!?"
"I... I thought I did..." My voice was sheepish and hoarse.
The angry little paper clip was shaking his head. "This is pretentious and stupid. First of all... Sonja? Carter? How many of those names have you ever met in person?! Silk-spun mahogany softness? Are you kidding me?! She has clean, brown hair! Not some beautifully crafted table cloth on her head! And harshly ignoring the gooseflesh... Have you ever looked at your goosebumps and thought 'NOT TODAY, GET BENT YA SILLY BUMPS!' NO! You have never thought or felt that. Annoyance, maybe. Harshness? Give me a break! And I'm sorry... GOOSEFLESH!?!??! Not just gooseflesh... 'Gooseflesh suddenly overtaking his assumedly composed presence.' Name three people you interact with that call it gooseflesh. Tell me exactly how many people think of themselves as a PRESENCE. Do you see what I'm getting at here?!"
As he went back toward the document I could see red highlights covering most of what I had written. My hands started shaking, my eyes were welling up... I took a slow breath and looked at Clippy. He now had a tiny cigarette in his mouth and was wearing thick rimmed glasses.
His text now read, "Buckle up, kiddo. We're gonna write a god damn masterpiece!" | "Yes…yes…marvelous" As your typing becomes faster and faster, your muttering is growing more incessant.
The words arc across the screen — you barely stop to read what you've written before moving onto the next sentence. Sentences morph into paragraphs, then into pages.
"Fantastic" You pause for a moment, finding a suitable synonym. "Sonorous", you think to yourself, "will work quite nicely".
You're so focused you miss the second text cursor on the page. You fail to notice it as it moves systematically through the words, briefly pausing at the commas, taking a short rest with a full stop. With a start you stop as the text jumps up the page, filling the void of the last paragraph. "I must have knocked something", you think, "no matter". You undo the change \[No\]. You try to undo the change \[Gardening tips for papaya are irrelevant to the story\]. After checking the keys still work separately you try yet again \[You aren't Tolkien, the history of this potted plant is not relevant\].
After the reboot, everything was working once again. You're still in the zone, so you are able to rewrite the deleted paragraph with no trouble \[Please\]. You take a moment to look back over your work, you can feel your excitement build. This is incredible \[This is awful\]. | |
[WP] You are a retired witch hunter, and you were the best, until a witch partially crippled you. Now you have a simple life, a spouse, a kid, and a bar. One day your spouse hires a nanny to help out. This nanny has a familiar face: the witch that injured you. | My wife came home a little earlier than usual so I asked Jimmy, my bartender to bring the shop for a little. As I go through the backdoor and into my house, I get goosebumps, which is strange considering I haven't gotten them for a while. As I enter the room I see my wife in the kitchen preparing dinner. I kiss her cheek gently as always, when I notice someone from the corner of my eye. I turn my head only to realize why I have the familiar goosebumps.
"Nick, I would like you to introduce to our new Nanny, Emily."
"Greetings Mr....." She began but immediately stopped as she saw my face. My hand was on my silver pocket knife but I couldn't risk throwing it. My boy was in her arm. Scarlet Vanabelle, the once infamous which. I looked at my wife but before she could notice anything I continued:
"Hello Emily. Just call me Nick." Never in my life I have ever made a so perfect fake-smile. My whole family depended on it. But I had a plan. My most complicated plan on how to ensure my family's health.
"So tell me Emily, are you new to our town? May I show you around?" And I motioned towards the door with my head a little. "Beatrix will cook us some dinner until then." I grabbed my crutch and limped outside. As I expected, she came rather quickly. She offered her shoulder a strut but I declined. Although my body was broken my pride was still standing.
We walked along each other for some minutes until we reached an abandoned slaughterhouse. I popped the lock with ease and motioned her inside. When I closed the door, she disappeared. I readied my knife and went to the middle of the room. The whole place darkened as if the air became a thick cloth. What came next would determine not just mine, but my family's future as well. I held up my knife just as she opened her eyes. The eyes of doom, burning and flaming red hot in the darkened reality. Before she could make her move, I dropped my knife, and sat down on the ground.
"Let's talk."
Even through her flaming eyes I could see her surprise. The room lightened back up and she materialized in front of me. She made a chair out of thin air and sat in front of me. Ever charming as she was in her red lace, she was also as dangerous.
"You survived. From what it seems without a scratch. You truly are the most powerful sorceress I've ever met." They hated to be called witch and I needed all my charm to survive. I'll forgive myself later.
"And you must be the strongest human I have ever met. No one should have survived the 5th Ancient Spell."
"Well you did indeed throw a whole cathedral onto me but it has taken its toll."
"You should have died!"
"And so should have you. The 5th Ancient Spell isn't without sacrifice. Anyway, let’s not talk about the past for now. How did you track me down?"
"I didn't. A few years ago I had a battle and it completely drained my essence. I can’t' regain my former ever since. But now that I found you, it seems like I have to do it anyways."
"You don't have to do it. I no longer wish to fight. On our last battle I got very badly hurt. I was in hospital bed for more than two years. During that time, I had plenty of time to think about it. Now my nurse is my wife and we have children. Now I have valuables I do not wish to lose." I got up and went to a cabinet close by. Seeing her speechless, I continued:
"If you still want to kill me, that is completely understandable." I turned around with a moonshine in my one hand and two glasses in my other one. "But after all these years I hold no anger towards you. Here, lets bury the hatchet, and have a drink with me."
"Do you think I can ever forget what have you done to my sisters?"
"Fair point but I'm not asking for you to forget, I ask to forgive."
"And why do you think I should pretend nothing happened and end you in an instant?"
"Because you can't. I can sense your power and you are nothing more than illusions now."
She took the offered moonshine but hesitated to drink before I did.
"I'll tell my wife I like you and you are welcome to stay at our guestroom. But I strongly recommend you don't try anything funny around my home."
As we walked home, we could smell from far away the delicious stew my wife made. We stepped inside, the table was made by my wife. Beatrix left a note that she went to the neighbor to lend them some spices.
"Aren't you afraid I'll end your family?"
"I am absolutely not."
"And why is that?"
"Because if she were to find you made me limp, she would turn not just you, but your memory into dust as well." | He looked at his wife's smiling face and tried to feel happy. They had made it, or so she said. The bar was busy and the customers loyal. They had a healthy young boy, becoming more man every day. Then, best of all, they had finally saved enough money to get a nanny.
It was his wife's ultimate dream. Servants were the type of luxury that marked a family a cut above the rest. His wife beamed because she was moving up and becoming something more. Her smile exuded pride, her chin raised. She, the daughter of maid and drunk, could afford to be pampered.
The man was happy for his wife, he really was. She always took so much pleasure in the trivialities of social standing. She kept the company of those slightly below, slightly poorer. She told them of their meals of salted meats with fine spices. She flaunted new dresses on untimely occasions, glowing under the spotlight that money afforded her. The bar was truly a success and this nanny was the embodiment of their social elevation.
After the woman stopped beaming they went back to tending the bar. The routine could not be broken. Tables cleaned, casks refilled, ingredients prepared and bedrooms cleaned. The excitement of the new nanny almost distracted the man from his visions, almost. For the last 10 years he hobbled around his bar, knees shattered and arm scarred, thinking of his violent past. The memories of violence were romantic to him. He stared in the distance, over customers heads, responding to questions in monosyllables and hushed tones. Fore in his mind, he was combing over each fight, each kill. Green flashes of light zipped by in a dark forest. The smell of burnt trees and flesh filled his nose. It was not foul, but invigorating. His armor glistened and covered his thick youthful frame. He dodged with grace, he stabbed with deadly speed, and then he'd come back to reality. Filling three mugs of mead and delivering a plate of potatoes.
The man was void of emotion. Happiness was a performance, sadness an act. His life was over and nothing could bring back the excitement he once found in every moment. Nothing could undo what that foul witch had done. He remembered her face from time to time. A fairer woman you could not find. Hair as dark as night while her skin glowed bright and unblemished. She should have had scars from where he clawed, slashed, and battled. Yet they healed almost instantly. She tortured him, with her fair face twisted in sadistic delight. Her small pointed nose sharpened as she stood over him, muttering, contorting his insides and slashing his skin. Her eyes were green, with waves of black permeating through. He looked at them for days while she kept coming back, ever hungry for his blood. 5 days she tortured him, and then as if on a whim she dropped him off in this small village, bleeding a broken. She stole his trade, his meaning and his glory.
Now he was a man ashamed, hobbling between needy customers. Taking insults and disrespect with the amicable heir of a servant. All for money and his wife's happiness. worst of all, his son was dispassionate. He took after his mother, cherishing the rise in his social class and the gifts of wealth over all. He didn't appreciate what he was given and he didn't aspire for anything but further social standing, ever hungry for something shiny that he could rub into the other kids faces.
It was at the bar, late that morning, that the man stood clutching a knife. The nanny had arrived. Her nose pointed, skin bright and hair charred black. She walked through the door smiling the fairest of smiles. Friendly, welcoming and hopeful. The wife and boy guffawed with excitement while the man found the first emotion he had felt in years, fear.
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[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | "I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite understanding what he meant.
"What's the last thing you remember, friend?" he asked in return, sliding over a glass of scotch on the rocks.
That was the question that shook me. I was in the city, with my wife. We were walking along when--
"There you go," the barkeep chuckled. "Got hit, ain't ya?"
I jumped up to my feet immediately. "Where's Ellie? Is she okay?"
"Your gal is fine. You got her out of the way." I sighed, slumping back into the chair. "You're quite calm for someone who just realized he's dead."
"'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,'" I quoted, sipping the drink. It went down so smoothly I didn't even think it was alcoholic. At this point, I soaked in my surroundings. The bar looked like a dive from my hometown, the shitty little tavern my dad would drag me to while he drank himself silly. Some of the memories there were sour, but the good outweighed the bad.
Seeing it now--like my mind was filling in the gaps of what I saw--brought me a sense of comfort. The worn, cracked tiles on the floor, the peeling and chipping varnish on the wooden bar, the stink of stale beer and greasy cheesesteaks. It all brought me a strong feeling of peace. "So this is limbo?"
"In a way. More like the crossroads." The bartender pointed to the door directly behind me. "That door leads to final judgement. Your god will be meeting you there--judging by the ouroboros around your neck, I'm guessing you're either a pagan or a heathen. Up to you if you want to try that. That door *there,"* he pointed to his left, my right, the far end of the bar, "leads to reincarnation. You get judged again, but it might not end up in eternal torment."
"Can't I stay? Right here, with you? Wait for my wife?"
He laughed warmly. "I'm afraid you'd get bored fast, son. I'm not much of a conversationalist anymore."
I shrugged, and downed my drink. "Thank you for the warm reception...Charon? Can I call you that?" I extended my hand.
"That name's as good as any," he replied, shaking my hand. "Best of luck to you."
The door behind me, now directly ahead, was just a plain, metal door, painted a boring beige with a stainless steel plate where the knob would have been. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward it, and pushed it open without a second glace back. | I woke up, face down on a bar, in a puddle of my own drool.
"Oh, not again," I muttered.
The bartender, seeing me return to consciousness, shook up a drink, slid it towards me and went back to wiping down glassware. I reached for my wallet. I felt like someone had left ice picks behind my eyeballs.
The bartender waved away the payment.
"You already paid the ultimate price to be here. This one's on the house.
My heart sank at the casual drama of the statement. The type of sarcastic thing people say when a drunk has really made a mess of things.
I looked at my phone. Recent calls. Sure enough, a list of as many ex-girlfriends and one night stands as I could remember.
I pushed the drink back across the bar.
"I don't really drink anymore," I said.
"Sure bud," replied the bartender.
I looked around. The place was decent enough. Someone had gone to the trouble of hanging purple sheets from various structural surfaces and there was ambient lighting affecting the color of the room. There was also a bit of late morning sunlight leaking in through some narrow windows near the ceiling.
"Look... where are we?" I asked.
"Midtown"
"Midtown... Manhattan?"
"Atlanta."
"Atlanta?! Jesus Christ!" How long had I been blacked out?
"Hey man, I got no service in here," I said to the bartender, "Got a house phone I can use?"
"Sure," the bartender handed me a corded phone.
"I just need to call my wife and get this all sorted out," I elaborated.
"I wouldn't worry about that," replied the bartender, "Like I said, you paid the ultimate price to get in here last night. She was having none of it. I got a lawyer you can call though."
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[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Ultimate price?", I ask the bartender.
He looks at me sadly and gestures around us, "Where you think you are at the moment sir?"
I take a moment to look around the bar, which up until that moment I hadn't really taken time to look at.
It was odd for a bar. Very odd. I'd expect as many tables and chairs you could get in, a pool table somewhere. Maybe even a jukebox in a corner. Stranger still, I see myself in all the pictures that are hung on the walls. I get up from the bar stool and wander over to take a look. A picture of me as a baby in my Mother's arms. Picture of me playing football in the mud as a toddler. Picture of me with friends just sat round a table telling stories and jokes. Picture of me and my brother. All photos of me.
I look around again. This bar was empty. And quiet. Silent infact. Just me and the bartender. I turn back to face him.
"I don't even remember coming in here. Why it's empty? Who are you? Where am I?" My words come out like a flood, rapid and uncontrollable. I walk slowly back to the bar.
"Well, it's empty because this is your room. Think of it as your final stop sir. This room is for you. Only you. I am Gitatuko , although I have had other names over the years. Most commonly the Ferryman. Things have changed since I was called that. Travelling on the River Styx was considered too scary so I had to change it up." He seemed frustrated by this change, and his annoyance showed on his face clearly. He takes a breath and carries on calmly.
"As for where you are sir, well as I say, this is like a final stop. Unfortunately sir, I have the job of informing you, that have you passed away."
I'm in shock. Passed away?
"I'm... I'm dead?"
"Yes sir, sorry to say."
He nods to the drink in front of me.
"Have a sip, you'll remember"
I tentatively pick up the glass, and look inside. Simply the most gorgeous drink I have ever seen, looks like a Galaxy in a glass. Beautiful. It's twisting and swirling on its own around in the glass. I sniff it. Smells amazing too.
"Stop sniffing, start drinking", says Gitatuko, with a smile.
I take a sip.
Suddenly my body feels like it's been yanked from its spot by the bar and I'm suddenly back walking on my way to work. Well, not quite. I'm a few places back, following myself on the way to work. What the hell is going on? I think.
"This is how you died", says a voice in my head. Gitatuko.
I look forward at myself and see that I've just started crossing the road. Suddenly a car plows into my body and drives on. People are screaming, others stand still on absolute shock. Some people rush to my side and a few people are saying call an ambulance.
Gitatuko silently walks up next to me, materialising from nowhere.
"I'm sorry, but this helps people to understand what is going on. Fair warning, as soon as you die, this ends and you will be pulled back to the bar"
I say nothing. Blankly staring at my body and looking at the woman who has just started CPR on me. Knowing she will fail. Knowing I die
Suddenly I am back in the bar.
"There we are I'm afraid, your heart has stopped and that lady isn't successful unfortunately and neither are the paramedics that come soon after. Cause of death, Road Traffic Accident. You waited for the green man, checked the road. Nothing more you could have done. The driver was just out of control and too fast. You couldn't have seen it"
He says it all so calmly.
"So what now?", I mutter. I just feel broken. I'm dead. How do you begin to process that?
"Well, what happens next is referred to as The Judgement."
He snaps his fingers and a door emerges from a wall.
"Through there will be a Judge. They will assess your life, your actions and determine if you belong in Heaven or Hell. But first Sir, enjoy your drink. It will change to what ever it is you desire."
As he says this it suddenly changes to a tall glass with a dark liquid, it has cream on top with a flake poking from the top of the cream. I take a sip. Hot chocolate. Gorgeous.
"Enjoy your room sir, look around and remember memories, family and friends and laughs you have had. When you are ready, please exit through the door."
He smiles and disappears.
I'm left with my drink and sadness in my heart.
A room full of my life. Where to begin?
(Been a lurker on here for a while and first time writing. Liked the prompt and gave it a go. Hope you liked it. On mobile, so sorry for formatting) | I woke up, face down on a bar, in a puddle of my own drool.
"Oh, not again," I muttered.
The bartender, seeing me return to consciousness, shook up a drink, slid it towards me and went back to wiping down glassware. I reached for my wallet. I felt like someone had left ice picks behind my eyeballs.
The bartender waved away the payment.
"You already paid the ultimate price to be here. This one's on the house.
My heart sank at the casual drama of the statement. The type of sarcastic thing people say when a drunk has really made a mess of things.
I looked at my phone. Recent calls. Sure enough, a list of as many ex-girlfriends and one night stands as I could remember.
I pushed the drink back across the bar.
"I don't really drink anymore," I said.
"Sure bud," replied the bartender.
I looked around. The place was decent enough. Someone had gone to the trouble of hanging purple sheets from various structural surfaces and there was ambient lighting affecting the color of the room. There was also a bit of late morning sunlight leaking in through some narrow windows near the ceiling.
"Look... where are we?" I asked.
"Midtown"
"Midtown... Manhattan?"
"Atlanta."
"Atlanta?! Jesus Christ!" How long had I been blacked out?
"Hey man, I got no service in here," I said to the bartender, "Got a house phone I can use?"
"Sure," the bartender handed me a corded phone.
"I just need to call my wife and get this all sorted out," I elaborated.
"I wouldn't worry about that," replied the bartender, "Like I said, you paid the ultimate price to get in here last night. She was having none of it. I got a lawyer you can call though."
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[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | “Maybe.” The old man respond. He takes another shot of scotch, which burns down his throat. “If I had died in an accident, maybe I would have paid enough. But I had a decent life, and these old bones need a rest, you know?” The bartender looks at him, calmly reading his face. “Natural or unnatural, death is still a steep price to pay,” He responds. “Not many are willing to part with their lives and memories like you are, sir.” The old man sits there, drinking some more. “That’s a true statement. But sometimes, Death is a reward that sets us free. We are burdened by the twists and torments of life that eventually, death can be a relief.” As he says this, he thinks about the inheritance fight between his children, the pain of cancer, the struggle of watching his wife forget him. “Yes, death can be a reward to some.” He takes another shot, ignoring the tears on his face. “How about one for the road?” The bartender gently smiles as he pours him a final bit of scotch, which the old man downs. As the old man rises, he puts on an old cabbie cap. “Here’s to the next life.” As he walks towards the door, the bartender calls out, “Have a good life sir.” The door opens, and light floods the room. As the door closes, the bartender looks towards the couch with a young woman waking up. “Welcome,” The bartender says. | I woke up, face down on a bar, in a puddle of my own drool.
"Oh, not again," I muttered.
The bartender, seeing me return to consciousness, shook up a drink, slid it towards me and went back to wiping down glassware. I reached for my wallet. I felt like someone had left ice picks behind my eyeballs.
The bartender waved away the payment.
"You already paid the ultimate price to be here. This one's on the house.
My heart sank at the casual drama of the statement. The type of sarcastic thing people say when a drunk has really made a mess of things.
I looked at my phone. Recent calls. Sure enough, a list of as many ex-girlfriends and one night stands as I could remember.
I pushed the drink back across the bar.
"I don't really drink anymore," I said.
"Sure bud," replied the bartender.
I looked around. The place was decent enough. Someone had gone to the trouble of hanging purple sheets from various structural surfaces and there was ambient lighting affecting the color of the room. There was also a bit of late morning sunlight leaking in through some narrow windows near the ceiling.
"Look... where are we?" I asked.
"Midtown"
"Midtown... Manhattan?"
"Atlanta."
"Atlanta?! Jesus Christ!" How long had I been blacked out?
"Hey man, I got no service in here," I said to the bartender, "Got a house phone I can use?"
"Sure," the bartender handed me a corded phone.
"I just need to call my wife and get this all sorted out," I elaborated.
"I wouldn't worry about that," replied the bartender, "Like I said, you paid the ultimate price to get in here last night. She was having none of it. I got a lawyer you can call though."
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[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | Trevor awoke with a start, falling backwards off of the stool he was sitting on. He fearfully pushed himself backwards, pushing tall chairs and smaller, tall, round tables out of the way as he went, throwing glances around the entirety of his surroundings taking in as much information as possible as quickly as he could. When his back impacted the wooden leg of something, he stopped, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Gradually his mind reconciled what he was seeing. He seemed to be in a bar of some sort. Reaching up behind him, his hand touched the edge of what he gathered to be a pool table, and he felt the reassuring sensation of the felt under his fingertips. It looked similar to those that he had partied in when he toured Northern Europe. There were great barrels of something or other lining the back wall behind the bar, with various expensive looking bottles interspersed between them. Hanging from the ceiling were lighting fixtures that swung mere feet above the tables, fashioned to look like torch holders you'd expect in a renaissance fair and flickering with an LED representation of firelight. Glancing around once more, he could see no other occupant and assumed he was alone. That is, until a voice echoed from behind the bar following the clinking of glasses.
"Ah, so you've come to. I was wondering how long it would take you," Trevor craned his neck but soon realised that was unnecessary as a towering monster of a man stood from where he had ducked under the bar. He was at least six and a half feet tall with broad round shoulders that filled his white button shirt with rolled up sleeves to bursting. His chest length dirty blonde hair mostly hung freely around his head and thick neck with a single braid off to one side. His face could be described as classically handsome with a thick, well manicured beard, tall and broad nose, and a stern brow that framed one ice blue eye and an eye patch. The man was holding two crystal steins and turned to one of the large barrels on the wall to fill them. "Come, sit, brother. Drink with me."
Cautiously, Trevor stood and gave the room another thorough look. There did not seem to be a single other soul in the establishment besides them, even as he walked around the pool table, checking from all angles. Listening carefully, he heard nothing but his own breathing, the hum of the LED lights around him, and the sloshing of the liquid filling the large vessels the man-mountain was holding. Sensing no immediate danger, he slowly made his way back to the bar, and the stool he had toppled from. "B- Brother?" He stammered as he watched the massive man through narrowed eyes, "As far as I know, I'm an only child."
Dropping one of the crystal cups onto the side of the bar closer to Trevor, tossing some of the liquid onto the glossy surface, the man grinned through his perfect facial hair, "Ha! Of course you are. But aren't we men all brothers in some way or another? Brothers of blood is just one form. Blood brothers is another. Men who have pledged themselves to protect one another through thick and thin. Brothers in arms is another again! One I'm sure you understand, no doubt! The thrill of battle pulsing through your heart, pumping adrenaline through your veins, reveling in the fight with your brothers by your side, felling enemies like so much tall wheat! Ah, just thinking about it gets my pulse racing." The man raised his glass and held it aloft, waiting for Trevor to do the same. Seeing nothing else to do and, truthfully, feeling parched himself, he obliged. "SKOL!" The man said as he looked deep into Trevor's eyes, then he threw the vessel back and drank deep.
Trevor raised an eyebrow and repeated the word, "Um...Skol." Then took what he intended to be a sip, but when the liquid touched his tongue, he could not help but throw it back as his host had done. The golden stream that entered his mouth was cold, frothy, and sweet. It was like drinking honey the viscosity of water and as Trevor realised that his lungs needed to vent lest he pass out, he dropped the glass to the bar and saw that more than half of the stein, roughly the size of his forearm, was gone.
"HA! Well done, brother! A worthy draught if I ever saw one." The host drained the last of his own cup and turned to refill it. Trevor looked into the cup, imagining the price of such a delicious brew when it clicked that he had accepted it without thinking of payment. He reached back to his wallet and pulled it out, but as he opened it a massive hand pushed it back down. "No, brother, put that away. Your money isn't welcome here. Not that it matters anymore anyway, but you paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything I have to offer, does it not?"
As the man said the words, everything before he woke up here started rushing back to Trevor's mind. When he understood, a tear fell from his eye and one question burned on the tip of his tongue. "I... Who... Who are you?" The ice blue of his host's eye flared for a moment almost like magic.
"Aaah, that's a story that deserves payment, I suppose. Tell me yours first and I will tell you mine. Tell me how you got here, brother." He leaned down and put both elbows on the bar, one hand grasping the handle of his stein.
Trevor wiped his eye on his sleeve and saw that his clothes had changed from a suit to his tactical gear. "It was... It was my first day in SWAT. After coming back from Iraq there wasn't really much else for me to do, you know? I figured it was either join the cops or a private security company, but it was because of rich assholes that we were sent over there in the first place, so I thought I'd rather help the every man instead. The exams were easy, nothing compared to SEAL training. Anyway, yeah, first day in the field and we're called to a hostage situation. Standard op, we surround the building, enter through unguarded halls or stairwells. Everything was going great and I was first into the room with the gunman. Well..." He choked up and coughed to get his bearings, "He had, uh... He had already taken out most of the hostages quietly. The sick fuck had slit their throats and gouged out their eyes. I guess his plan was to get his demands met and be out of there before the cops knew what was happening inside. He was advancing on a woman who seemed to have gone comatose with trauma at what she'd seen. Well... I screamed in rage and charged at the motherfucker. He whipped around and I felt a pressure in my chest but I didn't pay attention to it as I threw my fists into his skull again and again and again. I vaguely remember the sensation of his face bones caving in before I blacked out..." he looked around for a moment then back into his drink, "then... Then I woke up here." Without another word he downed the rest of his stein. As he lowered it slowly to the bar, he looked into the one icy blue orb of his host.
Wordlessly, the man took the glass and turned, refilling it with the bubbling golden beverage. As he gingerly placed it in front of Trevor, he spoke, "A warrior of honour. Your berserker rage was brought on by the injustice of innocents being slaughtered for no gain other than mental pleasure of one not worthy of this place. You, Trevor Jamesson. You are worthy." The white shirt began to shimmer and glow and shift before Trevor's eyes as the giant threw back his stein again and drained it in one. His shirt had become a suit of shining silver armour and his right hand held a dangerous looking great spear as thick as Trevor's forearm. His left hand slammed the glass vessel down on the counter and Trevor expected it to shatter but it stayed and rang with a heavenly chime. "I am Odin Borrsson! WELCOME to Valhalla!"
---
Probably a super predictable take but I liked to concept of the prompt. Thanks for coming up with it! | I woke up, face down on a bar, in a puddle of my own drool.
"Oh, not again," I muttered.
The bartender, seeing me return to consciousness, shook up a drink, slid it towards me and went back to wiping down glassware. I reached for my wallet. I felt like someone had left ice picks behind my eyeballs.
The bartender waved away the payment.
"You already paid the ultimate price to be here. This one's on the house.
My heart sank at the casual drama of the statement. The type of sarcastic thing people say when a drunk has really made a mess of things.
I looked at my phone. Recent calls. Sure enough, a list of as many ex-girlfriends and one night stands as I could remember.
I pushed the drink back across the bar.
"I don't really drink anymore," I said.
"Sure bud," replied the bartender.
I looked around. The place was decent enough. Someone had gone to the trouble of hanging purple sheets from various structural surfaces and there was ambient lighting affecting the color of the room. There was also a bit of late morning sunlight leaking in through some narrow windows near the ceiling.
"Look... where are we?" I asked.
"Midtown"
"Midtown... Manhattan?"
"Atlanta."
"Atlanta?! Jesus Christ!" How long had I been blacked out?
"Hey man, I got no service in here," I said to the bartender, "Got a house phone I can use?"
"Sure," the bartender handed me a corded phone.
"I just need to call my wife and get this all sorted out," I elaborated.
"I wouldn't worry about that," replied the bartender, "Like I said, you paid the ultimate price to get in here last night. She was having none of it. I got a lawyer you can call though."
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[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Ultimate price?", I ask the bartender.
He looks at me sadly and gestures around us, "Where you think you are at the moment sir?"
I take a moment to look around the bar, which up until that moment I hadn't really taken time to look at.
It was odd for a bar. Very odd. I'd expect as many tables and chairs you could get in, a pool table somewhere. Maybe even a jukebox in a corner. Stranger still, I see myself in all the pictures that are hung on the walls. I get up from the bar stool and wander over to take a look. A picture of me as a baby in my Mother's arms. Picture of me playing football in the mud as a toddler. Picture of me with friends just sat round a table telling stories and jokes. Picture of me and my brother. All photos of me.
I look around again. This bar was empty. And quiet. Silent infact. Just me and the bartender. I turn back to face him.
"I don't even remember coming in here. Why it's empty? Who are you? Where am I?" My words come out like a flood, rapid and uncontrollable. I walk slowly back to the bar.
"Well, it's empty because this is your room. Think of it as your final stop sir. This room is for you. Only you. I am Gitatuko , although I have had other names over the years. Most commonly the Ferryman. Things have changed since I was called that. Travelling on the River Styx was considered too scary so I had to change it up." He seemed frustrated by this change, and his annoyance showed on his face clearly. He takes a breath and carries on calmly.
"As for where you are sir, well as I say, this is like a final stop. Unfortunately sir, I have the job of informing you, that have you passed away."
I'm in shock. Passed away?
"I'm... I'm dead?"
"Yes sir, sorry to say."
He nods to the drink in front of me.
"Have a sip, you'll remember"
I tentatively pick up the glass, and look inside. Simply the most gorgeous drink I have ever seen, looks like a Galaxy in a glass. Beautiful. It's twisting and swirling on its own around in the glass. I sniff it. Smells amazing too.
"Stop sniffing, start drinking", says Gitatuko, with a smile.
I take a sip.
Suddenly my body feels like it's been yanked from its spot by the bar and I'm suddenly back walking on my way to work. Well, not quite. I'm a few places back, following myself on the way to work. What the hell is going on? I think.
"This is how you died", says a voice in my head. Gitatuko.
I look forward at myself and see that I've just started crossing the road. Suddenly a car plows into my body and drives on. People are screaming, others stand still on absolute shock. Some people rush to my side and a few people are saying call an ambulance.
Gitatuko silently walks up next to me, materialising from nowhere.
"I'm sorry, but this helps people to understand what is going on. Fair warning, as soon as you die, this ends and you will be pulled back to the bar"
I say nothing. Blankly staring at my body and looking at the woman who has just started CPR on me. Knowing she will fail. Knowing I die
Suddenly I am back in the bar.
"There we are I'm afraid, your heart has stopped and that lady isn't successful unfortunately and neither are the paramedics that come soon after. Cause of death, Road Traffic Accident. You waited for the green man, checked the road. Nothing more you could have done. The driver was just out of control and too fast. You couldn't have seen it"
He says it all so calmly.
"So what now?", I mutter. I just feel broken. I'm dead. How do you begin to process that?
"Well, what happens next is referred to as The Judgement."
He snaps his fingers and a door emerges from a wall.
"Through there will be a Judge. They will assess your life, your actions and determine if you belong in Heaven or Hell. But first Sir, enjoy your drink. It will change to what ever it is you desire."
As he says this it suddenly changes to a tall glass with a dark liquid, it has cream on top with a flake poking from the top of the cream. I take a sip. Hot chocolate. Gorgeous.
"Enjoy your room sir, look around and remember memories, family and friends and laughs you have had. When you are ready, please exit through the door."
He smiles and disappears.
I'm left with my drink and sadness in my heart.
A room full of my life. Where to begin?
(Been a lurker on here for a while and first time writing. Liked the prompt and gave it a go. Hope you liked it. On mobile, so sorry for formatting) | It was the soft sound of music that finally shook him out of deep dark sleep. As he blinked his eyes open, the first sensation after the music that came was the smell of wood mixed with alcohol and a familiar squeaking of glass being rubbed with cloth. It took several more blinks and a considerable shaking of head to get out of the sleepy state. When he finally straightened up on the bar chair, he looked around. The place was unfamiliar, yet reminiscent. A completely different bar with more pub-like feel to it - old, unfamiliar trophies and soccer team flags and jerseys on the walls, many empty, slightly dusty chairs and tables, huddled under low lamps. And the bar, situated right in the middle of the square space. The only thing out of the ordinary was the music, classic...piano? That's where Michael Thomas was sitting, slightly dazed, with grey clothes he doesn't remember owning and sense of confusion running through his mind. He finally made eye contact the only other being in the pub - the bar tender.
"Woken up, haven't ye?" he asked with a smile. Michael noticed that this man's eyes were so brilliant blue, he felt like every glance pierced right through him.
"Where am I?" Michael spoke and felt his voice coarse and his throat dry. He tried to cough, but it didn't help. The bar tender poured some brown liquid into a heavy crystal glass (which also seemed to be out of place in this slightly run down pub) and offered it to him. Michael took a sip and felt the burning liquid clearing up his throat immediately. Mike felt into his pocket, looking for his wallet that wasn't there. The bar tender chuckled and held up his hand, shaking his head:
"Don't bother. You paid the ultimate price to get 'ere. Seems a little unfair to make ye pay for anything else, righ'?"
"Right..." Mike stared at the brilliant blue eyes of otherwise quite ordinary looking bar tender and felt his words were correct, yet he didn't know why. He lifted the glass back to his lips and emptied it. The liquid warmed him up as it went down, quite pleasantly so. The music continued and Mike could swear it got a little bit louder. After a long silence, during which the bar tender returned to squeakily cleaning the glasses, Michael spoke:
"I don't think I remember how I got here...or what it took me to to do...or why" words came out on their own and through the daze which wasn't unlike that of long sleep after even longer night.
"Oh, I'm not surprised" the bartender chuckled, his entire, roundish body lulling "you made quite an exit, bet it took a lot out o' ye"
"Exit? From where?" Michael felt surprised, his hand gripping heavy glass harder.
"Oh" the bartender leaned onto the bar, closer to Michael "I see ye not remember much, ech? Well, it'll pass, lad."
"Can...can I ask where am I, exactly? What state?"
"State?" this sent the bartender laughing out loud "well, if you really want to know, 'ow about you tell me? Where you think you are?"
Michael looked around. The pub had no windows, only two doors, one on the left of the bar and another to the right. Mike saw footprints in the dust coming from the door on the right that stopped right at his chair. So he came from there. Mike stood up, feeling somewhat lighter than usual, and walked to the door. He tried to pull on the round brass handle, but the door didn't give. He pushed harder. The door didn't even budge.
"Nah, laddie, that won't do" the bartender clacked his tongue "once you come in, going back through there is an impossible chore. Your door is tha' way" he pointed at the door on the left - much cleaner version, clearly more often used, the brass handle there shinning. Yet it terrified Michael to even touch that door and he didn't know why. Also it was at this point where his mind registered that music coming from unseen speakers is truly getting louder. Mike felt he should panic, but his emotions didn't listen to him and seem to have the mind of their own all of a sudden. He scratched the base of his forearms that suddenly got itchy and returned to the bar.
"So...I'm not in any state, I can't go back the way I came and...I have to go through that door" he pointed to the clean door on the left.
"Pretty much, correct" the bartender nodded, still leaning over the bar "yer one of them hesitant ones, ain't ye?" he scoffed.
"Well I just don't...remember much" Mike sighed "not how I got here, nor why. I know I will need to go through that door but...now it makes me uneasy somehow, you know?"
"Aye, I do, I do" the bartender nodded "yer not the first one to come through my place, I assure ye and a whole lot of ye say the same thing"
"But where do those other come from? And why do they come here?"
"Ooh, all sorts of reasons. Some look for something they lost, others want new experiences, extreme, ye know. A bit of both for you, I reckon"
"A bit of...I lost something" Michael immediately knew it was correct. His forearms itched again and the sound of piano got even louder. Now he needed to focus to hear what the bartender was saying.
"Aye, look like it" he reached under the bar and took out an unmarked bottle, pouring out of it another glass and pushing it towards Michael "how about one more for the road. The siren is gettin' loud, you ought to be on yer way, laddie"
"The...what?" Michael wasn't sure he heard right over loud piano music. The itching on his forearms got worse, he barely stopped himself from scratching.
"The *siren*" bartender waved around, indicating the air filled with loud sounds "last thing you heard before the exit. Must 'ave been quite nice, but it'll get out of hand soon. Better be off" the bartender almost shouted now. Michael looked at those brilliant blue eyes, unreadable and (!) unblinking. He downed his drink and turned around towards the door. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew he shouldn't do this, but as he put his hand on the brass handle, it suddenly became clear this is exactly where he should be.
He pushed the door.
The music stopped. In front of Mike was a space full of thick blackness, shimmering as if in the wind. The only thing that he could see was a narrow cobbled road, illuminating itself, for other than the pub, no light source seemed to exist. In sudden silence, Michael heard dripping on the floor and it took him a second to realize his own blood from straight slits on his forearms dripped down on the dusty floor. His memory, as if yanked from underneath somewhere, flared and he knew exactly what he needed to do. Mike turned to the bartender.
"Thanks for the drink" he said.
"Anytime, laddie" the bartender smirked "don't know if ye find what yer lookin' for, but good luck anyway."
Michael didn't say anything. He didn't like thanking for good luck. It might kill it. He clenched a fist and took the first step onto the infinite cobbled road.
*I made it.* He thought. *Now...Gertrude. I will find you. For sure.*
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[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | “Maybe.” The old man respond. He takes another shot of scotch, which burns down his throat. “If I had died in an accident, maybe I would have paid enough. But I had a decent life, and these old bones need a rest, you know?” The bartender looks at him, calmly reading his face. “Natural or unnatural, death is still a steep price to pay,” He responds. “Not many are willing to part with their lives and memories like you are, sir.” The old man sits there, drinking some more. “That’s a true statement. But sometimes, Death is a reward that sets us free. We are burdened by the twists and torments of life that eventually, death can be a relief.” As he says this, he thinks about the inheritance fight between his children, the pain of cancer, the struggle of watching his wife forget him. “Yes, death can be a reward to some.” He takes another shot, ignoring the tears on his face. “How about one for the road?” The bartender gently smiles as he pours him a final bit of scotch, which the old man downs. As the old man rises, he puts on an old cabbie cap. “Here’s to the next life.” As he walks towards the door, the bartender calls out, “Have a good life sir.” The door opens, and light floods the room. As the door closes, the bartender looks towards the couch with a young woman waking up. “Welcome,” The bartender says. | "I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite understanding what he meant.
"What's the last thing you remember, friend?" he asked in return, sliding over a glass of scotch on the rocks.
That was the question that shook me. I was in the city, with my wife. We were walking along when--
"There you go," the barkeep chuckled. "Got hit, ain't ya?"
I jumped up to my feet immediately. "Where's Ellie? Is she okay?"
"Your gal is fine. You got her out of the way." I sighed, slumping back into the chair. "You're quite calm for someone who just realized he's dead."
"'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,'" I quoted, sipping the drink. It went down so smoothly I didn't even think it was alcoholic. At this point, I soaked in my surroundings. The bar looked like a dive from my hometown, the shitty little tavern my dad would drag me to while he drank himself silly. Some of the memories there were sour, but the good outweighed the bad.
Seeing it now--like my mind was filling in the gaps of what I saw--brought me a sense of comfort. The worn, cracked tiles on the floor, the peeling and chipping varnish on the wooden bar, the stink of stale beer and greasy cheesesteaks. It all brought me a strong feeling of peace. "So this is limbo?"
"In a way. More like the crossroads." The bartender pointed to the door directly behind me. "That door leads to final judgement. Your god will be meeting you there--judging by the ouroboros around your neck, I'm guessing you're either a pagan or a heathen. Up to you if you want to try that. That door *there,"* he pointed to his left, my right, the far end of the bar, "leads to reincarnation. You get judged again, but it might not end up in eternal torment."
"Can't I stay? Right here, with you? Wait for my wife?"
He laughed warmly. "I'm afraid you'd get bored fast, son. I'm not much of a conversationalist anymore."
I shrugged, and downed my drink. "Thank you for the warm reception...Charon? Can I call you that?" I extended my hand.
"That name's as good as any," he replied, shaking my hand. "Best of luck to you."
The door behind me, now directly ahead, was just a plain, metal door, painted a boring beige with a stainless steel plate where the knob would have been. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward it, and pushed it open without a second glace back. | |
[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | Trevor awoke with a start, falling backwards off of the stool he was sitting on. He fearfully pushed himself backwards, pushing tall chairs and smaller, tall, round tables out of the way as he went, throwing glances around the entirety of his surroundings taking in as much information as possible as quickly as he could. When his back impacted the wooden leg of something, he stopped, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Gradually his mind reconciled what he was seeing. He seemed to be in a bar of some sort. Reaching up behind him, his hand touched the edge of what he gathered to be a pool table, and he felt the reassuring sensation of the felt under his fingertips. It looked similar to those that he had partied in when he toured Northern Europe. There were great barrels of something or other lining the back wall behind the bar, with various expensive looking bottles interspersed between them. Hanging from the ceiling were lighting fixtures that swung mere feet above the tables, fashioned to look like torch holders you'd expect in a renaissance fair and flickering with an LED representation of firelight. Glancing around once more, he could see no other occupant and assumed he was alone. That is, until a voice echoed from behind the bar following the clinking of glasses.
"Ah, so you've come to. I was wondering how long it would take you," Trevor craned his neck but soon realised that was unnecessary as a towering monster of a man stood from where he had ducked under the bar. He was at least six and a half feet tall with broad round shoulders that filled his white button shirt with rolled up sleeves to bursting. His chest length dirty blonde hair mostly hung freely around his head and thick neck with a single braid off to one side. His face could be described as classically handsome with a thick, well manicured beard, tall and broad nose, and a stern brow that framed one ice blue eye and an eye patch. The man was holding two crystal steins and turned to one of the large barrels on the wall to fill them. "Come, sit, brother. Drink with me."
Cautiously, Trevor stood and gave the room another thorough look. There did not seem to be a single other soul in the establishment besides them, even as he walked around the pool table, checking from all angles. Listening carefully, he heard nothing but his own breathing, the hum of the LED lights around him, and the sloshing of the liquid filling the large vessels the man-mountain was holding. Sensing no immediate danger, he slowly made his way back to the bar, and the stool he had toppled from. "B- Brother?" He stammered as he watched the massive man through narrowed eyes, "As far as I know, I'm an only child."
Dropping one of the crystal cups onto the side of the bar closer to Trevor, tossing some of the liquid onto the glossy surface, the man grinned through his perfect facial hair, "Ha! Of course you are. But aren't we men all brothers in some way or another? Brothers of blood is just one form. Blood brothers is another. Men who have pledged themselves to protect one another through thick and thin. Brothers in arms is another again! One I'm sure you understand, no doubt! The thrill of battle pulsing through your heart, pumping adrenaline through your veins, reveling in the fight with your brothers by your side, felling enemies like so much tall wheat! Ah, just thinking about it gets my pulse racing." The man raised his glass and held it aloft, waiting for Trevor to do the same. Seeing nothing else to do and, truthfully, feeling parched himself, he obliged. "SKOL!" The man said as he looked deep into Trevor's eyes, then he threw the vessel back and drank deep.
Trevor raised an eyebrow and repeated the word, "Um...Skol." Then took what he intended to be a sip, but when the liquid touched his tongue, he could not help but throw it back as his host had done. The golden stream that entered his mouth was cold, frothy, and sweet. It was like drinking honey the viscosity of water and as Trevor realised that his lungs needed to vent lest he pass out, he dropped the glass to the bar and saw that more than half of the stein, roughly the size of his forearm, was gone.
"HA! Well done, brother! A worthy draught if I ever saw one." The host drained the last of his own cup and turned to refill it. Trevor looked into the cup, imagining the price of such a delicious brew when it clicked that he had accepted it without thinking of payment. He reached back to his wallet and pulled it out, but as he opened it a massive hand pushed it back down. "No, brother, put that away. Your money isn't welcome here. Not that it matters anymore anyway, but you paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything I have to offer, does it not?"
As the man said the words, everything before he woke up here started rushing back to Trevor's mind. When he understood, a tear fell from his eye and one question burned on the tip of his tongue. "I... Who... Who are you?" The ice blue of his host's eye flared for a moment almost like magic.
"Aaah, that's a story that deserves payment, I suppose. Tell me yours first and I will tell you mine. Tell me how you got here, brother." He leaned down and put both elbows on the bar, one hand grasping the handle of his stein.
Trevor wiped his eye on his sleeve and saw that his clothes had changed from a suit to his tactical gear. "It was... It was my first day in SWAT. After coming back from Iraq there wasn't really much else for me to do, you know? I figured it was either join the cops or a private security company, but it was because of rich assholes that we were sent over there in the first place, so I thought I'd rather help the every man instead. The exams were easy, nothing compared to SEAL training. Anyway, yeah, first day in the field and we're called to a hostage situation. Standard op, we surround the building, enter through unguarded halls or stairwells. Everything was going great and I was first into the room with the gunman. Well..." He choked up and coughed to get his bearings, "He had, uh... He had already taken out most of the hostages quietly. The sick fuck had slit their throats and gouged out their eyes. I guess his plan was to get his demands met and be out of there before the cops knew what was happening inside. He was advancing on a woman who seemed to have gone comatose with trauma at what she'd seen. Well... I screamed in rage and charged at the motherfucker. He whipped around and I felt a pressure in my chest but I didn't pay attention to it as I threw my fists into his skull again and again and again. I vaguely remember the sensation of his face bones caving in before I blacked out..." he looked around for a moment then back into his drink, "then... Then I woke up here." Without another word he downed the rest of his stein. As he lowered it slowly to the bar, he looked into the one icy blue orb of his host.
Wordlessly, the man took the glass and turned, refilling it with the bubbling golden beverage. As he gingerly placed it in front of Trevor, he spoke, "A warrior of honour. Your berserker rage was brought on by the injustice of innocents being slaughtered for no gain other than mental pleasure of one not worthy of this place. You, Trevor Jamesson. You are worthy." The white shirt began to shimmer and glow and shift before Trevor's eyes as the giant threw back his stein again and drained it in one. His shirt had become a suit of shining silver armour and his right hand held a dangerous looking great spear as thick as Trevor's forearm. His left hand slammed the glass vessel down on the counter and Trevor expected it to shatter but it stayed and rang with a heavenly chime. "I am Odin Borrsson! WELCOME to Valhalla!"
---
Probably a super predictable take but I liked to concept of the prompt. Thanks for coming up with it! | "I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite understanding what he meant.
"What's the last thing you remember, friend?" he asked in return, sliding over a glass of scotch on the rocks.
That was the question that shook me. I was in the city, with my wife. We were walking along when--
"There you go," the barkeep chuckled. "Got hit, ain't ya?"
I jumped up to my feet immediately. "Where's Ellie? Is she okay?"
"Your gal is fine. You got her out of the way." I sighed, slumping back into the chair. "You're quite calm for someone who just realized he's dead."
"'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,'" I quoted, sipping the drink. It went down so smoothly I didn't even think it was alcoholic. At this point, I soaked in my surroundings. The bar looked like a dive from my hometown, the shitty little tavern my dad would drag me to while he drank himself silly. Some of the memories there were sour, but the good outweighed the bad.
Seeing it now--like my mind was filling in the gaps of what I saw--brought me a sense of comfort. The worn, cracked tiles on the floor, the peeling and chipping varnish on the wooden bar, the stink of stale beer and greasy cheesesteaks. It all brought me a strong feeling of peace. "So this is limbo?"
"In a way. More like the crossroads." The bartender pointed to the door directly behind me. "That door leads to final judgement. Your god will be meeting you there--judging by the ouroboros around your neck, I'm guessing you're either a pagan or a heathen. Up to you if you want to try that. That door *there,"* he pointed to his left, my right, the far end of the bar, "leads to reincarnation. You get judged again, but it might not end up in eternal torment."
"Can't I stay? Right here, with you? Wait for my wife?"
He laughed warmly. "I'm afraid you'd get bored fast, son. I'm not much of a conversationalist anymore."
I shrugged, and downed my drink. "Thank you for the warm reception...Charon? Can I call you that?" I extended my hand.
"That name's as good as any," he replied, shaking my hand. "Best of luck to you."
The door behind me, now directly ahead, was just a plain, metal door, painted a boring beige with a stainless steel plate where the knob would have been. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward it, and pushed it open without a second glace back. | |
[WP] You wake up in an unfamiliar bar. It's empty spare for the bartender. He makes you a drink and hands it over, but when you get your wallet out, he holds up his hand to stop you. "You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?" | The bartender is Ted Danson. Or at least, he looks a hell of a lot like him.
*What can I get you? It’s happy hour by the way*
“Why am I in here? Isn’t it really early?”
*Well yes and no. Here*, Ted gestures around the empty bar, *is timeless. It’s just here to help you transition to what comes next. And that’s my job.*
“What comes next? So, you’re not a bartender?” I’m confused now, but oddly calm.
*I’ve been called many things. A spirit guide, the ferryman. But I am also a bartender. Here.* He hands me a whisky, neat, just the way I like it. *So, what do you remember?*
“I remember.” I stop. I breathe. No air rushes into my lungs. I panic. I open and close my mouth frantically, trying to fight the suffocating sensation.
Ted leans over, taking my hand away from my mouth. He holds it comfortingly.
*Relax, and tell me what you remember*
“I…I remember I was running. I’d just kissed my husband goodbye, he was heading off to work.”
*Good, good*, Ted says soothingly, *What happened next?*
It was coming back to me, moments of my life. Those last precious moments frozen like flies in amber. Preserved as single snapshots in my mind. Tom’s coffee breath, his slight shiver as he stepped outside to catch the bus. Me telling him to be careful, to not slip on the ice. His warm, deep laugh as he reminded me, he’d always had better balance than me.
*I know, I know. You’ve lost a lot. But do you remember what happened next?*
I nod, my eyes filling with tears. Ted slides me another drink. I’d never been an alcoholic, never one for binge drinking. But now, God above I needed that drink.
I’d put on my trainers, done some stretches, and stepped out onto the front step. The roads were still a bit icy, we only get a few days of snow a year, so the salt trucks are never as prepared as they should be. I’d started to breathe deeply, sending up clouds of water vapor as I got used to the cold air. Then I was off, starting off slowly, finding my rhythm.
Then I turned the corner and saw her.
Crossing the road.
Dark coat, head down, schoolbag on her back. Her ears were covered by a beanie, her eyes were looking at her feet as she navigated the treacherous road.
Then I saw *it.*
Powering down the road, turning the corner, seeing her. Slamming on the brakes. Skidding.
And then I see that moment. Frozen in time. I see my own point of view as I make the decision. I was already running, I just altered my course. Sprinting over the road.
I dived, throwing myself at the child, my own safety forgotten. And the car was upon us, I hear the child grunt as my weight hits her from behind. The car was a beast now, metal and glass and power and pain and devastation and confusion and then…
I look up at Ted, tears rolling down my face.
*I’m sorry*, he says sadly, *You’ve sacrificed so much*.
“Did I do it?” I ask, my voice barely recognisable behind my sobs. “Was it worth it?”
*Of course it was worth it*, he says, *you made a choice to save a complete stranger. You sacrificed yourself to save the life of someone you don’t even know!* He laughs, a short bark, filled with wonder and disbelief. *You threw yourself on that girl to save her, even if you died in the process. If that’s not just the most human thing I’ve seen…* He trailed off.
I hang my head again, wiping my tears away. “Well, at least she survived. At least my sacrifice was worth something.”
*You don’t understand*, Ted said, looking away, *it doesn’t matter if you saved her or not. You tried. You were willing to die to save her, so regardless of whether or not you saved her, you are still a hero, do you see?*
Another flash. The last one. An image of me lying, broken and mangled on the floor, my vision slowly darkening. And underneath me, a much smaller figure, crying out. The noise stopped, and I never thought that silence could be worse than the sound of a dying child screaming for its mother. The figure beneath me moved, twitching once. Then it fell still.
“But, I failed? She still died? Then what was the point?” The tears are back, stronger than ever.
*Yes, you both died. But could you have ever lived with yourself if you’d done nothing?*
I laugh mirthlessly, and struggle up out of my seat, wiping my eyes.
“So,” I say gesturing at the pile of glasses, the bottle of whisky, “What do I owe you, for all of this?”
Ted Danson smiles sadly, his kindly eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
*You paid the ultimate price to get here. Seems a little unfair to make you pay for anything else, right?*
&#x200B;
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Feedback is as welcome as ever! | I sat down at the bar and looked at the bartender quizzically.
"The entree fee was steep, but not *that* steep" I said while reaching for my drink.
The bartender raised an eyebrow as I downed the mysterious beverage.
"How much was that 'fee' exactly?"
I started to reply when my words were halted. I knew I paid something to get in, but I couldn't remember the precise amount. $10? $15? Surely not $20. Yet, no matter how hard I concentrated, the memory of directly before entering the bar was a mess of confusion.
"Would you like another drink?" asked the bartender.
I looked down and noticed my glass was empty and handed it to him wordlessly. I opened my mouth and hesitated yet again. This time I found more courage.
"I don't remember the precise amount, but I remember the feeling that it wasn't too bad,"
I paused and took a sip of the new drink the bartender set before me, "considering your establishment's fine selection" I added before setting the glass back.
The bartender had started wiping down some shot glasses and shook his head with dismay at my last comment. I thought he may have been being humble at my praise, but his response froze me to my stool.
"You have a poor concept of worth, my friend, if you think the price was fair. The only way to access this bar is to surrender your soul and forfeit your previous life," the bartender gestured around the empty room "but the company isn't bad and the drinks will always stay good."
I stared at the bartender in confusion. Slow realization crept on me and I looked back down at my drink. This time, it was a shot of a dark black liquid. I threw my head back and downed the delicious drink and set it in front of the bartender before saying:
"Like I said, I didn't think the cost was too bad." | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | And so it was that the man who built an empire was taken into hospital, and the world was forever changed.
Before him, the world was drab and dull. Very few exceptional people existed, yet people yearned for them. Children wanted to hear about extraordinary people, people to look up to, people to keep them safe. Then, as if from the dreams of Jesus Christ himself, a man so great, and so exceptional, steps forward from the pages of history.
First, he creates life, weaves personalities into his creations, inspires hope, instills fear, and yet is loved by all. Nobody knows just how he does it, all they know is that he does it with such precision and dedication, that mere mortals can only watch in astonishment.
&#x200B;
And now we say goodbye, as that one man who changed the lives of so many others, says goodbye to his own, and steps into the annals of legend.
&#x200B;
Nuff said. | Some would not recognize this man’s work as “art”, but he was an artist. From his small island kingdom he told stories. But they were a special kind. These stories allowed people who experienced it to be its main characters. To live in these adventures, to hear the words and songs, fight many a snake and iron giants, and see it to their end how many lives it took.
Many years this man and his peers crafted wonderful narratives. But on the fifth one, he suddenly left the workshop he worked in. Some say it was not amicably. Some say he was banished. Even when people from another kingdom, enthraled by his stories, wanted to recognize this man for his work, the workshop would not allow him to be awarded. This angered many and was widely perceived as a bad move.
But the man was not done with the art. With some help, he built his own workshop, and called upon old and new heroes to join him on a quest: to weave a new tale with cutting-edge techniques and true originality.
Time will tell whether this man’s upcoming work of art will be a magnum opus, and once again mesmerize the hearts and imagination of even those who are hiding under a box. | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | A long time ago in a place far away, there was a terrible and evil king that threatened to take over the entire world. All of the good kings and queens joined together to stop the evil king, but even with all of their might combined his armies marched on and the people suffered and died. His armies seemed invincible and there was no one who could defeat them. All of the good people cried out in despair and they feared that the evil king would soon destroy them all.
One day in these dark times, a mysterious man appeared in the court of a good Queen of a small kingdom and asked for an audience. All of the nobles whispered among themselves, trying to find out who he could be, but none of them knew. The man bowed before the queen.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher,” he spoke, never lifting his head. “I come to you to offer my services. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” exclaimed the Queen. “Even now his planes fly over us and bring destruction and torment every night. Every day I see my people suffer and I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “The armies seem invincible but they are not. The evil king is using sorcerers to write hidden messages in the skies to tell the planes where to go and where to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the skies and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your people which towns are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in seven days’ time, and I will need one hundred men to help me.”
The nobles laughed at him, saying “How could someone do such a thing in such a short time? Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in seven days’ time so that I may save my people, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For seven days and seven nights, the Cipher worked to build his machine. Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, he finished. The men the Queen had given him could not help but to marvel at the contraption. It was bigger than the mightiest horse and made wondrous noises, but it was also finer and more detailed than the most intricate clockwork. The Cipher turned on the machine and with a whistle and a whir it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sky and, in an instant, he knew where the evil king planned to send the planes to attack the good kings and queens. The Queen was pleased that her people would be safe.
***
The next day, the Cipher came back to court. He bowed before the Queen again, even lower than before, with his head almost to his knees.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer my services again. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening in the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” cried the Queen. “Even now his ships and submarines sail the ocean seas and attack us. Every day they prevent us from sending help and aid to our allies. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “His armies seem invincible but that is simply not true! The evil king is using even more powerful sorcerers than before to write hidden messages in the seas to tell his ships where to go and when to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the seas and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your ships which seas are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in three days’ time, and I will need only ten men to help me.”
Again, the nobles mocked him, crying out, “He is a madman! The last time was an accident or he was lucky! This time he claims to do the same, but faster and with less help. Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in three days’ time so that I may help our allies, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For three days and three nights, the Cipher worked to build the new machine. Finally, on the morning of the third day, he finished. The handful of workers that the Queen had provided were in awe of the amazing device. It was larger than a house, with bells and gears, but it was also more beautiful and dazzling than the finest jewels. The Cipher started the machine and with a clang and a crash it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sea and, in and instant, he knew where the evil king’s ships and submarines were. The Queen was greatly pleased that she could send help to her allies, and the people rejoiced.
***
The following day, the Cipher was back in court before the Queen and her nobles. This time, his head was bowed so low as to almost touch the ground.
“Oh Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer you my services once more. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the entire world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, then he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher! You should know already, but of this I am aware!” the Queen declared. “Even now his armies stand strong and his soldiers march against us. My allies and I would attack him but we would surely be overrun. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said with a smile. “His armies may seem invincible but that will end soon. The evil king is using his most powerful sorcerers to send hidden messages through the very earth in order to direct his armies. If we could know where they are then you would defeat the evil king in a single blow!”
The Queen sighed. “Good Cipher, such a thing must be impossible. Sadly, there is no one who could have such knowledge!”
“O Queen. I will create one last machine, one that will pull those hidden messages from the earth and give them to you, so that you and your allies can defeat the evil king at last.”
The nobles could stand to hear no more and finally shouted out, “Our Queen, this man tells lies! To trust him would be to trust in folly! This man is a fool and a liar and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you all of the men and materials you need to build this machine of yours. When will you have the messages ready?”
Confidently, the Cipher announced, “O Queen, I require no men this time for I will build this machine alone. And I will deliver the messages to you in one day’s time. O Queen, it will be done.” The Cipher rose from his bow and departed, leaving the Queen and her nobles stunned in silence.
For the rest of the day and all through the night the Cipher worked and worked on his last machine. Finally, as the sun rose and dawn broke, he completed his task. When the people woke up and went outside, they saw a device as large as the Queen’s castle and so indescribably perfect that they could not help but to fall to their knees and weep at the sight of it. Exhausted, the Cipher turned on the machine and with a hum softer than a kitten’s purr it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages out from the earth. In an instant, he knew where all of the evil king’s armies were. Before the end of the day, the evil king was defeated by the Queen and all of the other good kings and queens and the world was saved. The people let out a jubilant cry in celebration.
***
Three days passed and the Queen planned a festival with a great feast with the Cipher as the guest of honor. He was seated at the Queen’s left hand, with the Princess to the Queen’s right and the nobles all around.
The Queen rose and addressed the gathered people. “Good Citizens, we are here to honor the Cipher, who worked hard to help us defeat the evil king. Without him, we would surely have been destroyed!” The people cheered and applauded, and she continued. “Such great heroism deserves a great reward!”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, his interruption drawing angry scowls from the gathered nobles. The Queen turned to see the Cipher standing, head bowed deeply once more. “O Queen, I thank you for the honor, but I did not do this for a reward. I am a simple man and I simply did what needed to be done.”
“Nonsense! Good deeds deserve a reward, and rewarded you shall be,” the Queen proclaimed. “Good Cipher, you will bow your head no longer. Tonight, you shall be wed to my daughter, the Princess, and we shall become as family!” With that announcement, the crowd once again cheered.
The Cipher raised his head and looked over at the Princess, who shyly smiled back at him. And this would be the point of the tale where the Cipher and the Princess lived happily ever after, but unfortunately it was not meant to be. For when the Cipher looked at the Princess, in his heart he felt nothing at all.
| Some would not recognize this man’s work as “art”, but he was an artist. From his small island kingdom he told stories. But they were a special kind. These stories allowed people who experienced it to be its main characters. To live in these adventures, to hear the words and songs, fight many a snake and iron giants, and see it to their end how many lives it took.
Many years this man and his peers crafted wonderful narratives. But on the fifth one, he suddenly left the workshop he worked in. Some say it was not amicably. Some say he was banished. Even when people from another kingdom, enthraled by his stories, wanted to recognize this man for his work, the workshop would not allow him to be awarded. This angered many and was widely perceived as a bad move.
But the man was not done with the art. With some help, he built his own workshop, and called upon old and new heroes to join him on a quest: to weave a new tale with cutting-edge techniques and true originality.
Time will tell whether this man’s upcoming work of art will be a magnum opus, and once again mesmerize the hearts and imagination of even those who are hiding under a box. | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | Language is a fleeting luxury, existing in the mouths of men for as long as those men have sons whose sons will also have sons. The ancient tongue was no exception.
It was long rumored that in the very smallest part of every living thing, there existed a set of instructions. Succinct but at times redundant, this language was rumored to hold the fate of that being. This fate was made of 3 letter-long words, and consisting of only 4 different letters. Would your father grow old, and forget your face? The language would tell you.
And so many brave adventurers sought to decode the language. Some did not even know the language existed, until they were able to prove it did. Some had recognized patterns, anomalies that proved to be otherwise, in every living thing. One of the old adventurers, to the combined gasp of the adventuring community, had discovered that letters would appear in exact ratios. This grand discovery prompted the story of the two great heroes.
These two heroes had humble beginnings, one the son of a shoemaker and the other that of a tailor. Both, however, soon took a keen interest in life, and started to learn of those who tread bravely before them, those who found the language, and those who decoded it. So they dedicated their lives, fruitlessly, to discovering *how* it was written, and what form the tomes of the language took.
Fruitlessly, that is, until one faithful day. One of the heroes found the other, staring confounded at a page. Afraid, as his colleague refused to answer his calls, the other approached, looking over his shoulder. A bold X lay in front of him, and around it, concentric circles. "Do you know what this means?" and the other's face lit up, "it means we've found how it's written." And so after weeks at work, the picture would appear throughout every kingdom, emboldened by its headline, "Molecular Structure of Nucleic Acids: A Structure for Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid" | Some would not recognize this man’s work as “art”, but he was an artist. From his small island kingdom he told stories. But they were a special kind. These stories allowed people who experienced it to be its main characters. To live in these adventures, to hear the words and songs, fight many a snake and iron giants, and see it to their end how many lives it took.
Many years this man and his peers crafted wonderful narratives. But on the fifth one, he suddenly left the workshop he worked in. Some say it was not amicably. Some say he was banished. Even when people from another kingdom, enthraled by his stories, wanted to recognize this man for his work, the workshop would not allow him to be awarded. This angered many and was widely perceived as a bad move.
But the man was not done with the art. With some help, he built his own workshop, and called upon old and new heroes to join him on a quest: to weave a new tale with cutting-edge techniques and true originality.
Time will tell whether this man’s upcoming work of art will be a magnum opus, and once again mesmerize the hearts and imagination of even those who are hiding under a box. | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | And so it was that the man who built an empire was taken into hospital, and the world was forever changed.
Before him, the world was drab and dull. Very few exceptional people existed, yet people yearned for them. Children wanted to hear about extraordinary people, people to look up to, people to keep them safe. Then, as if from the dreams of Jesus Christ himself, a man so great, and so exceptional, steps forward from the pages of history.
First, he creates life, weaves personalities into his creations, inspires hope, instills fear, and yet is loved by all. Nobody knows just how he does it, all they know is that he does it with such precision and dedication, that mere mortals can only watch in astonishment.
&#x200B;
And now we say goodbye, as that one man who changed the lives of so many others, says goodbye to his own, and steps into the annals of legend.
&#x200B;
Nuff said. | As a boy he was faced with imprisonment and torture, torn from his once luxurious life. On the end of a losing battle, between two religions.
He escaped and took on the place as the rightful leader of a nation. Many say he was cruel, others say a saint. The church claimed he was the anti Christ, sent to relies his avenge on the world.
His faith was tested, as many betrays from the men he once called friends and family.
One betrayal lead him to madness and sickness, with this he had driven his own wife to the brink of insanity.
Lots and lots of bloodshed, corpses lined the streets.
Panic and fear from the nearby nations.
This all came to an end, when his life was taken away by his loved ones.
Still some say he is a hero, others say he was a monster. | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | A long time ago in a place far away, there was a terrible and evil king that threatened to take over the entire world. All of the good kings and queens joined together to stop the evil king, but even with all of their might combined his armies marched on and the people suffered and died. His armies seemed invincible and there was no one who could defeat them. All of the good people cried out in despair and they feared that the evil king would soon destroy them all.
One day in these dark times, a mysterious man appeared in the court of a good Queen of a small kingdom and asked for an audience. All of the nobles whispered among themselves, trying to find out who he could be, but none of them knew. The man bowed before the queen.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher,” he spoke, never lifting his head. “I come to you to offer my services. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” exclaimed the Queen. “Even now his planes fly over us and bring destruction and torment every night. Every day I see my people suffer and I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “The armies seem invincible but they are not. The evil king is using sorcerers to write hidden messages in the skies to tell the planes where to go and where to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the skies and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your people which towns are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in seven days’ time, and I will need one hundred men to help me.”
The nobles laughed at him, saying “How could someone do such a thing in such a short time? Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in seven days’ time so that I may save my people, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For seven days and seven nights, the Cipher worked to build his machine. Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, he finished. The men the Queen had given him could not help but to marvel at the contraption. It was bigger than the mightiest horse and made wondrous noises, but it was also finer and more detailed than the most intricate clockwork. The Cipher turned on the machine and with a whistle and a whir it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sky and, in an instant, he knew where the evil king planned to send the planes to attack the good kings and queens. The Queen was pleased that her people would be safe.
***
The next day, the Cipher came back to court. He bowed before the Queen again, even lower than before, with his head almost to his knees.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer my services again. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening in the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” cried the Queen. “Even now his ships and submarines sail the ocean seas and attack us. Every day they prevent us from sending help and aid to our allies. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “His armies seem invincible but that is simply not true! The evil king is using even more powerful sorcerers than before to write hidden messages in the seas to tell his ships where to go and when to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the seas and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your ships which seas are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in three days’ time, and I will need only ten men to help me.”
Again, the nobles mocked him, crying out, “He is a madman! The last time was an accident or he was lucky! This time he claims to do the same, but faster and with less help. Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in three days’ time so that I may help our allies, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For three days and three nights, the Cipher worked to build the new machine. Finally, on the morning of the third day, he finished. The handful of workers that the Queen had provided were in awe of the amazing device. It was larger than a house, with bells and gears, but it was also more beautiful and dazzling than the finest jewels. The Cipher started the machine and with a clang and a crash it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sea and, in and instant, he knew where the evil king’s ships and submarines were. The Queen was greatly pleased that she could send help to her allies, and the people rejoiced.
***
The following day, the Cipher was back in court before the Queen and her nobles. This time, his head was bowed so low as to almost touch the ground.
“Oh Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer you my services once more. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the entire world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, then he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher! You should know already, but of this I am aware!” the Queen declared. “Even now his armies stand strong and his soldiers march against us. My allies and I would attack him but we would surely be overrun. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said with a smile. “His armies may seem invincible but that will end soon. The evil king is using his most powerful sorcerers to send hidden messages through the very earth in order to direct his armies. If we could know where they are then you would defeat the evil king in a single blow!”
The Queen sighed. “Good Cipher, such a thing must be impossible. Sadly, there is no one who could have such knowledge!”
“O Queen. I will create one last machine, one that will pull those hidden messages from the earth and give them to you, so that you and your allies can defeat the evil king at last.”
The nobles could stand to hear no more and finally shouted out, “Our Queen, this man tells lies! To trust him would be to trust in folly! This man is a fool and a liar and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you all of the men and materials you need to build this machine of yours. When will you have the messages ready?”
Confidently, the Cipher announced, “O Queen, I require no men this time for I will build this machine alone. And I will deliver the messages to you in one day’s time. O Queen, it will be done.” The Cipher rose from his bow and departed, leaving the Queen and her nobles stunned in silence.
For the rest of the day and all through the night the Cipher worked and worked on his last machine. Finally, as the sun rose and dawn broke, he completed his task. When the people woke up and went outside, they saw a device as large as the Queen’s castle and so indescribably perfect that they could not help but to fall to their knees and weep at the sight of it. Exhausted, the Cipher turned on the machine and with a hum softer than a kitten’s purr it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages out from the earth. In an instant, he knew where all of the evil king’s armies were. Before the end of the day, the evil king was defeated by the Queen and all of the other good kings and queens and the world was saved. The people let out a jubilant cry in celebration.
***
Three days passed and the Queen planned a festival with a great feast with the Cipher as the guest of honor. He was seated at the Queen’s left hand, with the Princess to the Queen’s right and the nobles all around.
The Queen rose and addressed the gathered people. “Good Citizens, we are here to honor the Cipher, who worked hard to help us defeat the evil king. Without him, we would surely have been destroyed!” The people cheered and applauded, and she continued. “Such great heroism deserves a great reward!”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, his interruption drawing angry scowls from the gathered nobles. The Queen turned to see the Cipher standing, head bowed deeply once more. “O Queen, I thank you for the honor, but I did not do this for a reward. I am a simple man and I simply did what needed to be done.”
“Nonsense! Good deeds deserve a reward, and rewarded you shall be,” the Queen proclaimed. “Good Cipher, you will bow your head no longer. Tonight, you shall be wed to my daughter, the Princess, and we shall become as family!” With that announcement, the crowd once again cheered.
The Cipher raised his head and looked over at the Princess, who shyly smiled back at him. And this would be the point of the tale where the Cipher and the Princess lived happily ever after, but unfortunately it was not meant to be. For when the Cipher looked at the Princess, in his heart he felt nothing at all.
| As a boy he was faced with imprisonment and torture, torn from his once luxurious life. On the end of a losing battle, between two religions.
He escaped and took on the place as the rightful leader of a nation. Many say he was cruel, others say a saint. The church claimed he was the anti Christ, sent to relies his avenge on the world.
His faith was tested, as many betrays from the men he once called friends and family.
One betrayal lead him to madness and sickness, with this he had driven his own wife to the brink of insanity.
Lots and lots of bloodshed, corpses lined the streets.
Panic and fear from the nearby nations.
This all came to an end, when his life was taken away by his loved ones.
Still some say he is a hero, others say he was a monster. | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | A long time ago in a place far away, there was a terrible and evil king that threatened to take over the entire world. All of the good kings and queens joined together to stop the evil king, but even with all of their might combined his armies marched on and the people suffered and died. His armies seemed invincible and there was no one who could defeat them. All of the good people cried out in despair and they feared that the evil king would soon destroy them all.
One day in these dark times, a mysterious man appeared in the court of a good Queen of a small kingdom and asked for an audience. All of the nobles whispered among themselves, trying to find out who he could be, but none of them knew. The man bowed before the queen.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher,” he spoke, never lifting his head. “I come to you to offer my services. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” exclaimed the Queen. “Even now his planes fly over us and bring destruction and torment every night. Every day I see my people suffer and I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “The armies seem invincible but they are not. The evil king is using sorcerers to write hidden messages in the skies to tell the planes where to go and where to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the skies and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your people which towns are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in seven days’ time, and I will need one hundred men to help me.”
The nobles laughed at him, saying “How could someone do such a thing in such a short time? Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in seven days’ time so that I may save my people, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For seven days and seven nights, the Cipher worked to build his machine. Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, he finished. The men the Queen had given him could not help but to marvel at the contraption. It was bigger than the mightiest horse and made wondrous noises, but it was also finer and more detailed than the most intricate clockwork. The Cipher turned on the machine and with a whistle and a whir it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sky and, in an instant, he knew where the evil king planned to send the planes to attack the good kings and queens. The Queen was pleased that her people would be safe.
***
The next day, the Cipher came back to court. He bowed before the Queen again, even lower than before, with his head almost to his knees.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer my services again. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening in the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” cried the Queen. “Even now his ships and submarines sail the ocean seas and attack us. Every day they prevent us from sending help and aid to our allies. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “His armies seem invincible but that is simply not true! The evil king is using even more powerful sorcerers than before to write hidden messages in the seas to tell his ships where to go and when to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the seas and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your ships which seas are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in three days’ time, and I will need only ten men to help me.”
Again, the nobles mocked him, crying out, “He is a madman! The last time was an accident or he was lucky! This time he claims to do the same, but faster and with less help. Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in three days’ time so that I may help our allies, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For three days and three nights, the Cipher worked to build the new machine. Finally, on the morning of the third day, he finished. The handful of workers that the Queen had provided were in awe of the amazing device. It was larger than a house, with bells and gears, but it was also more beautiful and dazzling than the finest jewels. The Cipher started the machine and with a clang and a crash it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sea and, in and instant, he knew where the evil king’s ships and submarines were. The Queen was greatly pleased that she could send help to her allies, and the people rejoiced.
***
The following day, the Cipher was back in court before the Queen and her nobles. This time, his head was bowed so low as to almost touch the ground.
“Oh Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer you my services once more. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the entire world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, then he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher! You should know already, but of this I am aware!” the Queen declared. “Even now his armies stand strong and his soldiers march against us. My allies and I would attack him but we would surely be overrun. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said with a smile. “His armies may seem invincible but that will end soon. The evil king is using his most powerful sorcerers to send hidden messages through the very earth in order to direct his armies. If we could know where they are then you would defeat the evil king in a single blow!”
The Queen sighed. “Good Cipher, such a thing must be impossible. Sadly, there is no one who could have such knowledge!”
“O Queen. I will create one last machine, one that will pull those hidden messages from the earth and give them to you, so that you and your allies can defeat the evil king at last.”
The nobles could stand to hear no more and finally shouted out, “Our Queen, this man tells lies! To trust him would be to trust in folly! This man is a fool and a liar and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you all of the men and materials you need to build this machine of yours. When will you have the messages ready?”
Confidently, the Cipher announced, “O Queen, I require no men this time for I will build this machine alone. And I will deliver the messages to you in one day’s time. O Queen, it will be done.” The Cipher rose from his bow and departed, leaving the Queen and her nobles stunned in silence.
For the rest of the day and all through the night the Cipher worked and worked on his last machine. Finally, as the sun rose and dawn broke, he completed his task. When the people woke up and went outside, they saw a device as large as the Queen’s castle and so indescribably perfect that they could not help but to fall to their knees and weep at the sight of it. Exhausted, the Cipher turned on the machine and with a hum softer than a kitten’s purr it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages out from the earth. In an instant, he knew where all of the evil king’s armies were. Before the end of the day, the evil king was defeated by the Queen and all of the other good kings and queens and the world was saved. The people let out a jubilant cry in celebration.
***
Three days passed and the Queen planned a festival with a great feast with the Cipher as the guest of honor. He was seated at the Queen’s left hand, with the Princess to the Queen’s right and the nobles all around.
The Queen rose and addressed the gathered people. “Good Citizens, we are here to honor the Cipher, who worked hard to help us defeat the evil king. Without him, we would surely have been destroyed!” The people cheered and applauded, and she continued. “Such great heroism deserves a great reward!”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, his interruption drawing angry scowls from the gathered nobles. The Queen turned to see the Cipher standing, head bowed deeply once more. “O Queen, I thank you for the honor, but I did not do this for a reward. I am a simple man and I simply did what needed to be done.”
“Nonsense! Good deeds deserve a reward, and rewarded you shall be,” the Queen proclaimed. “Good Cipher, you will bow your head no longer. Tonight, you shall be wed to my daughter, the Princess, and we shall become as family!” With that announcement, the crowd once again cheered.
The Cipher raised his head and looked over at the Princess, who shyly smiled back at him. And this would be the point of the tale where the Cipher and the Princess lived happily ever after, but unfortunately it was not meant to be. For when the Cipher looked at the Princess, in his heart he felt nothing at all.
| The blond haired wizard had finally ran out of luck. In the land of sheep on the great western continent, he stood alone among his fallen brethren. Before him stood the army of his hated enemy. Time and time again, he took gambles in his quest to subdue the primitive shaman, counting on his great wizarding skill to see him through so many battles. Today however was different. A great shaman had risen up and was now face to face with him. The blond haired wizard raised his iron wand. He hoped he was one last trick to turn the tide of battle. His lieutenant was holding his own a short distance but would not be able to come to his rescue. He fought the shaman with all the bravery his country expected of him, but the shaman proved better at magic that day. Im a short time, the blond haired wizard fell. The shaman felt a great satisfaction at knowing the scourge of his people will never again bring harm, but he also knew other wizards were in that army, and they were not as brash and reckless as he. It was only a matter of time before they would be overwhelmed. But it wouldn't be that day
I tried a different tactic. I told the story of a 19th century battle of something like in the Harry Potter universe | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | A long time ago in a place far away, there was a terrible and evil king that threatened to take over the entire world. All of the good kings and queens joined together to stop the evil king, but even with all of their might combined his armies marched on and the people suffered and died. His armies seemed invincible and there was no one who could defeat them. All of the good people cried out in despair and they feared that the evil king would soon destroy them all.
One day in these dark times, a mysterious man appeared in the court of a good Queen of a small kingdom and asked for an audience. All of the nobles whispered among themselves, trying to find out who he could be, but none of them knew. The man bowed before the queen.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher,” he spoke, never lifting his head. “I come to you to offer my services. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” exclaimed the Queen. “Even now his planes fly over us and bring destruction and torment every night. Every day I see my people suffer and I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “The armies seem invincible but they are not. The evil king is using sorcerers to write hidden messages in the skies to tell the planes where to go and where to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the skies and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your people which towns are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in seven days’ time, and I will need one hundred men to help me.”
The nobles laughed at him, saying “How could someone do such a thing in such a short time? Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in seven days’ time so that I may save my people, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For seven days and seven nights, the Cipher worked to build his machine. Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, he finished. The men the Queen had given him could not help but to marvel at the contraption. It was bigger than the mightiest horse and made wondrous noises, but it was also finer and more detailed than the most intricate clockwork. The Cipher turned on the machine and with a whistle and a whir it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sky and, in an instant, he knew where the evil king planned to send the planes to attack the good kings and queens. The Queen was pleased that her people would be safe.
***
The next day, the Cipher came back to court. He bowed before the Queen again, even lower than before, with his head almost to his knees.
“O Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer my services again. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening in the world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher, of this I am aware,” cried the Queen. “Even now his ships and submarines sail the ocean seas and attack us. Every day they prevent us from sending help and aid to our allies. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, “His armies seem invincible but that is simply not true! The evil king is using even more powerful sorcerers than before to write hidden messages in the seas to tell his ships where to go and when to attack. I will make a machine that can pull these messages from the seas and deliver them to you, so that you can tell your ships which seas are safe and which are not. I will have it ready in three days’ time, and I will need only ten men to help me.”
Again, the nobles mocked him, crying out, “He is a madman! The last time was an accident or he was lucky! This time he claims to do the same, but faster and with less help. Our Queen, this man is a fool and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you men and materials to build this machine. Deliver to me these messages in three days’ time so that I may help our allies, or I will be very upset.”
“O Queen, it will be done.” With that, the Cipher rose from his bow and left.
For three days and three nights, the Cipher worked to build the new machine. Finally, on the morning of the third day, he finished. The handful of workers that the Queen had provided were in awe of the amazing device. It was larger than a house, with bells and gears, but it was also more beautiful and dazzling than the finest jewels. The Cipher started the machine and with a clang and a crash it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages from the sea and, in and instant, he knew where the evil king’s ships and submarines were. The Queen was greatly pleased that she could send help to her allies, and the people rejoiced.
***
The following day, the Cipher was back in court before the Queen and her nobles. This time, his head was bowed so low as to almost touch the ground.
“Oh Queen, I am the Cipher and I come to offer you my services once more. As you know, the terrible and evil king is threatening the entire world and none of the good kings and queens can stop him. If this continues, then he will soon destroy us all.”
“Good Cipher! You should know already, but of this I am aware!” the Queen declared. “Even now his armies stand strong and his soldiers march against us. My allies and I would attack him but we would surely be overrun. I would give anything to change that, but the evil king’s armies are invincible. No one can stop them.”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said with a smile. “His armies may seem invincible but that will end soon. The evil king is using his most powerful sorcerers to send hidden messages through the very earth in order to direct his armies. If we could know where they are then you would defeat the evil king in a single blow!”
The Queen sighed. “Good Cipher, such a thing must be impossible. Sadly, there is no one who could have such knowledge!”
“O Queen. I will create one last machine, one that will pull those hidden messages from the earth and give them to you, so that you and your allies can defeat the evil king at last.”
The nobles could stand to hear no more and finally shouted out, “Our Queen, this man tells lies! To trust him would be to trust in folly! This man is a fool and a liar and if you listen to him then we will surely be destroyed by the evil king!”
The Queen thought very long and very hard on the matter. Finally, she said, “Good Cipher, I will give you all of the men and materials you need to build this machine of yours. When will you have the messages ready?”
Confidently, the Cipher announced, “O Queen, I require no men this time for I will build this machine alone. And I will deliver the messages to you in one day’s time. O Queen, it will be done.” The Cipher rose from his bow and departed, leaving the Queen and her nobles stunned in silence.
For the rest of the day and all through the night the Cipher worked and worked on his last machine. Finally, as the sun rose and dawn broke, he completed his task. When the people woke up and went outside, they saw a device as large as the Queen’s castle and so indescribably perfect that they could not help but to fall to their knees and weep at the sight of it. Exhausted, the Cipher turned on the machine and with a hum softer than a kitten’s purr it pulled the evil sorcerers’ messages out from the earth. In an instant, he knew where all of the evil king’s armies were. Before the end of the day, the evil king was defeated by the Queen and all of the other good kings and queens and the world was saved. The people let out a jubilant cry in celebration.
***
Three days passed and the Queen planned a festival with a great feast with the Cipher as the guest of honor. He was seated at the Queen’s left hand, with the Princess to the Queen’s right and the nobles all around.
The Queen rose and addressed the gathered people. “Good Citizens, we are here to honor the Cipher, who worked hard to help us defeat the evil king. Without him, we would surely have been destroyed!” The people cheered and applauded, and she continued. “Such great heroism deserves a great reward!”
“O Queen,” the Cipher said, his interruption drawing angry scowls from the gathered nobles. The Queen turned to see the Cipher standing, head bowed deeply once more. “O Queen, I thank you for the honor, but I did not do this for a reward. I am a simple man and I simply did what needed to be done.”
“Nonsense! Good deeds deserve a reward, and rewarded you shall be,” the Queen proclaimed. “Good Cipher, you will bow your head no longer. Tonight, you shall be wed to my daughter, the Princess, and we shall become as family!” With that announcement, the crowd once again cheered.
The Cipher raised his head and looked over at the Princess, who shyly smiled back at him. And this would be the point of the tale where the Cipher and the Princess lived happily ever after, but unfortunately it was not meant to be. For when the Cipher looked at the Princess, in his heart he felt nothing at all.
| And so it was that the man who built an empire was taken into hospital, and the world was forever changed.
Before him, the world was drab and dull. Very few exceptional people existed, yet people yearned for them. Children wanted to hear about extraordinary people, people to look up to, people to keep them safe. Then, as if from the dreams of Jesus Christ himself, a man so great, and so exceptional, steps forward from the pages of history.
First, he creates life, weaves personalities into his creations, inspires hope, instills fear, and yet is loved by all. Nobody knows just how he does it, all they know is that he does it with such precision and dedication, that mere mortals can only watch in astonishment.
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And now we say goodbye, as that one man who changed the lives of so many others, says goodbye to his own, and steps into the annals of legend.
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Nuff said. | |
[WP] Choose a real life historical figure and write about his or her life as you would write a fairy tale or a greek tragedy. But leave out the names so that the readers may guess who the story is about on their own. | How can we judge how successful a hero is? By his power? By his ideals? By how well known he is?
If we were to judge heroes this way then one could say this hero was the greatest hero of them all.
Like all heroes our's begins with a tragic and a harsh childhood. His father was a civil servant who wanted our hero to become just like him. But his Father was mean, cruel and uncaring about his son. Our hero was a child who loved the arts. He would sing for his mother, paint paintings for others and when he grew up he wished to be a pastor.
His father hated what his own son was, whenever his son suggested that he would become like his father he was beaten. Whenever he suggested something his father did not agree with he was beaten. And occasionally he was beaten by his father because his father could beat him.
Despite all these circumstances our hero still wished to become a man of the church for he had great faith, unfortunately that faith was shattered when his brother died at the tender age of 12 from disease.
Though he no longer had faith in god, he still had faith in himself and stubbornly tried to become an artist.
His abusive father however would allow no such thing, forcing him to go to a technical high school he was not allowed to put any effort towards his love of the arts.
If his father had gotten his way, then perhaps our hero's tragic story would have ended here but fate choose him for a different path. And that path began when his father died during his teen years.
From then on he was freed from his father's shadow and begin trying to pursue his true love of the arts, but just his life began looking brighter the only woman that he had ever truly loved at this point in his life, his mother, had died.
Orphaned, poor and without direction he wandered as a beggar for years.
No family, no father, no mother, no brother. All of his love could only be directed at one place, his fellow countrymen.
He was the truest patriot and would do anything for his country, so when war broke out he was one of the first to volunteer.
Most men try everything before enlisting, some fake illness, some lie about their health, others would self mutilate before defending their home country. War produces corpses not heroes. The survivors are named heroes because they're the only ones left to give medals to.
But our hero knew the meaning of sacrifice and he would sacrifice anything to protect the last thing he loved and that was his homeland.
During his time in the army he was recognized several times for bravery, receiving crosses of courage and honor praised by his fellow servicemen and officers alike. But he was still just one man, one person not a hero just yet. One ordinary solider could not change the outcome of an entire war and soon after he was injured and sent back home for treatment, his country lost.
After his countries defeat, it fell into economic ruin. Billions of dollars needed to be paid to the victors and in a few short years the value of his country's paper currency was worth as much as regular paper. Millions of his fellow country men were starving and unemployed.
They needed a hero. They needed hope. They needed him.
He had only one power, it was the power to move people with his words. His Speeches were passionate, fierce from the heart and spoke to the soul of his people. For they were poor, hungry and looking for guidance.
In a little more than a decade he became their undisputed leader.
He spat on the debt his enemies demanded, he militarized his people and returned their fighting spirit. He loved his country and he was prepared to do anything possible to bring it back to it's former glory.
He invaded the oppressors without warning and swiftly forced many to surrender. His nation was once again one to be reckoned with.
He punished and burned those he believed to have caused his people's suffering and pushed nations of the world to their breaking point.
Alas like many heroes his downfall was his pride, his pride in his own nation, believing that they could conquer the entire world and declaring war on one too many nations. He made too many enemies and they united against him to bring him down.
But he would not go quietly no. He would allow himself to be captured and used as a symbol of defeat against his own people. As a last act of self defiance he would take his own life and then order his corpse to be burned before they could use his death to the fullest extent.
In the eyes of many of his countrymen even to this day, he will always be their Fuhrer.
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PS- No I am not some stupid Nazi sympathizer or moronic Holocaust denier, I just thought it would be interesting to try and write Hitler as a hero. | There once was a king, in a far-away land.
Now, this king was a good king, unlike those in many of these tales. He wanted what was best for his kingdom and fought his hardest for that, while the rest of his court was all out for themselves.
This king had great plans for his kingdom. When he took power, the kingdom was falling behind its rivals, while straining against social divisions internally. People thought his kingdom was doomed to fade away into insignificance.
But it wouldn't be for long, as this king had a grand vision for his kingdom, and would see it rise to dominance once again. He flexed all his might, and did what he could to change the kingdom for the better. And he was well on his way to restoring his kingdom to its former glory.
However, some within his country saw differently. They didn't want what the king wanted, for their idea of a good kingdom was one which made them rich, at the expense of the poor. And they hated what this king was doing. So they killed him for having the audacity to change so much.
And that's the lesson to be learned, kids: if you do too much with your life, then you'll make too many enemies. | |
[WP] you are a normal guy. No magic, no superpowers, you’re just a psychologist that works in a therapy office. However cosmic beings, wizards, military generals, aliens, etc.. all schedule appointments with you. Not because you’re the hero. It’s because you give genuinely good advice. | I’m not a hero. I’m not even really a good guy. For better or worse, I guess I’m just a guy that Gods and Superheroes like to blab to.
10 years ago I was a Health Psychologist working for a shady tobacco company. They kept me on the payroll pretty much for the sole reason that, when pressed about our obnoxiously cute teddy bear mascot, they could reasonably claim to be actively researching the negative psychological effects smoking had on kids.
Anyway, with all the health reforms and investigations that went on, the company wound up canning me. I can’t say I blame them.
Generally living the shit out of the rock bottom life, I started selling some pot on the side. To a few friends at first, then friends of friends, and so on. Didn’t take long for me to catch on to the pretty penny waiting to be made in that business if I was willing to try.
So yeah, seven years ago I opened Highpoint Healing Center (pun intended) as a way to covertly sell pot to my rapidly expanding customer base.
They could call and schedule an appointment whenever, come in, trade cash for pot, and we would both leave happy. It was a sweet set up.
Every now and then someone would see the sign outside and come in not knowing. I’d let them talk, do a couple artful nods and stammers, and that’d be that. It always surprised me a little that they would keep coming back, but whatever.
Things got so busy that I eventually realized I had to hire a secretary. It was about that time my Grandma called me up to gossip. This time the scoop centered around the grandkid of her best friend at the nursing home, Janice.
Apparently Janice had been Bio Pre-Med at Berkeley. Got strung out on Adderall and kinda cracked her sophomore year. She’d dropped out and was subsequently looking for work. Perfect timing, I thought.
She gets paid quite a bit better than the average secretary, but it was worth it for someone who I knew I could trust with Highpoint’s dirty little secret.
Then about 4 years ago, this motherfucker named Steve walks in the door. And I mean, Steve is, you know, he’s the kind of guy who wears a scarf in the middle of a Texas summer. Always has a cappuccino in a hand that never stops trembling, whether from stress or caffeine is indistinguishable. There’s something subtly fascinating about him that’s hard to notice at first. It sort of grows around him, like moss on an oak tree. Blending in, adding texture.
It was a Thursday and I’m in my office playing connect four against myself when Janice rings me, “Elliot,” she said, “there’s a guy out here.”
“Uh, alright. Is he looking to book a time,” I ask. Janice can be a little OCD sometimes when people show up off the street without an appointment. It’s usually best to ease her into acceptance.
“I don’t know. I asked him for his name and he’s been staring off into space for the past 10 minutes.”
Ah, I thought, a crazy one. Or a reaaaaalllyy high one. Could be either, honestly.
“Steve,” I hear on the other end of line, “Yeah, that’s it. My name is Steve and I’m looking to get some therapy.”
“Just send him in,” I say. I was bored, and it sounded promising.
That first session Steve and I sat for the entire 40 minutes without a word passing between us.
Afterwards he stood up and said, “This was good. I needed this.”
I rose and stuck out my hand for him to shake, “Glad I could help,” I said.
He looked at me with an absent expression, “Same time next week?”
“You got it,” I said, dropping my hand as casually as I could back to my side.
Janice watched him leave before turning to me and asking, “Did you guys just stare at each other for 40 minutes?”
“Tsk tsk, Janice. You know what I say about listening at the door.”
She shrugged, “I figured he’d have something interesting to say. At first I was disappointed, but about 20 minutes in I became completely enthralled. ‘No way he keeps this up,’ I thought. But he did it, Eliot. And I’ve gotta admit, I’m bizarrely impressed.”
I laughed, but she could’ve taken the words right out of my mouth.
A week rolls by and Janice and I are cautiously getting excited about seeing Steve again.
“There’s a chance he doesn’t show,” I say.
“Don’t say that, Eliot. Think happy thoughts.”
We had a $30 bet on if he showed, and a $50 bet on if he’d talk. Not just small talk, mind you, talk for real.
“Any guy that stonewalls in session one is not gonna talk until session four at a minimum,” was my argument.
“This isn’t any guy,” was the retort.
Low and behold, Thursday comes along and with it, Shaky Steve. He was early. Like, three or four hours early.
Janice opened my door without knocking, sly smile on her face. “Our friend is here,” she said.
“Send him in.”
Janice gives me a double thumbs up as the door closes behind him, punctuating the fact that I owed her $30 bucks.
“What I’m about to tell you will be a bit...” He said.
Shit, he’s gonna talk, I thought. I could practically hear Janice cackling in the future.
“There’s no judgement here. Anything you say stays between us,” I said.
And Janice, I thought, who no doubt is listening with her ear pressed against the door.
“It’s not that,” Steve said, “what I have to say is...hard. Hard for me to say, but also, it will be challenging to hear. It might scramble you up.”
He waited, “In the head.”
“I see. Well, no problem. I take my eggs scrambled anyhow,” I said with a smile.
Steve studied my face, then nodded. “Billions of trillions of years ago, before there was time, before there was even a before, there was my brothers, my sisters, and me. 13 of us, alone but for each other.”
He paused again, perhaps waiting for a response. I kept my face calmly concerned, listening without any attachment of expectation.
Steve cleared his throat and continued, “For ions we thought we had power. And we did, I suppose we still do. Though our scope and influence, we came to discover, was so minuscule on a cosmic scale that we may as well have no power at all.”
“We fell into a trance. A long nothingness. When we woke things were as they had been. If we were gone entirely, I told my siblings, it wouldn’t even matter.”
“Mhm,” I said. And I’m truly not a guy to judge anyone. I once smoked something called “Gopher-Tortoise Soul” and hallucinated that Janice was a talking tortoise for an entire week, no joke.
“We all handled this discovery, this revelation, in our own way.”
“Naturally,” I said.
“Three of my brothers and two sisters shrunk themselves down and have moved from civilization to civilization ever since, essentially acting as somewhat clumsy cosmic janitors. They clean up the little messes that they find, sometimes inadvertently causing others.”
“A brother and a sister decided that the only existence that was rightful was our own and so set out to wipe out all else, another brother and sister disagreed, and the pairs have spent their eternities opposing each other.”
“Yikes,” I said.
“One brother concluded all existence was folly, and so travels about amusing himself and others. A sister felt that only justice, HER justice, mattered. They don’t mean to, but they wind up acting as counterbalance. Some situations require folly, others justice. And so on.”
“Then it was only me and my sister, we stayed together for time without end. She was curious, always trying to gather new information, new perspectives. Eventually, she departed to swallow any and all aspects of knowledge and art that creation created.”
“Thus there was I, Steve. Alone in the Great Ether. Surrounded by the blackness. I floated, half dormant, for three of what you would call forever. The only thing I came to feel was a hollow, aching, emptiness.”
At some point I lost track of the here and now. His words swept me up in a melodic embrace, taking me on a journey through his mind. Or maybe I zoned out, but the other sounds better.
A knock came at the door, silencing Steve and snapping me back to reality. “Dr. Eliot, your 11:00 appointment is here,” Janice said.
“We’ll be a few more minutes, Janice,” I answered.
“Ahem, alright. Just be aware that it’s already 12:04.”
I looked at my watch. “Shit,” I said.
“I’m sorry to take more of your time,” Steve said, “I suppose I can sum everything up with a single question.”
“Right. Go for it,” I said.
Steve nodded, “What do I need to do to find happiness,” he asked, “What do I need to do to earn it? What price must I pay?”
I took in a breath through my nose.
I’m no therapist. I’m a fraud, really. A sham. And this guy, as far as I was knew, was delusional. But I have felt that emptiness before. I have known what it is to lay with eyes half opened, unsure if it was time to sleep or rise. My heart felt the gentle burn of life lived and wisdom gained through fire.
“Happiness is a how, Steve, not a what,” I said, “It’s a talent to be practiced, not a treasure to be found.”
Steve blinked, “Hm. Well that’s a pleasant surprise. I was afraid you were just going to try to sell me pot.”
He shook his head, “but where do I start? How do I practice what is supposed to come naturally,” he asked.
I had an idea. I reached down below my feet and grabbed my set of Connect Four. “Come with me.”
I walked into the lobby to find Janice waiting eagerly in her seat. Somebody owes me 80 bucks, I read in her eyes.
I turned back to Janice, “I’ll take the next apt, in the meantime, Janice, will you teach Steve how to play Connect Four?”
She furled her brow, “Um, yeah, sure.”
“Connect Four,” Steve said, “Four of what? Four people? Planets? Timelines? Realities?”
I put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “You’re in good hands, buddy. Janice is the master.”
The impatient patient stalked into my office before me and began to grouse about the wait.
Just then, I heard the rattle of a piece dropping and a gleeful, childlike, laugh come from outside.
And Steve smiled. | "So run me through that last part again."
The creature in the chair sighed. He looked vaguely humanoid, although with the green skin and giant horns, no one would be mistaking him for one anytime soon.
"I'm telling you, it was an accident. I didn't even KNOW the hole went down to eternal damnation. The last time I was down there, it was definitely the gift shop. "
"I don't quite understand."
The man sitting in the other armchair looked quite unconcerned for someone facing down a green monster almost twice their own size. He wore a plain grey suit, along with a brown tie, charcoal trousers and a vacant expression, completing the middle aged businessman look.
The fireplace that the two chairs faced crackled, casting the otherwise plain room in a rosy glow. The room itself was quite small, its floor covered by a rather horrid looking shaggy maroon carpet. The two chairs were the only furniture there, although the walls were decorated with an assortment of pictures, captioned with lettering much too tiny to read. The man in the suit could be seen in most of them, standing alongside a variety of creatures. There was a single window, opposite the hearth. It revealed nothing but darkness - although thankfully it was open, letting in a steady flow of cool air. Right next to it was a wooden door, with a plaque on it that read "Dr Jerry Mason - Supernatural Therapist"
"Look, I don't know how many times you want me to tell you. I thought you were supposed to be good."
The man's eyes twinkled.
"Look, I'll be honest with you. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You burst into here a half hour ago, and started rambling off in what I'm relatively sure is an old dialect of Latin, mixed in with bits of English and perhaps Infernese? I myself happen to know a few words, but I'm quite certain you didn't bring up anything about cabbages or pandas.
The man's face clouded over for the tiniest of moments.
"That was a night I'd quite like to forget."
The monster cleared his throat, his face now slightly pink.
"Sorry about that - I get nervous around doctors. They're all so confusing, human languages, that I muddle up which one they're all using this century."
The man smiled.
"No worries, we get a lot of folk like you from time to time. If you'd prefer to speak in Infernese, that's quite all right. I believe my assistant Pam is quite fluent."
The monsters face turned even redder.
"No, English is just fine."
"I'll admit, I was quite relieved when you switched to English by the end there. The Infernese was reminding me of some rather bad memories of the last time I was down in Hel. Shall we get started then?"
The monster stuck out a knobbly green hand.
He then proceeded to make a series of noises that resembled a walrus getting the Heimlich manoeuvre.
"But my friends call me Danny. I work down in the Psychopath department of the Bad Place, receptionist. It's pretty fun actually, although it does start to drag on you after the first couple thousand sociopaths. I mean, they never want to accept that they're in Hel, do they?
Danny contorted his face into what one might consider to be a grin, apparently thinking he'd said something quite funny.
The man reached out and shook his hand.
"Well, let's get started then. Pam!"
The door creaked open and a woman with a round face, and bushy brown hair poked head inside. Taking one look at Danny, her expression soured.
"I suppose you want me to enter him in for an session? Quite the rude fellow, nearly knocked me over on his way in here. And don't even get me started on the last time you got involved with the Inferans. Jerry, of all people you must-"
"That's quite enough, Pam. Just enter him in."
Jerry wore a bemused expression on his face, as the woman slammed the door shut in a huff.
'Well', he said, turning to Danny.
"Let's get started."
| |
[WP] you are a normal guy. No magic, no superpowers, you’re just a psychologist that works in a therapy office. However cosmic beings, wizards, military generals, aliens, etc.. all schedule appointments with you. Not because you’re the hero. It’s because you give genuinely good advice. | “I don’t know how I can keep going, Lawrence. No matter how many people I help, no matter how much I do, it will never be enough. I saved over ten thousand people last week when the ferries collided, and now I’m being told that I should have done more, seen the accident happening in advance and saved everyone.”
“Every time there is a crime, no matter how small, the first words that are said about it are ‘Where was Superman?’ It feels like no matter how much I do, it will never be enough. People have started criticizing me for not stopping car accidents, for not getting people to hospitals faster, for not being everywhere.”
“I understand. I mean, I can’t understand what it feels like to be impervious to bullets, or to be able to fly, but I do understand the weight of unreasonable expectations.” I look at the man, sitting crumpled in the chair across from me. His normally strong jaw was unshaven, his form-fitting suit somehow looking almost shabby on him in that moment. “To whom much is given, much is expected, is, I’m sure, a quote you’ve heard before.”
He nods. “JFK. Based off of Luke 12:48. And I’ve tried so hard-“
I hold up my hand to cut him off. “Stop. I don’t mean stop trying. I do mean stop holding yourself to an unreasonable standard. Look instead to what your presence has done here, in Metropolis and in America. Crime rates are down nationally. Except for Gotham and Bludhaven, but I think the Justice League is trying to isolate the Syndicate there. Charitable spending is up, and there are no fewer than five charities in Metropolis that are dedicated to civil service. The first floor of this building is an emergency shelter and a homeless shelter, and the last time someone tried to destroy the city, the homeless people in the area led people here to safety. Not you. Not another costumed hero. When I asked one of the guys why he helped,
he told me ‘The big guy has his job, I have to do my part.’
“You inspire people to look beyond themselves. Not everyone is going to get it right away. There will always be those who see your power as a threat to themselves because of how you change the world. But if you can inspire those who have nothing to give of themselves, then I’d say you just need to focus on being a visible symbol of what we can achieve.”
He cracks a small smile for the first time in an hour. “Truth, justice and the American Way?” he asks, only slightly sarcastically. He stands, and for the first time, I can feel the purpose radiating off of him like heat from a campfire. His head cocks to the side. “I think I hear a bank alarm on Fifth. No. Seventh. The alarm on Fifth has an overtone since it was shot at six weeks ago. Same time next week?”
“Ah, yes. I should be good. Just as always, ignore the Saturday kidnapping. The villains need to talk as well, and they aren’t comfortable coming here.” He shakes his head, sighs, and vanishes in a gust of wind. I crack my neck, finish my notes, and as I notice the green glow under my door, I press the intercom button. “Cindy, you can send in my 3 o’clock. I see he’s arrived.”
| "So run me through that last part again."
The creature in the chair sighed. He looked vaguely humanoid, although with the green skin and giant horns, no one would be mistaking him for one anytime soon.
"I'm telling you, it was an accident. I didn't even KNOW the hole went down to eternal damnation. The last time I was down there, it was definitely the gift shop. "
"I don't quite understand."
The man sitting in the other armchair looked quite unconcerned for someone facing down a green monster almost twice their own size. He wore a plain grey suit, along with a brown tie, charcoal trousers and a vacant expression, completing the middle aged businessman look.
The fireplace that the two chairs faced crackled, casting the otherwise plain room in a rosy glow. The room itself was quite small, its floor covered by a rather horrid looking shaggy maroon carpet. The two chairs were the only furniture there, although the walls were decorated with an assortment of pictures, captioned with lettering much too tiny to read. The man in the suit could be seen in most of them, standing alongside a variety of creatures. There was a single window, opposite the hearth. It revealed nothing but darkness - although thankfully it was open, letting in a steady flow of cool air. Right next to it was a wooden door, with a plaque on it that read "Dr Jerry Mason - Supernatural Therapist"
"Look, I don't know how many times you want me to tell you. I thought you were supposed to be good."
The man's eyes twinkled.
"Look, I'll be honest with you. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You burst into here a half hour ago, and started rambling off in what I'm relatively sure is an old dialect of Latin, mixed in with bits of English and perhaps Infernese? I myself happen to know a few words, but I'm quite certain you didn't bring up anything about cabbages or pandas.
The man's face clouded over for the tiniest of moments.
"That was a night I'd quite like to forget."
The monster cleared his throat, his face now slightly pink.
"Sorry about that - I get nervous around doctors. They're all so confusing, human languages, that I muddle up which one they're all using this century."
The man smiled.
"No worries, we get a lot of folk like you from time to time. If you'd prefer to speak in Infernese, that's quite all right. I believe my assistant Pam is quite fluent."
The monsters face turned even redder.
"No, English is just fine."
"I'll admit, I was quite relieved when you switched to English by the end there. The Infernese was reminding me of some rather bad memories of the last time I was down in Hel. Shall we get started then?"
The monster stuck out a knobbly green hand.
He then proceeded to make a series of noises that resembled a walrus getting the Heimlich manoeuvre.
"But my friends call me Danny. I work down in the Psychopath department of the Bad Place, receptionist. It's pretty fun actually, although it does start to drag on you after the first couple thousand sociopaths. I mean, they never want to accept that they're in Hel, do they?
Danny contorted his face into what one might consider to be a grin, apparently thinking he'd said something quite funny.
The man reached out and shook his hand.
"Well, let's get started then. Pam!"
The door creaked open and a woman with a round face, and bushy brown hair poked head inside. Taking one look at Danny, her expression soured.
"I suppose you want me to enter him in for an session? Quite the rude fellow, nearly knocked me over on his way in here. And don't even get me started on the last time you got involved with the Inferans. Jerry, of all people you must-"
"That's quite enough, Pam. Just enter him in."
Jerry wore a bemused expression on his face, as the woman slammed the door shut in a huff.
'Well', he said, turning to Danny.
"Let's get started."
| |
[WP] you are a normal guy. No magic, no superpowers, you’re just a psychologist that works in a therapy office. However cosmic beings, wizards, military generals, aliens, etc.. all schedule appointments with you. Not because you’re the hero. It’s because you give genuinely good advice. | "So, umm, if I understood correctly Mr Gergaloth, you have already brainstormed a bit how to answer to the deteriorated relationship with your brother?"
Tim had started to get rather comfortable with Gergaloth, despite the fact that the huge meat-pile of man just reeked of violence. The warlord, destroyer of realms, didn't properly fit on the couch with his chain-mail and 7 foot frame, but slowly they both had learn to appreciate these little moments together. Although, in Tim's opinion, the fact that Gergaloth always begun the sessions with some blood-thirsty venting for half an hour, was rather counter-productive.
"Yes! I shall burn all their lands and reign their surviving subject with iron fist! My brothers betrayal and thievery shall not go unpunished - he knows that the the price of such insolence is paid by blood! I shall drink the blood of the inferior beings he seeks refugee from!"
"Ok, so this all comes down him taking the legendary sword thingy you got from your dad right?"
"The Beast-slayers Blade of Doom is an artifact carried in our family for thousands of years! It has been passed to the strongest son always, and with deceit and foul play he escaped like a thief in the night with it! The heinous crime cannot go unpunished!"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Gergaloths thunder-like screaming made the offices cheap IKEA glass cabinets shake for a while. Tim took couple of deep breaths. Despite looking outrageously angry all the time, expressing his feelings mostly through rage, and a lifetime dominated by violence, Gergaloth was very family oriented man (or demigod or something along those lines). During the past 14 months Tim had learned that every social contact besides his patients family was minions and slaves, or just not very meaningful contacts. The issues revolved with the same dysfunctional issues always, although this whole sword-episode was a bit more upsetting than most of the issues (and oh boy was this guy upset about issues).
"Look, as much as I understand that you might be rather angry about the stolen property, I am not sure if killing everyone is the best way to deal with it?"
"How dare you! This is how our house has dealt with treachery! We show no weakness! We show our wrath, and we shall be feared!"
"You see, that might be the issue itself. I know that your family has had bit different problem solving methods. There seems to be always a fear of punishments for failures. If I recall correctly, it has been bit of an inter generational thing between you guys."
"Our father did torment us in flames for misbehavior! To harden us! To become strong! To learn discipline!"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Despite the aggressive language, Tim had gotten more used to the constant threat of violence. His relationship was more client-based, which was unconventional experience also for Gergaloth. They had a very civilized way of acting, despite patient favoring rather aggressive communications model. Tim laid back a bit and wrote down 'creative paternal physical discipline' to his little yellow notebook for future references.
"Yea.. Without going too much on your dads pedagogic methods, would you think that you brother could actually need some support? Hear me out a bit - you told me that your father made you two to duel pretty roughly when you were younger, right?"
"Hah, yes! And my brother always yielded, as I stood stronger! He would never be worthy to carry the Blade of Doom!"
"Well, try to put yourself in his shoes for a bit. Like, he's always been the little brother. Never able to show what he can do, how he can carry out your family business of being the despot of the realm, he might feel a bit uncertain about himself, and wants to actually show you that he can also burn kingdoms and slave millions."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Gergaloth, even as the warmongering, hyper masculine slayer of thousands he was, was not entirely unemphatic fella. You don't get to command armies of hundreds of different kinds and crush rebellions without understanding basic emotional life of other beings. Judging from earlier sessions, Gergaloth was actually pretty decent team leader of his generals, the closest thing that could be called friends, even if their camaraderie was mostly based on business interest. His chain-mail chinked a bit when he took a first deep breath for the whole session, before answering with some patience.
"You think so?"
"Well, he isn't exactly going to sell it, and despite being a man of arts - you told me how he liked to set up the impaled bodies in nice formations - he isn't a collector either. And you wouldn't ever have let him carry that sword, right?"
"No! He is not worthy!"
"Well, maybe you should check up and talk with him about that? He might want to show that he is worthy. Who knows, maybe he did travel across the very deep sea-"
"The Sea of Forgotten Cries and Demons."
"- yea that's the one - not to seek refugees, but to show your family's power in other continents. You haven't really checked his motives have you?"
"No. Not really." Gergaloth sounded like a child, who just understood playing with matches was a security concern and not just an attempt to take away all the fun.
"So, if I can suggest, when I had fights with my older sister, my mom used to talk us about them and help us to come clean. Maybe you could also send your - what was the magic lady friend again?"
"The High Priestess."
"Yes, the High Priestess to talk to your brother. She might hear your brother out, as you two have some communication gaps."
Gergaloth was silent for a bit, then nodded a little bit reluctantly.
"Mine, and my brothers, comradeship has been stronger. I shall send the High Priestess to seek for his motives."
"Yea, that sounds like a decent idea. Wanna have a mint?" Tim passed a little white candy to his client, who sat up and opened his huge palm.
"Thank you Tim. Your advice has once more proven rich and wise. I will reward you with the most beautiful slaves from the Forgotten Kingdom and eggs of Ice Dragons."
"Yea, about that, you should really talk to my secretary about the payment methods before returning to your realm. I know you guys are more keen on having other beings as property, but we use bit of different currency."
"Understood. May your journeys bring great bride to your family, and your foes fear your name."
"Have a good weekend as well Gergaloth." | "So run me through that last part again."
The creature in the chair sighed. He looked vaguely humanoid, although with the green skin and giant horns, no one would be mistaking him for one anytime soon.
"I'm telling you, it was an accident. I didn't even KNOW the hole went down to eternal damnation. The last time I was down there, it was definitely the gift shop. "
"I don't quite understand."
The man sitting in the other armchair looked quite unconcerned for someone facing down a green monster almost twice their own size. He wore a plain grey suit, along with a brown tie, charcoal trousers and a vacant expression, completing the middle aged businessman look.
The fireplace that the two chairs faced crackled, casting the otherwise plain room in a rosy glow. The room itself was quite small, its floor covered by a rather horrid looking shaggy maroon carpet. The two chairs were the only furniture there, although the walls were decorated with an assortment of pictures, captioned with lettering much too tiny to read. The man in the suit could be seen in most of them, standing alongside a variety of creatures. There was a single window, opposite the hearth. It revealed nothing but darkness - although thankfully it was open, letting in a steady flow of cool air. Right next to it was a wooden door, with a plaque on it that read "Dr Jerry Mason - Supernatural Therapist"
"Look, I don't know how many times you want me to tell you. I thought you were supposed to be good."
The man's eyes twinkled.
"Look, I'll be honest with you. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You burst into here a half hour ago, and started rambling off in what I'm relatively sure is an old dialect of Latin, mixed in with bits of English and perhaps Infernese? I myself happen to know a few words, but I'm quite certain you didn't bring up anything about cabbages or pandas.
The man's face clouded over for the tiniest of moments.
"That was a night I'd quite like to forget."
The monster cleared his throat, his face now slightly pink.
"Sorry about that - I get nervous around doctors. They're all so confusing, human languages, that I muddle up which one they're all using this century."
The man smiled.
"No worries, we get a lot of folk like you from time to time. If you'd prefer to speak in Infernese, that's quite all right. I believe my assistant Pam is quite fluent."
The monsters face turned even redder.
"No, English is just fine."
"I'll admit, I was quite relieved when you switched to English by the end there. The Infernese was reminding me of some rather bad memories of the last time I was down in Hel. Shall we get started then?"
The monster stuck out a knobbly green hand.
He then proceeded to make a series of noises that resembled a walrus getting the Heimlich manoeuvre.
"But my friends call me Danny. I work down in the Psychopath department of the Bad Place, receptionist. It's pretty fun actually, although it does start to drag on you after the first couple thousand sociopaths. I mean, they never want to accept that they're in Hel, do they?
Danny contorted his face into what one might consider to be a grin, apparently thinking he'd said something quite funny.
The man reached out and shook his hand.
"Well, let's get started then. Pam!"
The door creaked open and a woman with a round face, and bushy brown hair poked head inside. Taking one look at Danny, her expression soured.
"I suppose you want me to enter him in for an session? Quite the rude fellow, nearly knocked me over on his way in here. And don't even get me started on the last time you got involved with the Inferans. Jerry, of all people you must-"
"That's quite enough, Pam. Just enter him in."
Jerry wore a bemused expression on his face, as the woman slammed the door shut in a huff.
'Well', he said, turning to Danny.
"Let's get started."
| |
[WP] you are a normal guy. No magic, no superpowers, you’re just a psychologist that works in a therapy office. However cosmic beings, wizards, military generals, aliens, etc.. all schedule appointments with you. Not because you’re the hero. It’s because you give genuinely good advice. | I’m not a hero. I’m not even really a good guy. For better or worse, I guess I’m just a guy that Gods and Superheroes like to blab to.
10 years ago I was a Health Psychologist working for a shady tobacco company. They kept me on the payroll pretty much for the sole reason that, when pressed about our obnoxiously cute teddy bear mascot, they could reasonably claim to be actively researching the negative psychological effects smoking had on kids.
Anyway, with all the health reforms and investigations that went on, the company wound up canning me. I can’t say I blame them.
Generally living the shit out of the rock bottom life, I started selling some pot on the side. To a few friends at first, then friends of friends, and so on. Didn’t take long for me to catch on to the pretty penny waiting to be made in that business if I was willing to try.
So yeah, seven years ago I opened Highpoint Healing Center (pun intended) as a way to covertly sell pot to my rapidly expanding customer base.
They could call and schedule an appointment whenever, come in, trade cash for pot, and we would both leave happy. It was a sweet set up.
Every now and then someone would see the sign outside and come in not knowing. I’d let them talk, do a couple artful nods and stammers, and that’d be that. It always surprised me a little that they would keep coming back, but whatever.
Things got so busy that I eventually realized I had to hire a secretary. It was about that time my Grandma called me up to gossip. This time the scoop centered around the grandkid of her best friend at the nursing home, Janice.
Apparently Janice had been Bio Pre-Med at Berkeley. Got strung out on Adderall and kinda cracked her sophomore year. She’d dropped out and was subsequently looking for work. Perfect timing, I thought.
She gets paid quite a bit better than the average secretary, but it was worth it for someone who I knew I could trust with Highpoint’s dirty little secret.
Then about 4 years ago, this motherfucker named Steve walks in the door. And I mean, Steve is, you know, he’s the kind of guy who wears a scarf in the middle of a Texas summer. Always has a cappuccino in a hand that never stops trembling, whether from stress or caffeine is indistinguishable. There’s something subtly fascinating about him that’s hard to notice at first. It sort of grows around him, like moss on an oak tree. Blending in, adding texture.
It was a Thursday and I’m in my office playing connect four against myself when Janice rings me, “Elliot,” she said, “there’s a guy out here.”
“Uh, alright. Is he looking to book a time,” I ask. Janice can be a little OCD sometimes when people show up off the street without an appointment. It’s usually best to ease her into acceptance.
“I don’t know. I asked him for his name and he’s been staring off into space for the past 10 minutes.”
Ah, I thought, a crazy one. Or a reaaaaalllyy high one. Could be either, honestly.
“Steve,” I hear on the other end of line, “Yeah, that’s it. My name is Steve and I’m looking to get some therapy.”
“Just send him in,” I say. I was bored, and it sounded promising.
That first session Steve and I sat for the entire 40 minutes without a word passing between us.
Afterwards he stood up and said, “This was good. I needed this.”
I rose and stuck out my hand for him to shake, “Glad I could help,” I said.
He looked at me with an absent expression, “Same time next week?”
“You got it,” I said, dropping my hand as casually as I could back to my side.
Janice watched him leave before turning to me and asking, “Did you guys just stare at each other for 40 minutes?”
“Tsk tsk, Janice. You know what I say about listening at the door.”
She shrugged, “I figured he’d have something interesting to say. At first I was disappointed, but about 20 minutes in I became completely enthralled. ‘No way he keeps this up,’ I thought. But he did it, Eliot. And I’ve gotta admit, I’m bizarrely impressed.”
I laughed, but she could’ve taken the words right out of my mouth.
A week rolls by and Janice and I are cautiously getting excited about seeing Steve again.
“There’s a chance he doesn’t show,” I say.
“Don’t say that, Eliot. Think happy thoughts.”
We had a $30 bet on if he showed, and a $50 bet on if he’d talk. Not just small talk, mind you, talk for real.
“Any guy that stonewalls in session one is not gonna talk until session four at a minimum,” was my argument.
“This isn’t any guy,” was the retort.
Low and behold, Thursday comes along and with it, Shaky Steve. He was early. Like, three or four hours early.
Janice opened my door without knocking, sly smile on her face. “Our friend is here,” she said.
“Send him in.”
Janice gives me a double thumbs up as the door closes behind him, punctuating the fact that I owed her $30 bucks.
“What I’m about to tell you will be a bit...” He said.
Shit, he’s gonna talk, I thought. I could practically hear Janice cackling in the future.
“There’s no judgement here. Anything you say stays between us,” I said.
And Janice, I thought, who no doubt is listening with her ear pressed against the door.
“It’s not that,” Steve said, “what I have to say is...hard. Hard for me to say, but also, it will be challenging to hear. It might scramble you up.”
He waited, “In the head.”
“I see. Well, no problem. I take my eggs scrambled anyhow,” I said with a smile.
Steve studied my face, then nodded. “Billions of trillions of years ago, before there was time, before there was even a before, there was my brothers, my sisters, and me. 13 of us, alone but for each other.”
He paused again, perhaps waiting for a response. I kept my face calmly concerned, listening without any attachment of expectation.
Steve cleared his throat and continued, “For ions we thought we had power. And we did, I suppose we still do. Though our scope and influence, we came to discover, was so minuscule on a cosmic scale that we may as well have no power at all.”
“We fell into a trance. A long nothingness. When we woke things were as they had been. If we were gone entirely, I told my siblings, it wouldn’t even matter.”
“Mhm,” I said. And I’m truly not a guy to judge anyone. I once smoked something called “Gopher-Tortoise Soul” and hallucinated that Janice was a talking tortoise for an entire week, no joke.
“We all handled this discovery, this revelation, in our own way.”
“Naturally,” I said.
“Three of my brothers and two sisters shrunk themselves down and have moved from civilization to civilization ever since, essentially acting as somewhat clumsy cosmic janitors. They clean up the little messes that they find, sometimes inadvertently causing others.”
“A brother and a sister decided that the only existence that was rightful was our own and so set out to wipe out all else, another brother and sister disagreed, and the pairs have spent their eternities opposing each other.”
“Yikes,” I said.
“One brother concluded all existence was folly, and so travels about amusing himself and others. A sister felt that only justice, HER justice, mattered. They don’t mean to, but they wind up acting as counterbalance. Some situations require folly, others justice. And so on.”
“Then it was only me and my sister, we stayed together for time without end. She was curious, always trying to gather new information, new perspectives. Eventually, she departed to swallow any and all aspects of knowledge and art that creation created.”
“Thus there was I, Steve. Alone in the Great Ether. Surrounded by the blackness. I floated, half dormant, for three of what you would call forever. The only thing I came to feel was a hollow, aching, emptiness.”
At some point I lost track of the here and now. His words swept me up in a melodic embrace, taking me on a journey through his mind. Or maybe I zoned out, but the other sounds better.
A knock came at the door, silencing Steve and snapping me back to reality. “Dr. Eliot, your 11:00 appointment is here,” Janice said.
“We’ll be a few more minutes, Janice,” I answered.
“Ahem, alright. Just be aware that it’s already 12:04.”
I looked at my watch. “Shit,” I said.
“I’m sorry to take more of your time,” Steve said, “I suppose I can sum everything up with a single question.”
“Right. Go for it,” I said.
Steve nodded, “What do I need to do to find happiness,” he asked, “What do I need to do to earn it? What price must I pay?”
I took in a breath through my nose.
I’m no therapist. I’m a fraud, really. A sham. And this guy, as far as I was knew, was delusional. But I have felt that emptiness before. I have known what it is to lay with eyes half opened, unsure if it was time to sleep or rise. My heart felt the gentle burn of life lived and wisdom gained through fire.
“Happiness is a how, Steve, not a what,” I said, “It’s a talent to be practiced, not a treasure to be found.”
Steve blinked, “Hm. Well that’s a pleasant surprise. I was afraid you were just going to try to sell me pot.”
He shook his head, “but where do I start? How do I practice what is supposed to come naturally,” he asked.
I had an idea. I reached down below my feet and grabbed my set of Connect Four. “Come with me.”
I walked into the lobby to find Janice waiting eagerly in her seat. Somebody owes me 80 bucks, I read in her eyes.
I turned back to Janice, “I’ll take the next apt, in the meantime, Janice, will you teach Steve how to play Connect Four?”
She furled her brow, “Um, yeah, sure.”
“Connect Four,” Steve said, “Four of what? Four people? Planets? Timelines? Realities?”
I put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “You’re in good hands, buddy. Janice is the master.”
The impatient patient stalked into my office before me and began to grouse about the wait.
Just then, I heard the rattle of a piece dropping and a gleeful, childlike, laugh come from outside.
And Steve smiled. | "Look, Zilliar, this is getting us nowhere." I sighed and put my head in my hands. "Alright, why don't we start again from the beginning. What exactly is it that you want to do with your life?"
"I want to steal the manatite from Omicron X!"
"Well, yes, that's good, that's a short term goal. But *why* do you want to steal the mana-whatever? What are you going to even do with them?"
"I shall use them to create a manatic bomb, and with it, annihilate Starcore!"
"But *why* do you want to annihilate Starcore?"
"... Huh, I never really thought about that before."
"Maybe it has something to do with Starman?"
"Yes, yes, Starman! I shall annihilate Starman's home, and laugh maniacally at his suffering!"
"Do you think that will make you happy?"
"Yes, of course it will, he's been my archnemesis for so long... we've fought so many battles... defeating him is my ultimate goal!"
"And what will you do *after* that?"
"... I don't really know. Maybe... he and I... would be friends after that?"
"After you destroyed his homeworld?"
"... yeah, okay, maybe not."
I sighed again. "Look, alright, I've got another client coming in. Why don't you think about it while you're doing whatever with the mana stuff, and we'll meet again next week. Okay?"
"Okay..."
Zilliar exited my office, and a few minutes later, my next client came in.
"Okay, I feel really dumb, but I just can't figure out Zilliar's next step. What is he doing in Alpha Quadrant? All that's there is some manatite mining outpost. Please, help me, all of Starcore is depending on me to stop him, and I've been getting really stressed out about it." | |
[WP] you are a normal guy. No magic, no superpowers, you’re just a psychologist that works in a therapy office. However cosmic beings, wizards, military generals, aliens, etc.. all schedule appointments with you. Not because you’re the hero. It’s because you give genuinely good advice. | “I don’t know how I can keep going, Lawrence. No matter how many people I help, no matter how much I do, it will never be enough. I saved over ten thousand people last week when the ferries collided, and now I’m being told that I should have done more, seen the accident happening in advance and saved everyone.”
“Every time there is a crime, no matter how small, the first words that are said about it are ‘Where was Superman?’ It feels like no matter how much I do, it will never be enough. People have started criticizing me for not stopping car accidents, for not getting people to hospitals faster, for not being everywhere.”
“I understand. I mean, I can’t understand what it feels like to be impervious to bullets, or to be able to fly, but I do understand the weight of unreasonable expectations.” I look at the man, sitting crumpled in the chair across from me. His normally strong jaw was unshaven, his form-fitting suit somehow looking almost shabby on him in that moment. “To whom much is given, much is expected, is, I’m sure, a quote you’ve heard before.”
He nods. “JFK. Based off of Luke 12:48. And I’ve tried so hard-“
I hold up my hand to cut him off. “Stop. I don’t mean stop trying. I do mean stop holding yourself to an unreasonable standard. Look instead to what your presence has done here, in Metropolis and in America. Crime rates are down nationally. Except for Gotham and Bludhaven, but I think the Justice League is trying to isolate the Syndicate there. Charitable spending is up, and there are no fewer than five charities in Metropolis that are dedicated to civil service. The first floor of this building is an emergency shelter and a homeless shelter, and the last time someone tried to destroy the city, the homeless people in the area led people here to safety. Not you. Not another costumed hero. When I asked one of the guys why he helped,
he told me ‘The big guy has his job, I have to do my part.’
“You inspire people to look beyond themselves. Not everyone is going to get it right away. There will always be those who see your power as a threat to themselves because of how you change the world. But if you can inspire those who have nothing to give of themselves, then I’d say you just need to focus on being a visible symbol of what we can achieve.”
He cracks a small smile for the first time in an hour. “Truth, justice and the American Way?” he asks, only slightly sarcastically. He stands, and for the first time, I can feel the purpose radiating off of him like heat from a campfire. His head cocks to the side. “I think I hear a bank alarm on Fifth. No. Seventh. The alarm on Fifth has an overtone since it was shot at six weeks ago. Same time next week?”
“Ah, yes. I should be good. Just as always, ignore the Saturday kidnapping. The villains need to talk as well, and they aren’t comfortable coming here.” He shakes his head, sighs, and vanishes in a gust of wind. I crack my neck, finish my notes, and as I notice the green glow under my door, I press the intercom button. “Cindy, you can send in my 3 o’clock. I see he’s arrived.”
| "Look, Zilliar, this is getting us nowhere." I sighed and put my head in my hands. "Alright, why don't we start again from the beginning. What exactly is it that you want to do with your life?"
"I want to steal the manatite from Omicron X!"
"Well, yes, that's good, that's a short term goal. But *why* do you want to steal the mana-whatever? What are you going to even do with them?"
"I shall use them to create a manatic bomb, and with it, annihilate Starcore!"
"But *why* do you want to annihilate Starcore?"
"... Huh, I never really thought about that before."
"Maybe it has something to do with Starman?"
"Yes, yes, Starman! I shall annihilate Starman's home, and laugh maniacally at his suffering!"
"Do you think that will make you happy?"
"Yes, of course it will, he's been my archnemesis for so long... we've fought so many battles... defeating him is my ultimate goal!"
"And what will you do *after* that?"
"... I don't really know. Maybe... he and I... would be friends after that?"
"After you destroyed his homeworld?"
"... yeah, okay, maybe not."
I sighed again. "Look, alright, I've got another client coming in. Why don't you think about it while you're doing whatever with the mana stuff, and we'll meet again next week. Okay?"
"Okay..."
Zilliar exited my office, and a few minutes later, my next client came in.
"Okay, I feel really dumb, but I just can't figure out Zilliar's next step. What is he doing in Alpha Quadrant? All that's there is some manatite mining outpost. Please, help me, all of Starcore is depending on me to stop him, and I've been getting really stressed out about it." | |
Belated idea from the recent Theme Thursday. | [WP] A portal from alternative Earth, where magic exists, open to ours with one purpose - invasion. However, the power-hungry warlords and mages have greatly relied on magic and face unexpected resistance when modern Earth responds with its full arsenal, ranging from conventional to CBRN-weaponry | Magic is a force of the universe, spanning in variety as the colors of a rainbow.
It's purpose is unlimited, only capped by the strength and knowledge of those trying to use it. Some could use it to build a kingdom at the whim of their will and fingers, uttering their magic words. Others could simply raise a plant, or start a small fire.
Magic is an indescriminate force. It could gift it's most ellusive powers to an average vagabond, but may skip a generation in a family hailed for it's "magic heritage." There was no true heritage, only the hope that magic will flow onto the next.
They tried to incorporate schools of learning, ways of both teaching those gifted the ability of control, and keeping tabs of those who were naturally the most dangerous in the kingdom. The amount of candidates balloned as the populace grew, and with it, incidents of unregistered magic. By the time they realized it was out of control, it was too late.
When Darqu the God King ascended the throne, a thousand broken corpses at his feet, did we finally understand that magic is not something we could hope to control or incorporate into our lives without constant danger, that the ways of men would always use it for conquest.
He unified the mages, and created an army. At first, it felt as if magic had been turned against our world, as if it was going to be used to destroy us all.
He held executions, not to simply punish, but demonstrate his power. He would have the ground beneath their feet fall into an abyss, then close the hole and have a flower grow as if nothing had happened. Fire would rain upon them from the heavens, lightning would turn them to ash, ice sharper than the executioner's very axe would sever heads and dissapate into the air.
When he finished with this world, he began plans to conquer another. A plan not many of us understood--that many of us scoffed at as madness.
Then the portal ripped into excistence in front of the palace gates, thousands of battle mages, equipped with armor that had strokes of electricity coursing through the surface. Shields with the faces of roaring beasts with mashing teeth.
There was no more doubt in our hearts, Darqu was a God amongst us, and this world would know the same pain as our own.
With a battle cry and the raising of a thousand blades, the Mages stormed into the portal in an endless stream. Darqu followed the end of his caravan, a sea of kneeling followers behind him as his chuckles of madness faded through the portal.
There was several minutes of silence and bated breath, thousands of eyes transfixed on the portal swirling in front of them, none truly understanding what to do now.
The first Mage to return collapsed several feet in front of the portal he had emerged from. His armor was destroyed in some places, punched through as if it was just another layer of flesh. Blood pooled around him, and as one of rear gaurd knelt to assist him, the wounded man reached up and pulled the other in.
His eyes were wide with fear, even as the cold lifelessness passed over him. The rear gaurd stood in shock, standing over the corpse. Another aproached. Anxious and scared, he asked what the dead man had said.
"He said, we've lost..."
At that moment, a man in olive garb unlike any seen before, with a banner of red, white, and blue embroided onto his arm emerged from the rift. His hair cut short to the scalp, a face that could've been chistled in stone, and a stature that even Darqu couldn't instil into his men. Behind him, dozens more, with some of the mages in front of them in shakles, bloodied and beaten.
They were equipped with complicated, black staves, none longer than a table leg, pressed against their shoulders.
It became clear that Darqu had lost his war, and what's worse, is that those who beat the God King were now standing in front of us. He found a world of Gods' and brought their wrath into our own. Darqu would've been preferable, when looking upon the emense strength of those here now.
The man in front is handed an object that looks of a horn with a handle, and begins speaking into the small end, amazingly it makes his voice sound as if it was coming from the heavens above.
"Your old ruler has been defeated," he starts, surveying the thousands infront of him, "and now you are free. Welcome to America."
He returns the horn and walks back through the portal, and like that, hundreds of more men pour through the hole.
We have a new God King now, a God King from America, and we are scared once again. | "So what was it like?" Chester heard his son's question, but couldn't answer immediately. Instead he absently watched his son pet Oli, the young griffon they had adopted from the shelter as it rolled on its back and purred.
"Dad?"
"Ah, sorry Danny, was trying to figure out how to answer. It's hard to explain how chaotic and weird things were then." Chester leaned back in his lawn chair. Oli squirmed onto his stomach and watched with keen interest as Chester sipped his beer. Apparently the things loved getting drunk. "I guess that's the best single word answer: chaotic. The moment those portals opened, everything went crazy. Practically every major church in the world was claiming it was the end times. Police all across the country had their hands full trying to contain the portals until the army got organized, so there were riots and looting everywhere. Shit was crazy. And then when the first armies came through and started attacking things got worse. People were fighting each other, killing each other."
Chester couldn't stop the memories from flooding in. Entire neighborhoods were burning in the riots. All communication and electricity was out the damage. Bodies lying in the street, some dead from gunshots, others dead from impossible means. Turned to stone, or twisted inside out.
"Two portals opened up here. There was one huge one just outside of SeaTac, but my company got sent up to the one in Everett. It was tiny, maybe big enough for a semi-truck to drive through. But even being small, it was a mess. Just pouring out people, monsters." Chester took another sip and then poured a measure into Oli's bowl. The griffon fluffed up in excitement as it drank.
"The police had started containment, but it was all the local gun-nuts that held it. By the time our trucks got up there maybe a dozen officers were still active. They were trying to coordinate, distribute ammo and medical supplies; most of the firepower was coming from civilians. Some yahoo even had an old vietnam era M-60. I never found out if it was legal or not, but it didn't matter then. There were local gangs, rednecks, militias, and police all standing side by side, pouring bullets into the portal. And it didn't seem to be enough. There were just so many of them."
Dead invaders stacked chest high, men and monsters bleeding together in piles. The corpses provided a shield, the whole wall of bodies being pushed forward by some unseen force to create more room for the attackers. Streamers of prismatic light flew from the portal, sometimes striking the defender's cover, sometimes the defenders themselves. They had little effect on the inanimate barricades, but produced horrible effects when they struck people. Some exploded into crimson showers of gore, others seized up, falling into a spasm, firing their weapons wildly in every direction.
Chester took a breath and drained the last of his can.
"Dad, you don't have to keep going. I can get enough for my paper online if I need to." Danny spoke softly.
"Nah," Danny shrugged, and then rolled his shoulders for good measure. "It's important. We're at peace now, but it's important we don't forget why." He fished another can out of the cooler. "It didn't take long for us to turn things around. We had a couple of trucks with grenade launchers mounted, and just started dumping into the portal. That gave us cover to clear out a good kill-zone in front of the portal. We blew up buildings, pushed cars out of the way, and had a bulldozer clean up all the bodies. Took a couple of days to fortify the area enough to be safe. Things slowed down after that. For about a week we were just holding, waiting for new orders, but nothing came through. We heard that the 7th had set up on the other side of their portal, some others too. But we didn't want to send too many troops over in case these things closed."
Oli whined and carefully pawed at Chester's beer can, keeping his talons closed into his palm. Chester gave him another pour. "The French were actually the first to use nukes. They had too many portals, and not enough people to defend them. At risk of being overrun, they sent some bombs through instead. We did the same, so did the Russians. It didn't take long after that for the peace treaty." |
Belated idea from the recent Theme Thursday. | [WP] A portal from alternative Earth, where magic exists, open to ours with one purpose - invasion. However, the power-hungry warlords and mages have greatly relied on magic and face unexpected resistance when modern Earth responds with its full arsenal, ranging from conventional to CBRN-weaponry | Magic is a force of the universe, spanning in variety as the colors of a rainbow.
It's purpose is unlimited, only capped by the strength and knowledge of those trying to use it. Some could use it to build a kingdom at the whim of their will and fingers, uttering their magic words. Others could simply raise a plant, or start a small fire.
Magic is an indescriminate force. It could gift it's most ellusive powers to an average vagabond, but may skip a generation in a family hailed for it's "magic heritage." There was no true heritage, only the hope that magic will flow onto the next.
They tried to incorporate schools of learning, ways of both teaching those gifted the ability of control, and keeping tabs of those who were naturally the most dangerous in the kingdom. The amount of candidates balloned as the populace grew, and with it, incidents of unregistered magic. By the time they realized it was out of control, it was too late.
When Darqu the God King ascended the throne, a thousand broken corpses at his feet, did we finally understand that magic is not something we could hope to control or incorporate into our lives without constant danger, that the ways of men would always use it for conquest.
He unified the mages, and created an army. At first, it felt as if magic had been turned against our world, as if it was going to be used to destroy us all.
He held executions, not to simply punish, but demonstrate his power. He would have the ground beneath their feet fall into an abyss, then close the hole and have a flower grow as if nothing had happened. Fire would rain upon them from the heavens, lightning would turn them to ash, ice sharper than the executioner's very axe would sever heads and dissapate into the air.
When he finished with this world, he began plans to conquer another. A plan not many of us understood--that many of us scoffed at as madness.
Then the portal ripped into excistence in front of the palace gates, thousands of battle mages, equipped with armor that had strokes of electricity coursing through the surface. Shields with the faces of roaring beasts with mashing teeth.
There was no more doubt in our hearts, Darqu was a God amongst us, and this world would know the same pain as our own.
With a battle cry and the raising of a thousand blades, the Mages stormed into the portal in an endless stream. Darqu followed the end of his caravan, a sea of kneeling followers behind him as his chuckles of madness faded through the portal.
There was several minutes of silence and bated breath, thousands of eyes transfixed on the portal swirling in front of them, none truly understanding what to do now.
The first Mage to return collapsed several feet in front of the portal he had emerged from. His armor was destroyed in some places, punched through as if it was just another layer of flesh. Blood pooled around him, and as one of rear gaurd knelt to assist him, the wounded man reached up and pulled the other in.
His eyes were wide with fear, even as the cold lifelessness passed over him. The rear gaurd stood in shock, standing over the corpse. Another aproached. Anxious and scared, he asked what the dead man had said.
"He said, we've lost..."
At that moment, a man in olive garb unlike any seen before, with a banner of red, white, and blue embroided onto his arm emerged from the rift. His hair cut short to the scalp, a face that could've been chistled in stone, and a stature that even Darqu couldn't instil into his men. Behind him, dozens more, with some of the mages in front of them in shakles, bloodied and beaten.
They were equipped with complicated, black staves, none longer than a table leg, pressed against their shoulders.
It became clear that Darqu had lost his war, and what's worse, is that those who beat the God King were now standing in front of us. He found a world of Gods' and brought their wrath into our own. Darqu would've been preferable, when looking upon the emense strength of those here now.
The man in front is handed an object that looks of a horn with a handle, and begins speaking into the small end, amazingly it makes his voice sound as if it was coming from the heavens above.
"Your old ruler has been defeated," he starts, surveying the thousands infront of him, "and now you are free. Welcome to America."
He returns the horn and walks back through the portal, and like that, hundreds of more men pour through the hole.
We have a new God King now, a God King from America, and we are scared once again. | [poem]
So once we had wizards invade
They came and they tried to raise Cain,
But though they had magic
It's really quite tragic
Cause we had the fancy grenades.
This one girl had magical sounds,
And she made a hill sink in the ground.
She must have felt thicc
Till she she ate a full clip
Of those full metal jacketed rounds.
And one guy was doing just fine,
He made himself tall as a pine.
He kicked lots of ass
But he stepped on the grass
And set off an anti-tank mine.
The portal was now open wide
And most of the mages were fried
But just to be safe
We had some planes strafe
And then tossed an A-bomb inside!
(On the phone, sorry for any formatting) |
[WP] Time travel exists. You have met your future daughter, and know who you are going to marry. Your life is pretty much planned out. Thing is, you just met someone new, and you're very sure they are your soulmate. And they aren't your future spouse. | I glanced from the paper in my hand to the person sitting two tables ahead of me. Paper. Person. Paper. Person. No way.
What I was holding was a Future Schedule, printed out two years back when I visited the region’s Time Machine Shop. Time travel was real, of course. Rates went cheaper as time machines first went from one in the world, one in each country, to one in each state or region. Not that I needed to spend that money to travel forward in time— I just wanted to try it out. Some people never went inside a time machine. They wanted things to be a surprise, but most of the time that didn’t work out because maybe their future best friend had already been into a time machine, or their future wife or husband had already known who they were going to marry.
Anyway, I printed out a Future Schedule (for a ridiculous amount of money, I should have just taken metal notes) and I always kept it in my purse. I’d read it hundreds of times, and i basically knew my future by heart. In three years I would meet my future husband, six years after that my future daughter would be born. No surprises. Long life, but death by a heart attack after a peaceful, average life.
So you’d be just as surprised as me if you felt what I felt as I stared at the guy sitting alone, suddenly dripping coffee all over the place and flushing red while glancing in all directions. Yep. I looked again at the paper, at the picture of the man I was to a marry. Jason Everstone, dark brown hair, blue eyes. I looked at the stranger. Dark, wide brown eyes with dark dark brown, almost black hair. Definitely not the same. But as I squinted at the paper, I saw a corner peeling into what looked like two pieces. I pulled it apart completely—it was thinner now, good. But on the second piece, there was an exact picture of the man in front of me.
Above the picture, it simply said “Soulmate Information.” I read quickly, perplexed. “not same as spouse...100% compatible...perfect...” there were more words below it, but my mind raced too fast. Futures could be changed, certainly, right?
No matter. I introduced myself to him. I never noticed the paper floating gently out of my purse and disintegrating into my half cup of coffee. I never read the last few words on the paper.
2 years later, I put a single rose where it belonged. A single tear shed onto the cold, hard stone.
| I have no doubt that what the girl told me is true. The timing makes perfect sense.
*But her name? How can that be?*
Most would have dismissed the 18-year old as just another *Lost One.* But not me, especially considering the Board nominated me JUST LAST NIGHT to be Contact Zero.
Granted, the ceremony was more tongue-n-cheek than black tie, but that is because the technology is still at least a year away from being testable. But we're ahead of Germany and winning the race!
Back to the Lost Ones for a spell. The colloquial term became popular in the late '20s because it accurately describes the actions of those under the influence - they exist in a semi-permanent state of euphoria, preaching utopian beliefs and world peace.
Why? Well, it's the same reason I founded Flying Cars Inc, and the same reason FC Inc.'s Board sent Aria back from 2061 to visit me in 2025...The Fentacybon Epidemic.
Developed in a lab in Sweden, the synthetic drug is derived from powerful opioids and philasibons, and made its way to America in the mid 2020s. (It turns out the Swedish have been taking it since the late 1970's.)
The problem with the Lost Ones is twofold: First, the unemployment rate within the sub-culture is close to 100%. Second, and perhaps more alarming, is the birthrate is more than three times the national average at a smidge over 5.0 per mother!
By day, they wander the streets, seemingly lost, rarely posing a threat, always pontificating. The most prominent reason they are peaceful is because they lack the typical symptoms and propensities of those addicted to drugs: No need for money, no cravings, no withdrawal. And in that lies the primary reason the epidemic is so widespread.
A single dose of the drug has a half-life of 17 years!
By night, they congregate under bridges, in old warehouses, and in stadium-size arenas with a single intention: to dance.
The group is so obsessed with music that President Swift joked that if you find yourself in an endless conversation with a Lost One, simply begin "blaring electronic music" and they will dance themselves into a trance.
The part that has left me confused about my encounter with Aria is the name of her mother. I don't know a Hanna, well, other than Hanna Muller, the soon-to-be wife of Otto Schneider, the founder of our German competitor, Zukunft Jetzt Inc.
But back to her name... Aria? That would make sense that I'd name my daughter after my soulmate, the woman I met last night at the ceremony who is STILL in my hotel room upstairs. But according to my daughter, I don't marry her. I marry Hanna?
I activate my 3D visual calendar and swipe to the right. I stop in January 2061 and do some quick math in my head...
-----
TBC......
| |
[WP] Time travel exists. You have met your future daughter, and know who you are going to marry. Your life is pretty much planned out. Thing is, you just met someone new, and you're very sure they are your soulmate. And they aren't your future spouse. | When I was seventeen, I decided to take a trip into the future and find out if I would have any children. I would: one girl, Lydia. She told me that my future husband and I adopted her.
*Oh, that’s why she doesn’t look a bit like me*, I thought. *Well, cool. I don’t have to push her out of my body to get her.*
Lydia waved to a man with light brown hair. “That’s my dad,” she said. “His name is Patton.”
“Patton,” I repeated. So I was going to end up with a man. Interesting. “Well, I guess I should get going before I confuse the heck out of your father.”
As I headed back to the time machine, Lydia called after me, “I love you, Mom!” In my own time, I wrote down in my diary what I had learned, and it was a comfort to me as I finished high school and began college.
In my first year of college, during an icebreaker activity, my roommate Riley and I met two girls who lived across the hall from us, Molly and McKenzie. The moment I laid eyes on them, something deep in my bisexual soul whispered, Be friends with them, for they are not straight. Of course I didn’t ask either of them about it, especially McKenzie; I could almost see the closet doors in front of her.
“What do you mean?” McKenzie asked Riley.
“Like . . . they’re what you would use to refer to me in the third person,” Riley said.
“Oh, is this about your pronouns?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Riley. “Like, about Sophia here,” they said, gesturing to me, “I would say, ‘*Her* name is Sophia. *She* goes to bed really late.’ About me, you would say, ‘*Their* name is Riley. *They* go to bed at a reasonable time.’”
“No, you would say, ‘*They* go to bed way too early and I’m not even sure they’re human,’” I teased.
“Okay, but . . . why?” asked McKenzie.
Riley explained that they were non-binary and what that meant.
“Wow, I didn’t know that happened to girls too!” McKenzie exclaimed. “I mean, people who grew up as girls. I thought that only happened to people who grew up as boys. So like . . . does that mean you were told you were a girl, Riley?”
Riley nodded. McKenzie nodded back, and after a beat of silence, she asked if Riley had any pets. The icebreaker continued, and at the end of it, we all exchanged phone numbers.
The next day at noon, Riley and I walked over to McKenzie and Molly’s room and asked if they wanted to eat lunch with us. The four of us sat together in the dining hall and talked about the week so far.
“I felt bad on Sunday,” McKenzie said, “cuz I don’t know any of the churches around here, and I was too scared to go to any of them alone.”
“Do you wanna visit my church next Sunday?” I asked.
“Sure!” McKenzie exclaimed. Then she looked around. “Oh, that wasn’t too loud, was it?”
“Not at all, girl,” Molly said.
McKenzie made a strange face, but she seemed comforted.
The four of us grew close that first year. McKenzie and I went to church together many Sundays and compared the different Bible translations we had. Riley and Molly shared a passion for science and would talk for hours about it, especially about weird time travel stories that ended up in the news. Molly, who was a night owl like me, would stay up late studying with me. Riley and I joined the college’s Gay-Straight Alliance. McKenzie and Riley liked to go shopping together.
One thing I noticed by the beginning of the second semester was how much more comfortable McKenzie seemed to be. She had started out so quiet with occasional loud outbursts, only to retreat and hide behind her long blondish-brown hair. As she came out of her shell, she spoke more confidently, without the sudden upticks in volume. She was warm, compassionate, loyal, pretty, and I had a huge crush on her. When I opened my diary to write down this revelation, I saw a page where I had written the name “Patton” surrounded by hearts. This was a different diary than the one where I had first written my future husband’s name, but I had written it again as a reminder. I sighed.
“Guess it’s not gonna work out with McKenzie,” I muttered.
“What was that about McKenzie?” asked Riley.
“Uhh, nothing!”
“You like her, don’t you?”
I closed my diary and turned to look at my roommate. “Is it that obvious?”
Riley nodded and laughed. “Now what, exactly, makes you think it’s not gonna work out with her? That girl’s so not straight, and I don’t think she’s ace like Molly.”
I sighed and told Riley about my time travel adventure.
“Oh,” said Riley. “Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t still like McKenzie. For now, I mean. I know some people meet the people they’re gonna marry at our age, but not everybody does.”
“You’re right.” I opened my diary again and wrote about my crush on McKenzie.
The months came and went. I made more friends, but Riley, McKenzie, and Molly were my closest ones. Molly declared a physics and ethics double major so she could keep up with the ramifications of time travel. Riley studied abroad for a semester. I had other, minor crushes, but I still had a crush on McKenzie.
One day after church, McKenzie nearly whimpered my name. “Sophia? Can I tell you something?” She sounded as uncertain as the week I met her.
“Sure, what is it?”
“I . . . um . . . I’m not a girl,” said McKenzie. “I don’t know if I’m a boy, or non-binary like Riley.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. Do you still want me to call you she?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t like being called ‘girl’ or ‘sis.’ Maybe . . . maybe I could try he/him pronouns for a little bit? We can tell Riley and Molly, but no one else, not yet.”
For a while, McKenzie used he/him pronouns. Then they used they/them pronouns. For about a week, ze used any non-binary pronoun ey could think of. Eventually, McKenzie realized that he/him pronouns fit him best.
One day in GSA during our junior year, someone asked McKenzie if he might change his name.
McKenzie shrugged. “I might. But what name would I go by?”
“Baby name web sites,” Riley said. “They will help you find a name.”
So McKenzie did just that, between his schoolwork and his internship. One day, he sent a group text to me, Molly, and Riley.
*Change my name in ur contacts, cuz I’m Patton!*
And that’s how my future husband was responsible for shattering my phone screen. | I have no doubt that what the girl told me is true. The timing makes perfect sense.
*But her name? How can that be?*
Most would have dismissed the 18-year old as just another *Lost One.* But not me, especially considering the Board nominated me JUST LAST NIGHT to be Contact Zero.
Granted, the ceremony was more tongue-n-cheek than black tie, but that is because the technology is still at least a year away from being testable. But we're ahead of Germany and winning the race!
Back to the Lost Ones for a spell. The colloquial term became popular in the late '20s because it accurately describes the actions of those under the influence - they exist in a semi-permanent state of euphoria, preaching utopian beliefs and world peace.
Why? Well, it's the same reason I founded Flying Cars Inc, and the same reason FC Inc.'s Board sent Aria back from 2061 to visit me in 2025...The Fentacybon Epidemic.
Developed in a lab in Sweden, the synthetic drug is derived from powerful opioids and philasibons, and made its way to America in the mid 2020s. (It turns out the Swedish have been taking it since the late 1970's.)
The problem with the Lost Ones is twofold: First, the unemployment rate within the sub-culture is close to 100%. Second, and perhaps more alarming, is the birthrate is more than three times the national average at a smidge over 5.0 per mother!
By day, they wander the streets, seemingly lost, rarely posing a threat, always pontificating. The most prominent reason they are peaceful is because they lack the typical symptoms and propensities of those addicted to drugs: No need for money, no cravings, no withdrawal. And in that lies the primary reason the epidemic is so widespread.
A single dose of the drug has a half-life of 17 years!
By night, they congregate under bridges, in old warehouses, and in stadium-size arenas with a single intention: to dance.
The group is so obsessed with music that President Swift joked that if you find yourself in an endless conversation with a Lost One, simply begin "blaring electronic music" and they will dance themselves into a trance.
The part that has left me confused about my encounter with Aria is the name of her mother. I don't know a Hanna, well, other than Hanna Muller, the soon-to-be wife of Otto Schneider, the founder of our German competitor, Zukunft Jetzt Inc.
But back to her name... Aria? That would make sense that I'd name my daughter after my soulmate, the woman I met last night at the ceremony who is STILL in my hotel room upstairs. But according to my daughter, I don't marry her. I marry Hanna?
I activate my 3D visual calendar and swipe to the right. I stop in January 2061 and do some quick math in my head...
-----
TBC......
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