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[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Why don't they just kill me? I mean, I deserve it for what I did.
I've had time to think over it. After reliving 24 of the (so far) 365 life sentences of each person I've killed, I've had plenty of time to think about it.
I know, you see. I'm aware it's me, even as I'm living their lives. Think of it like a movie. A really, really long movie that lasts a lifetime. I can think to myself, talk to myself, do whatever except move. Really, what I am is just a passenger. I'm a passenger in someone else's vehicle, someone else's life story.
The way they do this is, in this day and age, everything is recorded. Not just through cameras on the sidewalk or satellites in space, but through people's eyes and ears. A person's entire life is written on a chip and, when they die, is kept for a period proportionate to that person's significance. If a child from Africa, if they were so 'lucky' to get a chip, might have their 'life chip' kept for half a year. On the other hand, a person like Albert Einstein, Elon Musk or, a more recent person, Frederick Zuckerahn, might have their 'life chip' kept forever.
In this punishment system, you'd live your victims entire life up until the point you affected or ended it. But, when you show up and shoot them, stab them, blow them up or fly your plane into their building, the replay doesn't cut. No, the computer simulates their life as if you'd never affected it. All those people killed on 9/11 would have their lives simulated as if 9/11 never happened (if the chips were around back then). Of course, this creates some paradoxes. If 9/11 never happened, what would the world be like? Would it be safer or more dangerous? Would 9/11 not happening even matter? Would another, even larger scale tragedy occur? The computer held the questions, and created the answers.
I won't bore you with the details. Yadda Yadda, sciency stuff, the point is they lived. They lived their life until they 'died' of old age. You'd get to see your impact, their point of view, when they died. Then, the replay would rewind up until just before the point you affected their life. Then, it would start the simulation. Then, you'd get to see how happy or miserable their life would have been if you never touched it. It was meant to make you have an epiphany, or something. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't work.
For small scale criminals? It might scare them straight. But for true psychopaths, true vile murderous scum, it'll just give them more time to think. Plan out their next attack better, other ways to beat or cheat the system. Just adds more time to the ticking bomb.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
I ain't some run-of-the-mill psycho. I knew what I was doing. All those people I killed, it wasn't meaningless. I didn't just snap one day. And, really, that's what makes it all the more worse. I knew what I was doing, and yet I still didn't.
Of course, there were some people in the jury who sympathised with me. "He didn't know!" "He had no choice!" "They were gonna kill him!" "It's not his fault!" but people didn't hear that. All they saw was me, thousand yard stare, a million miles away. Reliving the same scene over and over again. I wasn't paying attention, wasn't showing remorse, so I must be guilty, right?
I got 365 life sentences. 365. That's how many the found. I keep saying that there may be more, that they can't know for sure, that they need to get the bodies that they haven't found back to their family's for a proper burial. They thought I was lying, trying to waste more tax-payer's dollars. I wasn't, cause I knew there was more, I just didn't know where.
So far, the people who's lives I lived didn't have it too tough. Born in the lower-middle class most of them, some born a bit higher up. Didn't ever want for much, always got what they needed. I saw from birth to death, of course, so I really got to know them. The 24 that I watched. And yet, even know, the memory of the 1st is beginning to fade. Just like that, I don't remember his name. Or was it a her? I remember he, or she, was of middle eastern complexion, I think, but how old were they? I can't remember. 24 lives is a long time.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did. I was young, and dumb. Fresh out of boot camp, promoted to some high ranking position because of my 'stellar performance' in training. I was given a direct line from the president, first of my kind. Many more to follow, they said, trialing a new system.
When the order came through, I wasn't prepared. We'd been outside this small town for weeks, holed up, covering all sides. We were trying to retake it from a radicalized terrorist group, but the local government said no bombs. We didn't have enough manpower to storm in, we were relying on surgical strikes to take out their chain of command but weren't having any luck with intel.
The call came in the early hours of the morning, 0500. The presidential line. I got no acknowledgement, I didn't even have time to greet the president before the line went dead. But I heard the orders. And I gave the orders. Just a messenger, in the end. All it took were a few words.
The town was decimated. Buildings leveled, roads destroyed. It was tough for even our ATV's and MBT's to climb through the debris. We searched and searched, but there were no enemy combatants to be found. Turned out they'd pulled out to a further town to regroup and prepare for our next attack.
When that gavel fell, determining my fate, I had already known. I wasn't some stellar performer, someone deserving of this great title. I was a scapegoat. Labelled as a dumb rookie who got a load of civilians recklessly killed. Manslaughter charges, pushing murder, to the count of 213, at the time. After several repeat appearances in court, they gave the order to cease the retrieval of the bodies. Too many resources were being tied up.
So here I am, sitting in a white room in a white facility in a grey city in a black world. They start one playback while I'm yawning, and when I return, I'm still yawning. A life in the blink of an eye.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I have posted this before on a very very similar prompt, but wanted to post it again because I really liked what I wrote. Hope you enjoyed. | I have lived a long life. I think my time has come. I take my last breath and pass peacefully. As I die, I wake up, and to my surprise, I find myself strapped to a chair. I am surprised to find myself awake and I am also surprised to find myself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to my body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to me. "That was life sentence 24," one of them says, "Only 356 sentences left." And then I remember, long ago, that I was sentenced to 380 life sentences. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” |
My head was pounding, but that wasn’t the worst part. It was secondary to a deep pang of loss that felt like it was eating its way from the inside out. The feeling lingered from a long life that saw loved ones come and go, but was also marked with deep regret.
The figures in front of me, I still couldn’t make out their features, talked amongst themselves in a foreign language. As their shapes were coming into focus, they switched up their dialect. Suddenly I could understand what was being said, and it was directed at me.
“Another one done, only 356 left!” One of them quipped. It was followed by a chorus of laughter. That feeling of loss was beginning to dissipate, become less desperate. It retreated to the outer recesses of my mind, almost like how a nightmare fades in the face of morning. I managed to croak out a “..What?” My whole body ached with the effort of one word.
“You have served your 24th life sentence, prisoner 4567. You still have a remaining 356 left due to the nature of your offenses.” He was clearly the person in charge. This, thing, had a voice that was unlike any I had ever heard. This time the others did not laugh.
“Where am I? What did I do?” Is what came out of my mouth, but I’m not sure how. Internally the thoughts were fractured. Painful moments of complete memories kept flooding in, licking at my consciousness like lightning strikes. People I knew and cared for. I think? It all seemed so distant, yet familiar. Painful and disorienting, either way.
“Like always, you will remember, in time.” The Thing said. My eyes had focused a bit more now, but I still could not make out their faces in entirety. Each thing wore a low cowl, providing enough obscurity their features remained a mystery. Their bodies though, were certainly not completely human. Humanoid, maybe, but not like anything I knew, or thought I knew. “Am I human?” The thought skipped across my brain. It didn’t seem like anything I ever had to question before, but I wasn’t sure of anything currently.
A long arm, I hadn’t realized just how long until right then, reached out and flipped a switch beside my head. In a few moments, darkness came. | I have lived a long life. I think my time has come. I take my last breath and pass peacefully. As I die, I wake up, and to my surprise, I find myself strapped to a chair. I am surprised to find myself awake and I am also surprised to find myself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to my body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to me. "That was life sentence 24," one of them says, "Only 356 sentences left." And then I remember, long ago, that I was sentenced to 380 life sentences. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | “Fuck” I say as the small being pulls a cable out of my eyeballs. Out of the whole process, the eye cables are the most uncomfortable. They don’t hurt but they are annoying.
“That was life sentence 24” the tall figure yells at the small grey being behind a glass door.
“Only 356 sentences left” he responds through the now foggy glass.
The room begins filling up with a odorless white gas, the glass door fogs completely and the small being readjusts his mask and pulls a new set of cables out of what it looks like a transparent liquid jar.
“You get to pick this one” the small being said holding the cables and a tiny colorful pebble.
“Rich, famous, handsome, healthy and I’ll be the inventor of something revolutionary” I say as he inserts the pebble in a round hole inside the cables.
“Oh, and happy. I want to be happy!!” I yell before he connects the cables to my eye balls.
“Too late my man. I already programmed the pebble. Sorry. You’ll get to be happy in the 27th life” he said as he connected the cables through my eyeballs all the way inside my brain. While everything settled inside my head and my new reality formed, all I could think was
“Well, at least I’ll be healthy in this one.” | I have lived a long life. I think my time has come. I take my last breath and pass peacefully. As I die, I wake up, and to my surprise, I find myself strapped to a chair. I am surprised to find myself awake and I am also surprised to find myself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to my body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to me. "That was life sentence 24," one of them says, "Only 356 sentences left." And then I remember, long ago, that I was sentenced to 380 life sentences. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | That wasn’t to bad, I thought. Pretending to be in pain, I screamed and shouted the names of my children, my wife, all the other nonexistent people in that life. The Hooded Ones chuckled with glee.
“That was life sentence 24,” one of them says,”Only 356 sentences left.”
I wasn’t nearly done, but I was excited. I was learning how to be competent, successful, and patient in my new lives. I had experienced so many things. Each minute in my real world, one mini-lifetime of mine went by. I wanted to take advantage of my punishment. As soon as I came back to reality, I would become the most successful and rich men alive.
They reignited the program. I put my feet down and relaxed. I WILL be a millionaire by 19, I told myself. | I have lived a long life. I think my time has come. I take my last breath and pass peacefully. As I die, I wake up, and to my surprise, I find myself strapped to a chair. I am surprised to find myself awake and I am also surprised to find myself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to my body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to me. "That was life sentence 24," one of them says, "Only 356 sentences left." And then I remember, long ago, that I was sentenced to 380 life sentences. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Henry was in an excruciating amount of pain. The accident had shattered one leg, and mostly severed the other foot. His arms hadn't faired much better and it took him everything to drag himself free of the burning wreckage.
He felt cold. Which was odd considering how much clothing he wore, what with it being late December.
He didn't realize how long he had been lying there. But no one was coming. He was drunk you see. This was all his fault. The people in the other car didn't need to die. Neither did his wife.
But they did. And soon so did he.
Light. The light they always talk about. It was a lie. A tube was down his throat, and he could smell antiseptic. He wanted out, and several of them made sure to hold him still as someone else ventured over.
This wasn't the diner they left a couple of hours ago. This wasn't the hospital. It was like something out of those comics he read on a whim.
Galactic invaders or something.
Wherever it was... Definitely wasn't 1962.
"Henry Bellwethers. Born July 8th, 1931. Died December 27th, 1962. Not bad. You made it past 30 this time."
One of the people in these jumpsuits stepped forward. She took her mask off. The red hair masked her eyes, but her grim expression was what captivated Henry so.
"Where am I?"
"Christ. Does this procedure always give him amnesia?" She callously asked.
"Stick to procedure." A voice boomed from nowhere.
Henry tried to look for where such a being could be, but he couldn't look very far without them strapping him down tighter.
"Isaac, it's very simple. You do remember don't you?" The woman continued.
Something moved up next to her. Made of metal, it walked like a person. It couldn't be. A robot?
It moved up his right side to the edge of the bed. One of its arms was different then the other. And the lense scanned him soullessly.
"Vitals are stable." It commented.
"Isaac Walsh Rockwell." She dictated. "You are currently serving out a sentence for first degree premeditated murder. 43 counts. You are sentenced to 380 consecutive life sentences in stasis."
Tears streamed down his face as he tried to scream past the tube, but to no avail. The woman stepped forward, her face all brimstone.
"That was number 24. You've got a lot of time left. Think on it will you. This time, your name is Henrietta Stone. You will be born February 23rd, 1998. When you die, well... that's your call."
"I don't remember what I did to you. Please don't do this."
"Oh, don't worry. When you come back for the last time, they'll let you stay. I promise. Gentlemen if you please."
An injection rushed up one of the tubes on his arms and before Henry; Isaac could plead his case, he was gone again.
"Did you have to be so cruel this time?" One of the others in the program asked.
"I miss my son. Everyday." She flatly spoke.
---
"Congratulations, ma'am. It's a girl."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | I have lived a long life. I think my time has come. I take my last breath and pass peacefully. As I die, I wake up, and to my surprise, I find myself strapped to a chair. I am surprised to find myself awake and I am also surprised to find myself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to my body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to me. "That was life sentence 24," one of them says, "Only 356 sentences left." And then I remember, long ago, that I was sentenced to 380 life sentences. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | **Wait, what?**
You're a convict, and you were sentenced to 380 consecutive life sentences. And by God, we're gonna make sure you serve every single one of them.
**Wow, such exposition! Now that I'm up speed, I should probably ask why I can't remember any of these previous life sentences.**
Because we wipe your memory every time.
**Why?**
Gotta wipe something. It's 2214. Toilet paper was made obsolete seven years ago.
**Really? No more wiping? What do you do now?**
You DON'T want to know. But it also doesn't matter. You're going to a place where the toilet paper grows on trees.
**Planet Butthole?**
You wish! Nope. Says it's called (checks clipboard) Earth.
**Did you make that name up?**
Come on, I'm a goddamn scientist. I can invent better names for planets.
**Let's hear one.**
Rigel 17.
**Boooooooo!**
THAT WAS MY GRANDFATHER'S NAME YOU SON OF A BITCH!
**Stop... choking... me....**
I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that. My grandfather was a merchant marine. (coughs) Now, then. Every time you die we reboot you and send you to a different planet, where you live out an entire lifetime as the dominant species. Their average life expectancy is YOUR average life expectancy. On Earth, the humans average 80 of their years, which is conveniently *exactly equal* to ours.
**How fortunate!**
Yes, but you didn't have such a good time during your sixth sentence on the planet Cromudonalon, where you spent fourteen hundred years as a twelve legged crab crawling through a never ending desert.
**Well it's a good thing you wipe my memory every time, because that sounds boring.**
Yes, we really should have kept the toilet paper instead of brain wiping technology. I don't know why we made the choice that we did. In retrospect, very foolish.
**I mean, it worked out for me, so no biggie. By the way, what did I do to get 380 life sentences?**
You know, it's the damndest thing. We lost the paper work a long time ago. The crime you committed happened before the second Graphixian Dynasty, when the pod people rose up, and... sorry, don't mean to bore you. Let's get you to earth.
**Am I gonna crawl on the sand all the time there?**
No, we're gonna kill you slowly like Earth does: with a meaningless desk job.
**Well that doesn't sound too bad.**
I mean, you're never gonna have to go to your local assatorium after taking a shit because they still have the sweet t.p., but on the other hand, you're gonna live in Ohio.
**Ohio? What's that?**
You'll see. (echoey evil laugh) (fade to black) | Blinking rapidly, I let my eyes adjust to the bright, sterile light that was burning into my eyes like hot fire. "What is this?", I yelled angrily. People in lab coats moved busily around me, reading monitors and occasionally glancing down to fill out information on their clipboards.
"Mr. Sanders, how are you feeling this evening? I trust you are comfortable?" The voice was contemptuous and mocking, and I turned my head slowly to my left to view it's owner. My eyes took in the tall, slender figure of a man who was observing me with cold amusement in his eyes. In a flash, everything flooded back.
"You motherf-"
"Mr. Sanders," he interrupted. "How many times must I reprimand your foul language?" He bent down, malice in his eyes, and continued: "The more you misbehave,, the more anguish you reserve for yourself. We control how easy, and how difficult, your sentences can be".
We observed each other for a moment as I struggled against my restraints in futility, hatred burning through every fiber of my broken, malnourished body. I knew this man. He was the prime orchestrator of my anguish, a man who revelled in the torture of those who opposed him. I was staring into the face of Phillip Quincy, Chief Inquisitor of the American Imperial Legion. Less than a man. A monster. But then, a monster is blind in it's destruction, acting on instinct. Every act this abhorrent being had ever performed was calculated, and with full awareness of the effects it had on his victims.
He smiled grimly. "I've been thinking, you know. On one hand, the actions of you and your friends were most upsetting to our plans. Had the Free Canadian Peoples not been warned of their impending annexation, we would have had a much simpler, less costly campaign. On the other hand, you unwittingly outted yourself and all of your extremely bothersome, traitorous friends to our spies." He paused, briefly, raising one eyebrow in mock contemplation. "A fair trade"
"The UN will fight you on this, Phil." I was resigned, yet still indignant. I knew there was no sense continuing to fight. After all, it hadn't worked the first 24 times, had it?
He laughed, and sighed deeply. "Since when have they ever been able to do anything to oppose us? You haven't forgotten the last time, they tried don't you? What we did to the UK? What *you* did?"
I gritted my teeth. The memories haunted me. Millions dead. All at my order. But I had still believed what we were doing was right. I still believed it was necessary. Necessary to revisit the horrors of a nuclear Holocaust on a nation that, ultimately, had been standing against our tyranny.
Phil leaned forward, placing his hands on the railing beside my gurney while glancing to the other side of me. "Sandra, put him back in, would you? Let's run the Bronze Bull sim this time. I want to watch his brainwaves as he realizes he is being slowly cooked alive." He moved away, no longer looking at me, humming away and staring at the backs of his nails. My last thoughts were of my failure, and of Rose. Sweet Rose. I knew they were working away at her too. I would never see her again. I had failed, and through my failure had condemned my friends to a fate worse than death. Tears streamed down my face as I felt the sleep take over me. Time for nightmare 25. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | I let out a soft whimper as I woke up, dazed to say the least. The words rolled around in my head. The average person takes seconds to wake up froma. dream, and while that was far more intense, adrenaline is a hell of a drug.
"W-Wait!" I cry out, panic hitting me like a hammer in the back of the skull, causing a headache just as well. There's a pause. 24, out of 356. Barely not the days of a regular year. I knew what was going on, vaugley, aware now, and far from foolish.
"Over 330 more lives to live?" I ask shakily, heart pounding. The calm of the room was a sharp contrast. Something felt horribly wrong. The men out of sight finally spoke. "There is to be a reiview of your life before the Sentamce commences." I try to calm down. Better than I could easily have hoped for. A man walks up to me, he seems angry, and confused, almost as confused as I am. "Who are you?" He asks. I give him the only answer I can.
"L-Lyra. I-I fancy myself Lyra.. I-I'm.. I'm a good girl, please.."
"A good girl are we? Where's the cocky theif, so fearless of her consequences? Where's the girl who'd hit someone at a drop of a hat? Lyra died, this body's still got a heartbeat." The man replied coldly. A small part of me could tell the speech was rehearsed in some manner.
"Th-Thief? I'm... I can't remember... Pl-Please don't make me forget." My voice cracks. "I-I liked being Lyra.." I can't help but tear up. What am I but what I remember? This feels like the panic of dying all over again...
The man squints. "Is that so? Well too bad.. I'm off to read your file, try to remember how you got here while I'm gone, coward." His lack of empathy stings worse than the simulated death I felt earlier, all too real from what I can feel..
I just wanna be Lyra..
(I'll write a part two if anyone cares. Even like, 1 person replying 'continue' works)
Edit: (continuations are in the replys by the way) | Blinking rapidly, I let my eyes adjust to the bright, sterile light that was burning into my eyes like hot fire. "What is this?", I yelled angrily. People in lab coats moved busily around me, reading monitors and occasionally glancing down to fill out information on their clipboards.
"Mr. Sanders, how are you feeling this evening? I trust you are comfortable?" The voice was contemptuous and mocking, and I turned my head slowly to my left to view it's owner. My eyes took in the tall, slender figure of a man who was observing me with cold amusement in his eyes. In a flash, everything flooded back.
"You motherf-"
"Mr. Sanders," he interrupted. "How many times must I reprimand your foul language?" He bent down, malice in his eyes, and continued: "The more you misbehave,, the more anguish you reserve for yourself. We control how easy, and how difficult, your sentences can be".
We observed each other for a moment as I struggled against my restraints in futility, hatred burning through every fiber of my broken, malnourished body. I knew this man. He was the prime orchestrator of my anguish, a man who revelled in the torture of those who opposed him. I was staring into the face of Phillip Quincy, Chief Inquisitor of the American Imperial Legion. Less than a man. A monster. But then, a monster is blind in it's destruction, acting on instinct. Every act this abhorrent being had ever performed was calculated, and with full awareness of the effects it had on his victims.
He smiled grimly. "I've been thinking, you know. On one hand, the actions of you and your friends were most upsetting to our plans. Had the Free Canadian Peoples not been warned of their impending annexation, we would have had a much simpler, less costly campaign. On the other hand, you unwittingly outted yourself and all of your extremely bothersome, traitorous friends to our spies." He paused, briefly, raising one eyebrow in mock contemplation. "A fair trade"
"The UN will fight you on this, Phil." I was resigned, yet still indignant. I knew there was no sense continuing to fight. After all, it hadn't worked the first 24 times, had it?
He laughed, and sighed deeply. "Since when have they ever been able to do anything to oppose us? You haven't forgotten the last time, they tried don't you? What we did to the UK? What *you* did?"
I gritted my teeth. The memories haunted me. Millions dead. All at my order. But I had still believed what we were doing was right. I still believed it was necessary. Necessary to revisit the horrors of a nuclear Holocaust on a nation that, ultimately, had been standing against our tyranny.
Phil leaned forward, placing his hands on the railing beside my gurney while glancing to the other side of me. "Sandra, put him back in, would you? Let's run the Bronze Bull sim this time. I want to watch his brainwaves as he realizes he is being slowly cooked alive." He moved away, no longer looking at me, humming away and staring at the backs of his nails. My last thoughts were of my failure, and of Rose. Sweet Rose. I knew they were working away at her too. I would never see her again. I had failed, and through my failure had condemned my friends to a fate worse than death. Tears streamed down my face as I felt the sleep take over me. Time for nightmare 25. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Why don't they just kill me? I mean, I deserve it for what I did.
I've had time to think over it. After reliving 24 of the (so far) 365 life sentences of each person I've killed, I've had plenty of time to think about it.
I know, you see. I'm aware it's me, even as I'm living their lives. Think of it like a movie. A really, really long movie that lasts a lifetime. I can think to myself, talk to myself, do whatever except move. Really, what I am is just a passenger. I'm a passenger in someone else's vehicle, someone else's life story.
The way they do this is, in this day and age, everything is recorded. Not just through cameras on the sidewalk or satellites in space, but through people's eyes and ears. A person's entire life is written on a chip and, when they die, is kept for a period proportionate to that person's significance. If a child from Africa, if they were so 'lucky' to get a chip, might have their 'life chip' kept for half a year. On the other hand, a person like Albert Einstein, Elon Musk or, a more recent person, Frederick Zuckerahn, might have their 'life chip' kept forever.
In this punishment system, you'd live your victims entire life up until the point you affected or ended it. But, when you show up and shoot them, stab them, blow them up or fly your plane into their building, the replay doesn't cut. No, the computer simulates their life as if you'd never affected it. All those people killed on 9/11 would have their lives simulated as if 9/11 never happened (if the chips were around back then). Of course, this creates some paradoxes. If 9/11 never happened, what would the world be like? Would it be safer or more dangerous? Would 9/11 not happening even matter? Would another, even larger scale tragedy occur? The computer held the questions, and created the answers.
I won't bore you with the details. Yadda Yadda, sciency stuff, the point is they lived. They lived their life until they 'died' of old age. You'd get to see your impact, their point of view, when they died. Then, the replay would rewind up until just before the point you affected their life. Then, it would start the simulation. Then, you'd get to see how happy or miserable their life would have been if you never touched it. It was meant to make you have an epiphany, or something. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't work.
For small scale criminals? It might scare them straight. But for true psychopaths, true vile murderous scum, it'll just give them more time to think. Plan out their next attack better, other ways to beat or cheat the system. Just adds more time to the ticking bomb.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
I ain't some run-of-the-mill psycho. I knew what I was doing. All those people I killed, it wasn't meaningless. I didn't just snap one day. And, really, that's what makes it all the more worse. I knew what I was doing, and yet I still didn't.
Of course, there were some people in the jury who sympathised with me. "He didn't know!" "He had no choice!" "They were gonna kill him!" "It's not his fault!" but people didn't hear that. All they saw was me, thousand yard stare, a million miles away. Reliving the same scene over and over again. I wasn't paying attention, wasn't showing remorse, so I must be guilty, right?
I got 365 life sentences. 365. That's how many the found. I keep saying that there may be more, that they can't know for sure, that they need to get the bodies that they haven't found back to their family's for a proper burial. They thought I was lying, trying to waste more tax-payer's dollars. I wasn't, cause I knew there was more, I just didn't know where.
So far, the people who's lives I lived didn't have it too tough. Born in the lower-middle class most of them, some born a bit higher up. Didn't ever want for much, always got what they needed. I saw from birth to death, of course, so I really got to know them. The 24 that I watched. And yet, even know, the memory of the 1st is beginning to fade. Just like that, I don't remember his name. Or was it a her? I remember he, or she, was of middle eastern complexion, I think, but how old were they? I can't remember. 24 lives is a long time.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did. I was young, and dumb. Fresh out of boot camp, promoted to some high ranking position because of my 'stellar performance' in training. I was given a direct line from the president, first of my kind. Many more to follow, they said, trialing a new system.
When the order came through, I wasn't prepared. We'd been outside this small town for weeks, holed up, covering all sides. We were trying to retake it from a radicalized terrorist group, but the local government said no bombs. We didn't have enough manpower to storm in, we were relying on surgical strikes to take out their chain of command but weren't having any luck with intel.
The call came in the early hours of the morning, 0500. The presidential line. I got no acknowledgement, I didn't even have time to greet the president before the line went dead. But I heard the orders. And I gave the orders. Just a messenger, in the end. All it took were a few words.
The town was decimated. Buildings leveled, roads destroyed. It was tough for even our ATV's and MBT's to climb through the debris. We searched and searched, but there were no enemy combatants to be found. Turned out they'd pulled out to a further town to regroup and prepare for our next attack.
When that gavel fell, determining my fate, I had already known. I wasn't some stellar performer, someone deserving of this great title. I was a scapegoat. Labelled as a dumb rookie who got a load of civilians recklessly killed. Manslaughter charges, pushing murder, to the count of 213, at the time. After several repeat appearances in court, they gave the order to cease the retrieval of the bodies. Too many resources were being tied up.
So here I am, sitting in a white room in a white facility in a grey city in a black world. They start one playback while I'm yawning, and when I return, I'm still yawning. A life in the blink of an eye.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I have posted this before on a very very similar prompt, but wanted to post it again because I really liked what I wrote. Hope you enjoyed. | Blinking rapidly, I let my eyes adjust to the bright, sterile light that was burning into my eyes like hot fire. "What is this?", I yelled angrily. People in lab coats moved busily around me, reading monitors and occasionally glancing down to fill out information on their clipboards.
"Mr. Sanders, how are you feeling this evening? I trust you are comfortable?" The voice was contemptuous and mocking, and I turned my head slowly to my left to view it's owner. My eyes took in the tall, slender figure of a man who was observing me with cold amusement in his eyes. In a flash, everything flooded back.
"You motherf-"
"Mr. Sanders," he interrupted. "How many times must I reprimand your foul language?" He bent down, malice in his eyes, and continued: "The more you misbehave,, the more anguish you reserve for yourself. We control how easy, and how difficult, your sentences can be".
We observed each other for a moment as I struggled against my restraints in futility, hatred burning through every fiber of my broken, malnourished body. I knew this man. He was the prime orchestrator of my anguish, a man who revelled in the torture of those who opposed him. I was staring into the face of Phillip Quincy, Chief Inquisitor of the American Imperial Legion. Less than a man. A monster. But then, a monster is blind in it's destruction, acting on instinct. Every act this abhorrent being had ever performed was calculated, and with full awareness of the effects it had on his victims.
He smiled grimly. "I've been thinking, you know. On one hand, the actions of you and your friends were most upsetting to our plans. Had the Free Canadian Peoples not been warned of their impending annexation, we would have had a much simpler, less costly campaign. On the other hand, you unwittingly outted yourself and all of your extremely bothersome, traitorous friends to our spies." He paused, briefly, raising one eyebrow in mock contemplation. "A fair trade"
"The UN will fight you on this, Phil." I was resigned, yet still indignant. I knew there was no sense continuing to fight. After all, it hadn't worked the first 24 times, had it?
He laughed, and sighed deeply. "Since when have they ever been able to do anything to oppose us? You haven't forgotten the last time, they tried don't you? What we did to the UK? What *you* did?"
I gritted my teeth. The memories haunted me. Millions dead. All at my order. But I had still believed what we were doing was right. I still believed it was necessary. Necessary to revisit the horrors of a nuclear Holocaust on a nation that, ultimately, had been standing against our tyranny.
Phil leaned forward, placing his hands on the railing beside my gurney while glancing to the other side of me. "Sandra, put him back in, would you? Let's run the Bronze Bull sim this time. I want to watch his brainwaves as he realizes he is being slowly cooked alive." He moved away, no longer looking at me, humming away and staring at the backs of his nails. My last thoughts were of my failure, and of Rose. Sweet Rose. I knew they were working away at her too. I would never see her again. I had failed, and through my failure had condemned my friends to a fate worse than death. Tears streamed down my face as I felt the sleep take over me. Time for nightmare 25. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Why don't they just kill me? I mean, I deserve it for what I did.
I've had time to think over it. After reliving 24 of the (so far) 365 life sentences of each person I've killed, I've had plenty of time to think about it.
I know, you see. I'm aware it's me, even as I'm living their lives. Think of it like a movie. A really, really long movie that lasts a lifetime. I can think to myself, talk to myself, do whatever except move. Really, what I am is just a passenger. I'm a passenger in someone else's vehicle, someone else's life story.
The way they do this is, in this day and age, everything is recorded. Not just through cameras on the sidewalk or satellites in space, but through people's eyes and ears. A person's entire life is written on a chip and, when they die, is kept for a period proportionate to that person's significance. If a child from Africa, if they were so 'lucky' to get a chip, might have their 'life chip' kept for half a year. On the other hand, a person like Albert Einstein, Elon Musk or, a more recent person, Frederick Zuckerahn, might have their 'life chip' kept forever.
In this punishment system, you'd live your victims entire life up until the point you affected or ended it. But, when you show up and shoot them, stab them, blow them up or fly your plane into their building, the replay doesn't cut. No, the computer simulates their life as if you'd never affected it. All those people killed on 9/11 would have their lives simulated as if 9/11 never happened (if the chips were around back then). Of course, this creates some paradoxes. If 9/11 never happened, what would the world be like? Would it be safer or more dangerous? Would 9/11 not happening even matter? Would another, even larger scale tragedy occur? The computer held the questions, and created the answers.
I won't bore you with the details. Yadda Yadda, sciency stuff, the point is they lived. They lived their life until they 'died' of old age. You'd get to see your impact, their point of view, when they died. Then, the replay would rewind up until just before the point you affected their life. Then, it would start the simulation. Then, you'd get to see how happy or miserable their life would have been if you never touched it. It was meant to make you have an epiphany, or something. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't work.
For small scale criminals? It might scare them straight. But for true psychopaths, true vile murderous scum, it'll just give them more time to think. Plan out their next attack better, other ways to beat or cheat the system. Just adds more time to the ticking bomb.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
I ain't some run-of-the-mill psycho. I knew what I was doing. All those people I killed, it wasn't meaningless. I didn't just snap one day. And, really, that's what makes it all the more worse. I knew what I was doing, and yet I still didn't.
Of course, there were some people in the jury who sympathised with me. "He didn't know!" "He had no choice!" "They were gonna kill him!" "It's not his fault!" but people didn't hear that. All they saw was me, thousand yard stare, a million miles away. Reliving the same scene over and over again. I wasn't paying attention, wasn't showing remorse, so I must be guilty, right?
I got 365 life sentences. 365. That's how many the found. I keep saying that there may be more, that they can't know for sure, that they need to get the bodies that they haven't found back to their family's for a proper burial. They thought I was lying, trying to waste more tax-payer's dollars. I wasn't, cause I knew there was more, I just didn't know where.
So far, the people who's lives I lived didn't have it too tough. Born in the lower-middle class most of them, some born a bit higher up. Didn't ever want for much, always got what they needed. I saw from birth to death, of course, so I really got to know them. The 24 that I watched. And yet, even know, the memory of the 1st is beginning to fade. Just like that, I don't remember his name. Or was it a her? I remember he, or she, was of middle eastern complexion, I think, but how old were they? I can't remember. 24 lives is a long time.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did. I was young, and dumb. Fresh out of boot camp, promoted to some high ranking position because of my 'stellar performance' in training. I was given a direct line from the president, first of my kind. Many more to follow, they said, trialing a new system.
When the order came through, I wasn't prepared. We'd been outside this small town for weeks, holed up, covering all sides. We were trying to retake it from a radicalized terrorist group, but the local government said no bombs. We didn't have enough manpower to storm in, we were relying on surgical strikes to take out their chain of command but weren't having any luck with intel.
The call came in the early hours of the morning, 0500. The presidential line. I got no acknowledgement, I didn't even have time to greet the president before the line went dead. But I heard the orders. And I gave the orders. Just a messenger, in the end. All it took were a few words.
The town was decimated. Buildings leveled, roads destroyed. It was tough for even our ATV's and MBT's to climb through the debris. We searched and searched, but there were no enemy combatants to be found. Turned out they'd pulled out to a further town to regroup and prepare for our next attack.
When that gavel fell, determining my fate, I had already known. I wasn't some stellar performer, someone deserving of this great title. I was a scapegoat. Labelled as a dumb rookie who got a load of civilians recklessly killed. Manslaughter charges, pushing murder, to the count of 213, at the time. After several repeat appearances in court, they gave the order to cease the retrieval of the bodies. Too many resources were being tied up.
So here I am, sitting in a white room in a white facility in a grey city in a black world. They start one playback while I'm yawning, and when I return, I'm still yawning. A life in the blink of an eye.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I have posted this before on a very very similar prompt, but wanted to post it again because I really liked what I wrote. Hope you enjoyed. | **Wait, what?**
You're a convict, and you were sentenced to 380 consecutive life sentences. And by God, we're gonna make sure you serve every single one of them.
**Wow, such exposition! Now that I'm up speed, I should probably ask why I can't remember any of these previous life sentences.**
Because we wipe your memory every time.
**Why?**
Gotta wipe something. It's 2214. Toilet paper was made obsolete seven years ago.
**Really? No more wiping? What do you do now?**
You DON'T want to know. But it also doesn't matter. You're going to a place where the toilet paper grows on trees.
**Planet Butthole?**
You wish! Nope. Says it's called (checks clipboard) Earth.
**Did you make that name up?**
Come on, I'm a goddamn scientist. I can invent better names for planets.
**Let's hear one.**
Rigel 17.
**Boooooooo!**
THAT WAS MY GRANDFATHER'S NAME YOU SON OF A BITCH!
**Stop... choking... me....**
I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that. My grandfather was a merchant marine. (coughs) Now, then. Every time you die we reboot you and send you to a different planet, where you live out an entire lifetime as the dominant species. Their average life expectancy is YOUR average life expectancy. On Earth, the humans average 80 of their years, which is conveniently *exactly equal* to ours.
**How fortunate!**
Yes, but you didn't have such a good time during your sixth sentence on the planet Cromudonalon, where you spent fourteen hundred years as a twelve legged crab crawling through a never ending desert.
**Well it's a good thing you wipe my memory every time, because that sounds boring.**
Yes, we really should have kept the toilet paper instead of brain wiping technology. I don't know why we made the choice that we did. In retrospect, very foolish.
**I mean, it worked out for me, so no biggie. By the way, what did I do to get 380 life sentences?**
You know, it's the damndest thing. We lost the paper work a long time ago. The crime you committed happened before the second Graphixian Dynasty, when the pod people rose up, and... sorry, don't mean to bore you. Let's get you to earth.
**Am I gonna crawl on the sand all the time there?**
No, we're gonna kill you slowly like Earth does: with a meaningless desk job.
**Well that doesn't sound too bad.**
I mean, you're never gonna have to go to your local assatorium after taking a shit because they still have the sweet t.p., but on the other hand, you're gonna live in Ohio.
**Ohio? What's that?**
You'll see. (echoey evil laugh) (fade to black) | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Why don't they just kill me? I mean, I deserve it for what I did.
I've had time to think over it. After reliving 24 of the (so far) 365 life sentences of each person I've killed, I've had plenty of time to think about it.
I know, you see. I'm aware it's me, even as I'm living their lives. Think of it like a movie. A really, really long movie that lasts a lifetime. I can think to myself, talk to myself, do whatever except move. Really, what I am is just a passenger. I'm a passenger in someone else's vehicle, someone else's life story.
The way they do this is, in this day and age, everything is recorded. Not just through cameras on the sidewalk or satellites in space, but through people's eyes and ears. A person's entire life is written on a chip and, when they die, is kept for a period proportionate to that person's significance. If a child from Africa, if they were so 'lucky' to get a chip, might have their 'life chip' kept for half a year. On the other hand, a person like Albert Einstein, Elon Musk or, a more recent person, Frederick Zuckerahn, might have their 'life chip' kept forever.
In this punishment system, you'd live your victims entire life up until the point you affected or ended it. But, when you show up and shoot them, stab them, blow them up or fly your plane into their building, the replay doesn't cut. No, the computer simulates their life as if you'd never affected it. All those people killed on 9/11 would have their lives simulated as if 9/11 never happened (if the chips were around back then). Of course, this creates some paradoxes. If 9/11 never happened, what would the world be like? Would it be safer or more dangerous? Would 9/11 not happening even matter? Would another, even larger scale tragedy occur? The computer held the questions, and created the answers.
I won't bore you with the details. Yadda Yadda, sciency stuff, the point is they lived. They lived their life until they 'died' of old age. You'd get to see your impact, their point of view, when they died. Then, the replay would rewind up until just before the point you affected their life. Then, it would start the simulation. Then, you'd get to see how happy or miserable their life would have been if you never touched it. It was meant to make you have an epiphany, or something. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't work.
For small scale criminals? It might scare them straight. But for true psychopaths, true vile murderous scum, it'll just give them more time to think. Plan out their next attack better, other ways to beat or cheat the system. Just adds more time to the ticking bomb.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
I ain't some run-of-the-mill psycho. I knew what I was doing. All those people I killed, it wasn't meaningless. I didn't just snap one day. And, really, that's what makes it all the more worse. I knew what I was doing, and yet I still didn't.
Of course, there were some people in the jury who sympathised with me. "He didn't know!" "He had no choice!" "They were gonna kill him!" "It's not his fault!" but people didn't hear that. All they saw was me, thousand yard stare, a million miles away. Reliving the same scene over and over again. I wasn't paying attention, wasn't showing remorse, so I must be guilty, right?
I got 365 life sentences. 365. That's how many the found. I keep saying that there may be more, that they can't know for sure, that they need to get the bodies that they haven't found back to their family's for a proper burial. They thought I was lying, trying to waste more tax-payer's dollars. I wasn't, cause I knew there was more, I just didn't know where.
So far, the people who's lives I lived didn't have it too tough. Born in the lower-middle class most of them, some born a bit higher up. Didn't ever want for much, always got what they needed. I saw from birth to death, of course, so I really got to know them. The 24 that I watched. And yet, even know, the memory of the 1st is beginning to fade. Just like that, I don't remember his name. Or was it a her? I remember he, or she, was of middle eastern complexion, I think, but how old were they? I can't remember. 24 lives is a long time.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did. I was young, and dumb. Fresh out of boot camp, promoted to some high ranking position because of my 'stellar performance' in training. I was given a direct line from the president, first of my kind. Many more to follow, they said, trialing a new system.
When the order came through, I wasn't prepared. We'd been outside this small town for weeks, holed up, covering all sides. We were trying to retake it from a radicalized terrorist group, but the local government said no bombs. We didn't have enough manpower to storm in, we were relying on surgical strikes to take out their chain of command but weren't having any luck with intel.
The call came in the early hours of the morning, 0500. The presidential line. I got no acknowledgement, I didn't even have time to greet the president before the line went dead. But I heard the orders. And I gave the orders. Just a messenger, in the end. All it took were a few words.
The town was decimated. Buildings leveled, roads destroyed. It was tough for even our ATV's and MBT's to climb through the debris. We searched and searched, but there were no enemy combatants to be found. Turned out they'd pulled out to a further town to regroup and prepare for our next attack.
When that gavel fell, determining my fate, I had already known. I wasn't some stellar performer, someone deserving of this great title. I was a scapegoat. Labelled as a dumb rookie who got a load of civilians recklessly killed. Manslaughter charges, pushing murder, to the count of 213, at the time. After several repeat appearances in court, they gave the order to cease the retrieval of the bodies. Too many resources were being tied up.
So here I am, sitting in a white room in a white facility in a grey city in a black world. They start one playback while I'm yawning, and when I return, I'm still yawning. A life in the blink of an eye.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I have posted this before on a very very similar prompt, but wanted to post it again because I really liked what I wrote. Hope you enjoyed. | All I could hear was the screams. The sharp sounds of shrapnel ricocheting still rang through my ears, reverberating through my skull even as I awoke. My body shivered with cold and shock.
Squinting, I could see a figure - no, several - emerge from the darkness, merely silhouettes. The world turned, colors ran together, everything fuzzy, head aching.
“That was life sentence 24,” echoed a voice, which I assumed was coming from one of the figures. “Only 356 sentences left.”
My body struggled to no avail as he flipped a switch on the wall and I was back. Oh, god, I was back.
I opened my new eyes, still heavy from sleep. My eyes focused in on the environment. Shadows danced on the walls, spawned by the harsh white iridescent lighting in what I could only assume was an office. I sat at a desk this time, not a cubicle. The desk in which I sat was neat and tidy. Pictures of family were held up by frames on the mahogany top. A man and wife holding their baby proudly. A little boy’s soccer team portrait. A beautiful wedding photo. A juxtaposition to what was to come. I shivered, noticing the feeling of the stiff fabric of my dress shirt against my new skin. I knew what was coming. The air was cold, icy even. This again.
At once a horrible screaming issued forth from the walls - the sirens. The lights flashed red. Emergency procedure.
I did what I did without thinking, without planning to move; my body simply moved by itself, like an orchestra with an invisible conductor. I stood up tall, taller than my previous life sentence, and walked briskly to the door like a man late to a meeting.
Chaos. Chaos everywhere. I had opened the windowless door to the sounds of screams and shrieks and footsteps through the office. The gray carpet matched the grey walls which matched the grey ceiling which matched the grey smoke billowing out from under one of the doors.
I was frozen. Frozen still like a Neanderthal in the ice, frozen like a marionette with an absent puppeteer. Eyes widened, mouth agape, feet frozen, stuck to the grey carpet as if it were grey cement instead.
That’s when it happened, the blast, the terrible blast, the sound of rubble. I only saw flashes, everything moved so fast - a woman running, only to be crushed by rubble - a man lying on the ground with blood running down his face - my own hands up to cover my face and head, and only just now had I noticed the glittering cuff links on my wrists.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. The grey carpet had claimed me, grey cinderblock chunks from the wall had claimed my lower body as their resting place. I lay there, smoke and dust obscuring my sight and invading my lungs, my lower body crushed by debris. My head was bleeding, I think - I couldn’t tell. The world shook and swum and tossed and turned in my vision, and I was along for the ride. My lower body was numb and painful at the same time. I can make it, I told myself, I can make it.
I coughed and choked on the dirty air for what seemed like an eternity. I didn’t realize my vision was slowly going black until I couldn’t see the red flashing lights anymore. As I finally laid my foreign head to rest on the carpet of the office building, I awoke again.
“That was life sentence 25. Only 355 left.”
Not again. I already confessed, went to court, and apologized, damn it! Not again!
I knew it was the punishment to fit the crime. I tried to remember the details of that day - in a fury, I had created my own dangerous invention, played God with mine own hands, and planted a bomb in my old office building. I couldn’t remember the details - couldn’t remember what color the carpet was, what the secretary’s voice was like, what setting the lights were on, hell, I couldn’t even remember what time it was. But they made me remember. They are making me remember, putting me through the torture of death hundreds of times, one for each victim of my own decision. Each victim of my own selfishness, my own short lived fury.
Three hundred and eighty lives. That is how many I claimed. That is how many I will have to suffer. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | “Fuck” I say as the small being pulls a cable out of my eyeballs. Out of the whole process, the eye cables are the most uncomfortable. They don’t hurt but they are annoying.
“That was life sentence 24” the tall figure yells at the small grey being behind a glass door.
“Only 356 sentences left” he responds through the now foggy glass.
The room begins filling up with a odorless white gas, the glass door fogs completely and the small being readjusts his mask and pulls a new set of cables out of what it looks like a transparent liquid jar.
“You get to pick this one” the small being said holding the cables and a tiny colorful pebble.
“Rich, famous, handsome, healthy and I’ll be the inventor of something revolutionary” I say as he inserts the pebble in a round hole inside the cables.
“Oh, and happy. I want to be happy!!” I yell before he connects the cables to my eye balls.
“Too late my man. I already programmed the pebble. Sorry. You’ll get to be happy in the 27th life” he said as he connected the cables through my eyeballs all the way inside my brain. While everything settled inside my head and my new reality formed, all I could think was
“Well, at least I’ll be healthy in this one.” |
My head was pounding, but that wasn’t the worst part. It was secondary to a deep pang of loss that felt like it was eating its way from the inside out. The feeling lingered from a long life that saw loved ones come and go, but was also marked with deep regret.
The figures in front of me, I still couldn’t make out their features, talked amongst themselves in a foreign language. As their shapes were coming into focus, they switched up their dialect. Suddenly I could understand what was being said, and it was directed at me.
“Another one done, only 356 left!” One of them quipped. It was followed by a chorus of laughter. That feeling of loss was beginning to dissipate, become less desperate. It retreated to the outer recesses of my mind, almost like how a nightmare fades in the face of morning. I managed to croak out a “..What?” My whole body ached with the effort of one word.
“You have served your 24th life sentence, prisoner 4567. You still have a remaining 356 left due to the nature of your offenses.” He was clearly the person in charge. This, thing, had a voice that was unlike any I had ever heard. This time the others did not laugh.
“Where am I? What did I do?” Is what came out of my mouth, but I’m not sure how. Internally the thoughts were fractured. Painful moments of complete memories kept flooding in, licking at my consciousness like lightning strikes. People I knew and cared for. I think? It all seemed so distant, yet familiar. Painful and disorienting, either way.
“Like always, you will remember, in time.” The Thing said. My eyes had focused a bit more now, but I still could not make out their faces in entirety. Each thing wore a low cowl, providing enough obscurity their features remained a mystery. Their bodies though, were certainly not completely human. Humanoid, maybe, but not like anything I knew, or thought I knew. “Am I human?” The thought skipped across my brain. It didn’t seem like anything I ever had to question before, but I wasn’t sure of anything currently.
A long arm, I hadn’t realized just how long until right then, reached out and flipped a switch beside my head. In a few moments, darkness came. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | That wasn’t to bad, I thought. Pretending to be in pain, I screamed and shouted the names of my children, my wife, all the other nonexistent people in that life. The Hooded Ones chuckled with glee.
“That was life sentence 24,” one of them says,”Only 356 sentences left.”
I wasn’t nearly done, but I was excited. I was learning how to be competent, successful, and patient in my new lives. I had experienced so many things. Each minute in my real world, one mini-lifetime of mine went by. I wanted to take advantage of my punishment. As soon as I came back to reality, I would become the most successful and rich men alive.
They reignited the program. I put my feet down and relaxed. I WILL be a millionaire by 19, I told myself. |
My head was pounding, but that wasn’t the worst part. It was secondary to a deep pang of loss that felt like it was eating its way from the inside out. The feeling lingered from a long life that saw loved ones come and go, but was also marked with deep regret.
The figures in front of me, I still couldn’t make out their features, talked amongst themselves in a foreign language. As their shapes were coming into focus, they switched up their dialect. Suddenly I could understand what was being said, and it was directed at me.
“Another one done, only 356 left!” One of them quipped. It was followed by a chorus of laughter. That feeling of loss was beginning to dissipate, become less desperate. It retreated to the outer recesses of my mind, almost like how a nightmare fades in the face of morning. I managed to croak out a “..What?” My whole body ached with the effort of one word.
“You have served your 24th life sentence, prisoner 4567. You still have a remaining 356 left due to the nature of your offenses.” He was clearly the person in charge. This, thing, had a voice that was unlike any I had ever heard. This time the others did not laugh.
“Where am I? What did I do?” Is what came out of my mouth, but I’m not sure how. Internally the thoughts were fractured. Painful moments of complete memories kept flooding in, licking at my consciousness like lightning strikes. People I knew and cared for. I think? It all seemed so distant, yet familiar. Painful and disorienting, either way.
“Like always, you will remember, in time.” The Thing said. My eyes had focused a bit more now, but I still could not make out their faces in entirety. Each thing wore a low cowl, providing enough obscurity their features remained a mystery. Their bodies though, were certainly not completely human. Humanoid, maybe, but not like anything I knew, or thought I knew. “Am I human?” The thought skipped across my brain. It didn’t seem like anything I ever had to question before, but I wasn’t sure of anything currently.
A long arm, I hadn’t realized just how long until right then, reached out and flipped a switch beside my head. In a few moments, darkness came. | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | That wasn’t to bad, I thought. Pretending to be in pain, I screamed and shouted the names of my children, my wife, all the other nonexistent people in that life. The Hooded Ones chuckled with glee.
“That was life sentence 24,” one of them says,”Only 356 sentences left.”
I wasn’t nearly done, but I was excited. I was learning how to be competent, successful, and patient in my new lives. I had experienced so many things. Each minute in my real world, one mini-lifetime of mine went by. I wanted to take advantage of my punishment. As soon as I came back to reality, I would become the most successful and rich men alive.
They reignited the program. I put my feet down and relaxed. I WILL be a millionaire by 19, I told myself. | “Fuck” I say as the small being pulls a cable out of my eyeballs. Out of the whole process, the eye cables are the most uncomfortable. They don’t hurt but they are annoying.
“That was life sentence 24” the tall figure yells at the small grey being behind a glass door.
“Only 356 sentences left” he responds through the now foggy glass.
The room begins filling up with a odorless white gas, the glass door fogs completely and the small being readjusts his mask and pulls a new set of cables out of what it looks like a transparent liquid jar.
“You get to pick this one” the small being said holding the cables and a tiny colorful pebble.
“Rich, famous, handsome, healthy and I’ll be the inventor of something revolutionary” I say as he inserts the pebble in a round hole inside the cables.
“Oh, and happy. I want to be happy!!” I yell before he connects the cables to my eye balls.
“Too late my man. I already programmed the pebble. Sorry. You’ll get to be happy in the 27th life” he said as he connected the cables through my eyeballs all the way inside my brain. While everything settled inside my head and my new reality formed, all I could think was
“Well, at least I’ll be healthy in this one.” | |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Henry was in an excruciating amount of pain. The accident had shattered one leg, and mostly severed the other foot. His arms hadn't faired much better and it took him everything to drag himself free of the burning wreckage.
He felt cold. Which was odd considering how much clothing he wore, what with it being late December.
He didn't realize how long he had been lying there. But no one was coming. He was drunk you see. This was all his fault. The people in the other car didn't need to die. Neither did his wife.
But they did. And soon so did he.
Light. The light they always talk about. It was a lie. A tube was down his throat, and he could smell antiseptic. He wanted out, and several of them made sure to hold him still as someone else ventured over.
This wasn't the diner they left a couple of hours ago. This wasn't the hospital. It was like something out of those comics he read on a whim.
Galactic invaders or something.
Wherever it was... Definitely wasn't 1962.
"Henry Bellwethers. Born July 8th, 1931. Died December 27th, 1962. Not bad. You made it past 30 this time."
One of the people in these jumpsuits stepped forward. She took her mask off. The red hair masked her eyes, but her grim expression was what captivated Henry so.
"Where am I?"
"Christ. Does this procedure always give him amnesia?" She callously asked.
"Stick to procedure." A voice boomed from nowhere.
Henry tried to look for where such a being could be, but he couldn't look very far without them strapping him down tighter.
"Isaac, it's very simple. You do remember don't you?" The woman continued.
Something moved up next to her. Made of metal, it walked like a person. It couldn't be. A robot?
It moved up his right side to the edge of the bed. One of its arms was different then the other. And the lense scanned him soullessly.
"Vitals are stable." It commented.
"Isaac Walsh Rockwell." She dictated. "You are currently serving out a sentence for first degree premeditated murder. 43 counts. You are sentenced to 380 consecutive life sentences in stasis."
Tears streamed down his face as he tried to scream past the tube, but to no avail. The woman stepped forward, her face all brimstone.
"That was number 24. You've got a lot of time left. Think on it will you. This time, your name is Henrietta Stone. You will be born February 23rd, 1998. When you die, well... that's your call."
"I don't remember what I did to you. Please don't do this."
"Oh, don't worry. When you come back for the last time, they'll let you stay. I promise. Gentlemen if you please."
An injection rushed up one of the tubes on his arms and before Henry; Isaac could plead his case, he was gone again.
"Did you have to be so cruel this time?" One of the others in the program asked.
"I miss my son. Everyday." She flatly spoke.
---
"Congratulations, ma'am. It's a girl."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | I awake to the darkness. At least, that is what it would appear to be to mortal eyes. My people, my true people, know that the darkness does not truly exist. It is simply an absence of light. And we do not need light to see.
A shadowy figure appears. She does not appear before me, or behind me, or above, or below, nor within, but she is there, all the same, in my presence. I know it, I know it as well as mortal knows the sky is blue, which it of course is not, as there is no such thing as blue, nor is there a such thing as color.
She is there and I smile because I am happy to see her. Smile, figuratively, of course, as I have no mouth to smile with.
It has been so long and yet it has been no time at all. To a mortal, I suppose, it would like waking up from a nap. Yes. That is probably how I would describe it, were I still of flesh and bone. That is the way David would describe it. Although Nethmi may say it was more like the feeling you get when you are dreaming, and you know you are, and you feel the way the fabric of time moves about you, loose and without structure, like water. Lucid dreaming, David would clarify. And Nethmi would not understand because she did not know the term, or speak English at all.
But Kwadz and Julius and Roberto and Mayyasah and Hideki and Agathe and Beto and Batjargal and Pema and Natasha and Naeem and Mickey…none of them would comprehend what this is, nor would you, whoever you are.
I suppose it’s best to put it this way. I am in a chair and I am restrained. There are… strings?...wires… tubes that are attached to my body. Shadows move around me, ensuring that I do not go elsewhere. I am trapped, so to speak, as I will be until my sentence is over.
One of the figures “speak” to me. “That was life sentence 24,” it says. “Only 356 sentences left.”
I acknowledge it. It does not hate me, nor I it. To say it is just doing it’s job would be inappropriate, as it did not choose to do this, no more than a baby chooses to be born, or the sun chooses to rise in the morning and set in the evening. To rage at it would be the same to scream at gravity for keeping you chained to the ground. Yet, I know I have done just that when I was on earth, and I know that once the cycle begins again, I will curse my captors despite not knowing who they are or why they do what they do.
Besides, I deserve this. You could even say I asked for it. And it could be far worse. But even so, I do not want to go back.
She smiles again and comforts me. She does not have a name, because we don't have names, nor a gender, because that term means nothing to us. Yet I still think of her as a female. It’s funny. My mortality must be rubbing off on me. I guess it’s because, throughout this trial, she has been the one true constant, always beside me. At times like a mother. At other times like a lover. And often, just a friend. And in my albeit very limited life experience, the best examples of those terms have all been women. And so, for now, I call her She.
They ask me again if I would like to know my next assignment. I refuse. I have learned by now that it makes no difference where or when or for how long. None of my sentences have been without pain. None of my sentences have been without joy.
Something, an essence, is pushed through the tubes into me. If I could describe it to you, it would feel like fluid through an IV, or a very strong electrical current, both of which I have experienced before. It hurts. I fall off into a deep slumber.
I wake up. “That was life sentence 25,” it says. “Only 355 sentences left.”
---
Thanks for reading. I've begun uploading some of my previous prompts to r/BushyBrowz, so please visit! | |
[WP] The Kraken has risen from the depths, a giant wolf is chasing the sun, the Amazon is on fire. The apocalypse is here and the general public couldn't care less. | "It's a wolf. In the sky. Chasing the sun. It isn't like a weird cloud either, it's a full-on wolf as plain as can be. And still NOTHING," God shouted, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. He was so irritated that he had manifested a physical appearance to better express himself.
"I told you I didn't know what you were expecting," Goddess said, rolling her eyes. "You waited too long." He glared at her, the force of a tsunami coming from his cosmic eyes.
"You always have to be right," he grumbled.
"Don't start with me because your kids aren't paying attention to you. What do you expect when you leave them unattended for thousands of years? They all have abandonment issues." Goddess manifested a viewing portal of her own and clicked her tongue. "You are making quite a mess of things at the moment. That Kraken has already sunk a couple of Indonesian islands."
"Exactly!" God snapped. "And still, the humans continue on. They are still going to offices. Offices! Why aren't they begging for my help?"
"Plenty of them are," Goddess said.
"Yes yes but not really," God said, still pouting. "Those are the ones thrilled at the apocalypse. They think Jesus is going to appear and Revelations will happen and for some reason they see that as a positive development."
"I told you that Bible was going to be trouble," Goddess said.
"Can you give it a rest for one day?" he growled. She glared back.
"Fine, you're on your own." She vanished, leaving God in the viewing dimension on his own. He returned his gaze to the portal and watched with disdain. | Nobody cared when the tentacle reached up from the depths of the ocean and swiped up two tourists, relaxing on the beach. This was New York, and they were tourists; why would they care? It was an attitude every New Yorker eventually adopted. If you've lived long enough there, you learn to look down on tourists, to expect the unexpected, to just mind your own goddamn business; as such, the tourists were dragged to a watery depth.
Then more tentacles reached out, one snaking around the waist of a young boy who had waded into the water. He took a deep, shuddering breath and screamed, pushing off against his bonds.
"Mama! Papa!" He reached out, scrambling onto the sand and holding onto gritty handfuls, slowly being pulled back into the water, his fingers leaving indentations in the sand. "MAMA!" Another tentacle secured his legs, and the boy lost his grip.
A woman stood up, wearing a bright blue swimming suit and a large sun hat, having just gotten up from the towel spread on the ground. She looked around, terrified by her son's screams.
"Jake!" she cried, rushing towards the water. "Jake, Jake- hey, you! Some help over here!" She strained at the rubbery tentacles, and the one around her son's waist came loose; only for it to grasp her arm as she jumped back, shocked. She held fast to her son's hand, but she was dragged along the wet sand, flopping about as she, now, desperately scrabbled for a hand or foothold.
Now, seeing it was one of their own in trouble, another New Yorker, a few people stirred. A balding man, old and feeble, grasped the woman's leg, and pulled with all his might. Jake gave another cry as the tentacle attached to his mother came loose and sought to drag him down. His hand had begun to slip free from his mother's grasp.
"Help! Please!" Her voice began to crack as she surveyed those on the beach, most with headphones in their ears, a few ambling towards them, but only three at top-speed, grabbing Jake by the armpits and pulling up. They were met with resistance, and no matter how much they pulled, the mobster was stronger.
"Huff, huff…" The woman's hand slipped, and Jake began to be dragged away, barely held back by the three people. Jake's mother grabbed on again, and the old man did the same. With all their might, the group of five strained, succeeding in dragging the boy a bit closer.
Then everything went black. In their surprise, they let go, and there was a slurping sound. When the sun reappeared and they turned around, Jake was gone.
Quick as a flash, a tentacle wrapped around each person and, utilizing the element of surprise, dragged them in. Their screams and the red quickly spreading on the water's surface brought in more people (at a safe distance, of course.)
Then the creature began to rise, at first only showing the top of it's head, then it's beady black eyes, and finally a seething mass of tentacles concealed below it.
It- or rather, the kraken- began to advance, feeling forward with strong and sturdy tentacles, until the tip of one met the sand, and it began to slither around the leg of an unfortunate man, who snapped a photo with his camera. Everyone ignored him. He was obviously a tourist.
The rest of the beach-goers ran for their lives, leaving footprints trailing in the sand. The stragglers were snapped up, while the rest of them managed to reach the boardwalk, panting and trying to catch their breath. A woman looked up, and her eyes went wide.
"It's really fast!" she yelled as the kraken raced towards the survivors. A tentacle smashed her into the ground a moment later, leaving only a blood stain on the wood. It turned to the others, two men, three woman, and one child. One tentacle swiped towards them, intent on grabbing them in one go.
(The wolf tracked down the sun and widened it's jaws. Sharp fangs glistening with moisture were bared as it loped forward, and leaped-)
It became dark again. Seizing an opportunity, they ran, the child with one of the woman. The young girl was easily the slowest, but the woman accompanying her swiped her up and ran into a shiny red car.
She turned the key to start it up, and swore when the car didn't start. By now, the sun was back in the sky, blazing with all it's might, and she stepped on the gas. The little girl with her shrieked. A tentacle came crashing down.
The radio turned on in another car, occupied by the two men. They froze as the monster stomped towards them, shattering the cement.
"-the Amazon is burning! It appears to be related to the irregularity occurring with the sun. Everyone is wondering wether this might be the apocalypse. Are we doomed?" The woman on the radio was stopped by the man in the backseat.
"Yes, we're doomed!" yelled the other man, banging on the wheel. The tires screeched, and the woman and child cringed, frightened beyond reason by the creature reaching for the two men in their car. "F------ lady, this is the f------ apocalypse!"
The kraken swooped down and, once again, there was a slurp. The car was crushed completely, and the child whimpered as the kraken began to move towards them.
"Ella, I'm scared," she confessed. Ella hugged the child closer to her.
"It's all right, Sylvia," she replied breathlessly. She held on tight and tumbled out of the car, taking Sylvia with her. "Come on." She smashed through the window of a blue sports car, attracting the kraken. Ella breathed a sigh of relief seeing the keys in the glove conpartment, and entered them in the right place. "After all, nobody seems bothered by all of this; why should we care?" Her foot pressed down on the gas pedal, and they drove off, leaving the kraken behind.
It growled, emanating a low, rough sound as it reached for the car. Ella swerved to the side. She was focused and not at all frightened as she pressed down harder.
"It's right behind us!" exclaimed Sylvia, grabbing the wheel and driving to the side. "Ella… will we really survive?" The woman smirked.
"If it kills me, I'll make sure you'll stay alive," she retorted, an air of confidence around her. "Now, though, let's focus on the present."
In a cloud of smoke, they drove off. | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | So, I'm late to this thread, but I took some time to put together my first /r/WritingPrompts response. Unfortunately, I ended up with something a little too long for Reddit, so I'm posting it here: [https://www.wattpad.com/779131422-honey](https://www.wattpad.com/779131422-honey)
I hope a few people will give it a read! Preview below.
**Honey**
It’s just a day like any other. Like any other. I have to keep telling myself that, or I will freak the fuck out.
It’s just a day. Twenty-four hours. Fewer, really, since we’re only awake for sixteen. Okay, closer to twenty in my case most times. But then again, I’m a nervous wreck and a chronic insomniac. I know, wonderful combination.
Little wonder I have trouble finding a date for my sister Clara’s wedding. Why I need a date at all is beyond me — it’s her day, right? A day for family and close friends? Loved ones. But no. Mom insists. And Dad just kind of sits there like he always does. I guess sometimes what is unsaid is most telling.
This is why I’ve always loved code. It’s clear, concise, predictable. In other words, the opposite of people.
I beg Clara to just pair me up with a bridesmaid. A tried and true wedding tradition, I argue, groomsman and bridesmaid. Not the same, I’m told.
Besides, the only single bridesmaid is the maid of honor, John’s sister. Awkward. She’s six years younger than me, and besides, while our families get on well enough, two sets of sibling couples might be a little too much closeness for comfort.
I pour this out to Selene at the corner table in the coffee shop that serves as our office. Decaf green tea for me, as usual — I’m jumpy enough already.
Selene understands. She knows my nature, knows that I’ve cancelled dates because I break down in tears trying to pick the right shirt. I’m well aware, deep down, that literally any shirt will do, but my stupid brain won’t let me be happy with any of them. Thank God my wedding outfit is someone else’s call.
It’s that debilitating indecisiveness that inspired my start-up, an app that chooses which products to buy among the sea of options based on a few simple personality questions. I’ve read all the studies about the paradox of choice and firmly believe people are happier when they aren’t overwhelmed by trying to pick from twenty-eight kinds of toothpaste.
Not everyone agrees, but Selene does. Despite the superhuman hours required to get her own app off the ground, she never hesitates to help out when I’m stuck. Just being around her feels like I’m making progress by osmosis. On top of being a great programmer she has a way of explaining complex ideas in ways that make sense even if you’ve never coded so much as “Hello World.” My own communications skills could charitably be compared to a robot made of bricks.
Selene and I met in college, both of us CS majors in most of the same classes. Despite being classmates, we rarely spoke to each other most of freshman year, which of course is far from atypical among CS majors so I didn’t think much of it. She always seemed to have people talking to her anyway. More like at her, but that wasn’t clear to me at the time.
It wasn’t until, drawn by free pizza, we happened to be on the same team at this all-night hackathon thing sponsored by some department or another that we hit it off, by which I mean had a conversation longer than two sentences. That’s hitting it off in my book.
At first I wondered. Is she hanging out with me as some sort of joke? Or pity project? I know I don’t exactly ooze charisma and I’ve made my peace with that. Like I said, she seemed to have her pick of friends.
I got it more as the night went on. As others on our team got bored and wandered off, Selene and I delved deeper and deeper into our project. It was supposed to be some inconsequential way to improve class scheduling, but we both approached it with religious zeal, sharing a pet peeve for unsolved problems.
Small talk is not my forte. Programming, though, can make me loquacious to a fault, and I’m sure I talked her ear off. Selene didn’t mind. She later told me it was a relief to sit with a guy for so long who seemed to only care about ones and zeroes, about perfecting the work. I was nonplussed. What else would we do at a hackathon of all things? There’s a time limit. She said most guys find a way to, you know, change the subject. Ah.
Afterward, exhausted and bleary-eyed but warm and happy in the early morning sun, we went back to her dorm. She swiped a few beers from her roommate’s stash and I had my first alcoholic drink. The warm lager tasted terrible but I enjoyed the way it slowed down my brain for a bit. Maybe it was the booze, but that day I opened up to Selene in a way that I hadn’t ever before or since.
Which brings me back to the coffee shop. I begged Selene to go to the wedding with me. Totally platonic, of course. She said that I couldn’t pay her enough to spend a full day and night with my family. She had a point. Maybe I had opened up too much.
She had a different idea. There was this new group for indie software devs she’d been invited into, meant to be a little more avant-garde than the usual crowd. You mean, tattoos and piercings? I asked. Something like that, she said. Point being she could bring me to their next drinks-and-coding thing. She had been planning to go alone and network for both of us since she knew I hated that stuff, but it could be a good place to address my date predicament.
I was skeptical but my social calendar isn’t exactly overflowing, so I said what the hell. The next night we met at the address she had given me. To find the entrance we had to trudge through a back alley and down some stairs. If I had any possessions worth mugging I would have been worried. | "Man, Kate, I just found out last minute that my sister's getting married this weekend. It's an informal thing so no real invitations were sent out, but she wants me to be there as a witness, then a small reception afterwards."
"What's so bad about that?" Kate asks, sounding bored. "
"She said that she wants me to bring a date, I think that she still thinks that I'm dating Lance. I never did tell her that we broke up because I just didn't have feelings for him. And after Theo, well you know, I figured that I'd let her believe that I was still with a 'good guy'."
"Oh shit!" Exclaimed Kate. "What are you going to do?" Kate asked.
"I have no clue but if she finds out that I dumped such a nice guy like Lance and I'm not in any relationship, she will give me the lecture about how she is on her second marriage and I, at age 47, haven't even gotten married once!"
"Yeah Jackie can be a real jackass sometimes, I know." Kate said. "Ooohh I got it, why don't you summon a demon to be your date?" Kate poked fun. She knew that, like her, I was an atheist. Neither one of us believed in heaven or hell, angels or demons. I laughed a little too hard and almost wore the coffee I had been drinking.
Kate said "No, seriously, I came across this summoning spell online and I was going to actually try it out on camera to prove how ridiculous all that dogma crap was. What could it hurt if you just did the same thing? If it doesn't work, well, you're still dateless and atheist, if it does we'll both see the light, so to speak," Kate retorted, "Anyway you dated Satan for 25 years." She laughed loudly, I could tell she was pleased with herself. She's always hated Theo and never passed up a chance to call him Satan, or the devil, she's not wrong, though. He was a terrible boyfriend and a worse human being. But, that's a story for another time.
"Sure, yeah, I guess." I said. "Lay it on me, what does the 'summoning' entail. Kate sent me the details, and I went about gathering what I was going to need for the summoning. Devil's shoestring was the hardest item to locate, but I found some at a nearby occult store. I had promised Kate I'd video the summoning on my laptop and send it to her so she could air it in her atheist podcast.
It wasn't that I was ugly, in fact I was probably a 7 for my age, and most guys quickly fell for me. But I was so over men, like really and truly cold emotionally. I just didn't want my sister's bitch flag in my face while I helped her out on something that clearly meant a lot to her.
Thankfully the moon phase was perfect. It had to be a 'dark moon' which translates to a new moon in regular jargon. I performed the summoning at 3:33 am just like the summoning required. I figured we'd just both get a good laugh, you know. And a demon certainly could not be worse than Theo! Maybe he'd slip me an extra favor and take Theo back to Hell where he came from. I laughed somewhat under my breath at that joke, as I performed the ritual and summoning. There was more steps in satanism, apparently, than Catholicism. I chortled at that wistfully.
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | They said the crossroads. Three days in a row and at midnight. Railroad tracks are the best but any intersection would work. And to bring offerings that displayed my goal. Hard to believe. I paid them and felt empty handed as I ducked under the beads and stepped onto the street. Any corner? Right.
My hair still stank of patchouli as latched the leash and stuffed a copy of the invitation in my pocket. Pocket check. Keys. Vape. Phone. I can’t really believe I’m doing this. Exactly how pathetic am I. Begging fictional characters for pity dates. All the guys I had rejected scrolling through my brain. Picky picky. Sometimes my feet move without my knowing and we were at the corner before I knew it. Dog happily sniffing, I looked around to make sure no one was around. I pulled the paper out of my pocket. Said those words they made me memorize. And lit the paper on fire. Immediately a car pulls down the street and I can see their eyes. They think I’m crazy because I am crazy. As I Scurry home with a confused dog
Mulling over flowers my allergies force a quick decision. Feeling like a troglodyte I pull on my rain boots and walk to the corner. Drop the rose. Say the thing. Breathe relief that no one saw this time and enjoy walking with the dog. She loves the rain. All water really.
Stupid girl. Can’t help hearing my mom’s scolding tone as I pay for a bottle of rum. I don’t know what else to offer and quick google searches suggest alcohol is a safe bet. I’m almost glad to have it over. So I know it’s fake. Because I already know it’s totally bull and I’m probably going to be committed anyways during the wedding so it does matter anyways.
Leash up the dog. Check pockets realizing that I shouldn’t just walk around with the bottle I change my coat. Impatient dog scratching doors, I rush as I realize that I’m going to be late. At the corner. There’s nothing. Of course there’s nothing. I’m just crazy. Laughing out loud I say that phrase loudly because I don’t really care. Open the bottle and pour it onto the grass wondering if it’s going to kill the grass.
I slowly walk back to my door. I can’t really say I ever thought anything would really happen. It was like when you buy a lottery ticket. It’s just for fun. Like tarot. Just for fun. Stupid but fun. I shouldn’t beat myself up for it.
As I walked up the staircase to my door I smelled something sweet and thick. Something with a hint of cherry but no maybe honeysuckle. The door always sticks on the day after it rains. Price you pay for vintage hardwood floors. My second shove swings the door wide open and he’s there. A thin figure in the light of the kitchen. Passing through the doorway just waves at me.
I look at the dog. Do your job. She bolts for the kitchen and plunges belly up to the figure. This can’t really be happening. I’ve gone insane. So I backed out of the door and shut it. And the handle turned. His face appeared through the crack, “but, you asked” he whispered. Reaching a hand, he looked down and sighed. “You aren’t the only one who needs a date for their sister’s wedding.” | "Man, Kate, I just found out last minute that my sister's getting married this weekend. It's an informal thing so no real invitations were sent out, but she wants me to be there as a witness, then a small reception afterwards."
"What's so bad about that?" Kate asks, sounding bored. "
"She said that she wants me to bring a date, I think that she still thinks that I'm dating Lance. I never did tell her that we broke up because I just didn't have feelings for him. And after Theo, well you know, I figured that I'd let her believe that I was still with a 'good guy'."
"Oh shit!" Exclaimed Kate. "What are you going to do?" Kate asked.
"I have no clue but if she finds out that I dumped such a nice guy like Lance and I'm not in any relationship, she will give me the lecture about how she is on her second marriage and I, at age 47, haven't even gotten married once!"
"Yeah Jackie can be a real jackass sometimes, I know." Kate said. "Ooohh I got it, why don't you summon a demon to be your date?" Kate poked fun. She knew that, like her, I was an atheist. Neither one of us believed in heaven or hell, angels or demons. I laughed a little too hard and almost wore the coffee I had been drinking.
Kate said "No, seriously, I came across this summoning spell online and I was going to actually try it out on camera to prove how ridiculous all that dogma crap was. What could it hurt if you just did the same thing? If it doesn't work, well, you're still dateless and atheist, if it does we'll both see the light, so to speak," Kate retorted, "Anyway you dated Satan for 25 years." She laughed loudly, I could tell she was pleased with herself. She's always hated Theo and never passed up a chance to call him Satan, or the devil, she's not wrong, though. He was a terrible boyfriend and a worse human being. But, that's a story for another time.
"Sure, yeah, I guess." I said. "Lay it on me, what does the 'summoning' entail. Kate sent me the details, and I went about gathering what I was going to need for the summoning. Devil's shoestring was the hardest item to locate, but I found some at a nearby occult store. I had promised Kate I'd video the summoning on my laptop and send it to her so she could air it in her atheist podcast.
It wasn't that I was ugly, in fact I was probably a 7 for my age, and most guys quickly fell for me. But I was so over men, like really and truly cold emotionally. I just didn't want my sister's bitch flag in my face while I helped her out on something that clearly meant a lot to her.
Thankfully the moon phase was perfect. It had to be a 'dark moon' which translates to a new moon in regular jargon. I performed the summoning at 3:33 am just like the summoning required. I figured we'd just both get a good laugh, you know. And a demon certainly could not be worse than Theo! Maybe he'd slip me an extra favor and take Theo back to Hell where he came from. I laughed somewhat under my breath at that joke, as I performed the ritual and summoning. There was more steps in satanism, apparently, than Catholicism. I chortled at that wistfully.
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | Part 1
Surely my face couldn’t get redder than his when I went to the wedding. I guess that was an upside, I thought.
My conjuring skills were questionable, though, I thought, as I turned to see my handiwork.
The demon was tall, with huge leathery wings sweeping the floor like some cloak, skin that had an undercurrent to it, like there was a fire brewing underneath. He stature was lean, his features pleasant enough to blend with the aristocracy of angels in the holy wedding here, in Heaven. They were all about looks and purity. Hence, those had been the parameters of the demon summoning charm I had settled for. But how
No horns were a plus, as was the no goat-face vibe. I supposed, it would have been bad if I had summoned Lucifer Morningstar, the fallen angel. That had been my concern, when I had asked for purity, that I would be summoning the Lord of Hell back to Heaven.
However, I was disappointed with my skill. I had expected a demon that could at least match up to me. But demons were demons, lesser beings, my pride said.
"It is a pleasure," the demon rumbled, his voice simultaneously soft and harsh, vibrating through me.
Ah, this wasn’t as bad, I thought, measuring him up as his shrewd gaze raked me too. My sister had asked me to bring a date, and I was. I’d just leave out that he was from hell. Didn’t think that would go too well with the parent, God. If things got too annoying, I'd set him loose and would be as surprised as everyone else that a demon had gate-crashed.
To be honest, I ought to be pleased that I had managed to summon a demon at all. The forbidden scriptures were always under lock and key according to God’s will. But a little rebellion didn’t hurt anyone. Except the devil.
I laughed. Let’s hope He wasn’t there to notice.
“What is it that amuses you, dear? I enjoy a good laugh.”
The demon spoke in that silky voice, washing over me and making my stomach flutter. Lust. Surely not.
“Never mind. The bargain is struck. We are the other’s date to a wedding of our own choice. We have to act like a date in both, so dress appropriately and act appropriately. Understood?” I said sharply. As far as I was concerned, he was a tool, a means to an end. When this was over, I could throw him away back to whence he came. God riddance. I laughed to myself again.
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. I could see an intelligence in those dark passionate eyes. It did not compare to my wisdom, however.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting, gargoyle,” I demanded. I was enjoying this far too much, this sadism, I thought, but I kept my face angry.
“Tough terms, angel. Alright, you are no pumpkin to scare me away.” He grinned to himself. He held out a large hand with tough charred black nails. I shook it. “Demons are sly, though, so be careful you don’t …” he licked his lips and said carefully, “get yourself into a bind…” He flashed pointed teeth at me in a grin.
I grinned back, unperturbed. “You do think a lot of yourself, don’t you? Arrogance is unbecoming of my date, so be a little less loud, dear,” I sneered back. “Come, my demon, we have places to be. Fly me to the wedding. It is at God’s Altar. You have to go right at the intersection between—"
My words were whipped away. His hands snatched my waist and pressed my body against his. My throat caught in my throat, my stomach plummeting as suddenly we were soaring.
“Wait, you look like a demon! They can’t know! The deal is you act like my date!” I yelled into the wind, panicking. Everything was about get ruined. Stupid demon, I knew he wasn't as good as me.
His words vibrated through me, his baritone lush voice for my ears alone as he pressed his lips gently to my ear. “I know deals, dear angel. They are my eternity, my bidding, my bind. I have veiled myself to… appear angelic.” I felt him smile against my cheek.
I was caught by surprise by his gentleness, his humour and amiability, and I gulped. I tried to push away the nerves, heart thrumming. What was I doing? The demon could feel everything I could.
Suddenly I frowned, as we slowed down in the air, and he landed before the wedding. “How did you know the way here?”
He smiled to me and winked. “Details, details.”
I glared at him. “Well?”
He laughed at my anger. “Why is it you do not have a date?”
Ah, an answer for an answer. I appreciated this demon, and hence would oblige. “You first.”
He raised an eyebrow in an infuriating way. “You seem clever. I’ll give you a hint. I have no horns, I don’t bleat, I am part of every deal. And *I* am the favourite, not Michael.”
I blinked and gulped. Ah. I smiled. So I was powerful enough to command the devil do be my date. I grinned. Lucky me. “Don’t goat’s bleat?”
He stared at me, shocked. The next moment, he burst out laughing, doubled over. “Silly angel. Your answer now, please.”
“I’m powerful. I can do everything by myself, I love myself. What need is there for any other but me?”
He considered me. He nodded. “Come, tardiness is frowned upon at such events. I doubt the other angels will forgive you for that.”
We laughed together.
As we walked up the glowing steps, an idea popped into my head. I may as well get as much out of my time with him as possible. I said brazenly, “You’re a little out of touch with dates, aren’t you? According to the new customs up here in heaven, we should bring a gift to this holy matrimony.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “So, be a lamb,” I cleared my throat, “apologise, a goat, and give them a gift. A dead dove in the wedding cake should do it. And don’t forget that as my date, you should bring a gift for me,” I deceived. “I’ll let you know what it should be as the evening proceeds. I might have need of some miracle.”
He laughed. “You are one hell of a date.”
“Be a devil.”
"Why else bring one to the court of angels, eh?" He inclined his head, kissing my hand to set his magic in motion. “Who knows, by the end of this day, perhaps your sins will trap you with me in Hell. What a wedding that would be, my lady.”
​
(If you enjoyed, please follow [https://twitter.com/whistlingwindo1](https://twitter.com/whistlingwindo1) for more of my work) | Huh. That wasn’t supposed to work.
It sniffed the air, its bugged eyes seeking me out and scanning me up and down.
“Why have you summoned me, mortal? Seek ye eternal life?” It hissed.
“Not exactly.” I replied.
“Then what is it? Money, power... love?”
“Again, no. I need a date for a wedding.”
The hunched creature before me blinked in stunned silence.
“You summoned me for a ‘date’ to a wedding?”
“Look, I didn’t think this would work. I was desperate. If you want to go back to hell or whatever, I won’t-“
“No!” Barked the demon, rather rudely interrupting me.
“If I take you to the wedding, I’m gonna get some weird looks.” I said.
“What do you mean?” It replied.
I gestured at its bent, chicken-like form. Scaly pustules covered it from head to toe. Several of them were leaking.
“Oh, of course!” The demon muttered to itself.
Before my eyes it began to warp. It’s legs lengthened, and it’s scales turned to skin. The pustules on its body either receded or burst and then healed. It’s eyes shrank to normal proportions. After a minute or two the hideous creature I had summoned was no more, instead replaced by a handsome young man.
“Is this more suitable?” He said, smirking.
“I guess.” I replied, more to myself than anyone in particular. “But I don’t wanna sell my soul for a date. Isn’t that how this usually goes?”
The demon looked a bit embarrassed.
“Yes... normally it is. It’s just that...”
He trailed off.
“What?” I was getting impatient.
“I need a wedding date too.” | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | The demons ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed over me as I walked arm-in-arm with their king. “Truly the ugliest specimen Earth has to offer,” one whispered.
“Breathtaking,” another agreed.
I fought back tears. All my life I’d had to deal with this kind of ridicule, especially when people saw me next to my beautiful, kind, ever-caring sister - the same one who insisted I find a date to her wedding because she knew how much it would suck for me to be both hideous and alone at that kind of event. I wish she would keep her perfect nose out of my business. She could have left me alone. I could have stayed at home. But no, instead I showed up with THE most handsome man anyone had ever seen and by the end of the night everyone was judging me for hiring an escort.
Though it’s probably better than them knowing the truth. Demon summoning has its stigma too.
And now I was in Hell, keeping my end of the bargain. The wedding of one of his servants to another - their names were impossible to pronounce.
Little did I know how much worse this would be than the wedding I had just left. Lucifer paraded me around proudly, pointing out the features I hated the most about myself. “Note her uneven teeth! Her bulbous nose! Pay close attention to the disgusting pustules that spot her face! I could not have found an uglier human.” He grinned at me. “And all eyes are on you instead of the bride and groom. This pleases me. Wedding etiquette is for angels.”
I looked away. All the infernal creatures that surrounded me looked grotesque, and yet I was still the ugly one. Always, always.
“How long is this wedding going to last?” I asked, my voice breaking as a sob worked it’s way free. “I want to go home.”
“Oh, but you cannot. You see, when you summon a demon, the bargain struck is in exchange for your soul. Your bitter, bitter soul, black and withered from years spent envying the sister who was only ever gracious to you. This is your hell.” I wrenched my arm from his, horrified. “This is the punishment you have been dealt - for all of eternity.” | “Well, this is a first!” I laughed as the demon stared into my soul.
“What first?” The demon questioned as I continued laughing.
“My first date is with the King of the Underworld!” I answered.
“That’s odd,” The demon replied. “It’s my first date too!”
“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “ King Lucifer never dated anyone before?”
“Don’t mock me,” The demon snarled, harshly. “I never had time for such trivial matters like dating.”
“I’m not going to judge,” I retorted. ”As long as, you help me and I help you.”
”Deal,” The demon agreed. ”At what time will your sister's wedding be?”
”Tomorrow, at noon.” I said, taking a seat at the table, in my room. ”What about the wedding you have to attend?”
”My mother is having her 4th marriage, and she wanted me to bring a date, as her wedding gift.” Lucifer muttered, under his breath.
”A date as a gift?” I queried, at such an odd request. ”How come?”
”I don't know, ” He sighed. ”She was persistent about finding a date suitable for me and would pester me about it until I agreed.”
”That must be harsh.” I responded, empathetically. ”My sister would do the same and forced me into going into a blind date, do her wedding.”
”That doesn't seem like a great sister.” The demon remarked.
”She is.” I defended. ”Not all the time, but she is.”
”Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He snickered. ”I need to head back to the Underworld, for my royal duties.”
”Then go on, ” I giggled. ”Go on Sir Lucifer and do what you were born to do!”
”I said don't mock me!” He growled.
”Too late for that, ” I continued teasing him. ”See you, tomorrow!”
”Whatever, ” The demon muttered, before disappearing altogether.
----------
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | "Is it cool if she's a Mormon?" I ask with trepidation.
"DON'T STRESS." He answers with a thundering, gutteral growl. I'm pretty sure that's his inside voice. "GOD NEEDS SOMETHING TO KEEP HIM ON HIS TOES ANYWAY."
He stands as a 7.5 feet tall, red skinned giant. His horns are scratching the ceiling of my basement. The sheer size of the beast is unreal. I can feel the heat generating off of him and it's almost unbearable.
I don't have a close relationship with my sister, but I love her to pieces and want the best for her. I happen to be a Satanist myself, hence the relatively relaxed rapport with our Dark Lord. He's my best friend. He's all our best friend. He's also the perfect match for my sis.
"We gotta find a way to make sure she doesn't know it's you." I remark.
"Got any ideas? The heat alone will char any suit we can find for you."
"THAT ONE'S EASY. I HAVE A MAGIC, TUNGSTEN RING I CAN STORE MY AURA IN. I'M GOING TO NEED A LAKE OR SOMETHING TO GROUND IT, BUT WE CAN WORRY ABOUT THAT TOMORROW. MY HORNS, VOICE, AND SKIN ARE GOING TO BE THE REAL OBSTACLES."
"We can get you a top hat for the horns. We'll just say you're a fan of Abraham Lincoln or something. The skin, we can do a spray tan I think. I don't know; I've never done one but it'll probably work. Your voice though... I don't know man. I'm not sure she'd be cool with a mute."
We take seats in lawn chairs and do some pondering.
"I'M STUMPED."
"Yeah, me too."
We ponder some more. It's still morning so we got all day to figure this out. That doesn't make the problem any less tough.
"ARE YOU SURE SHE'D REJECT A MUTE?"
"Yeah. She's pretty quiet herself. She needs a talker. Can you whisper?"
^"how's ^this?"
It's barely audible. "It's fine," I say out loud.
"CAN I SEE A PICTURE, PLEASE?"
I break out my phone and pull up a picture of her. It's from a year ago. He looks at her, looks at me, and looks back to the phone.
"SHE'S FUCKING GORGEOUS!" The earth surrounding us groans in stress under the weight of his volume. I'm pretty sure my ears are bleeding. My eyeballs are vibrating and my guts feel like they've been blended.
"Yeah," I reply. "She's a sweetheart too. I'm not kidding when I say she's a premium woman. Part of why you're here is because I can't find anyone worthy besides a God."
"WHAT'S HER NAME?" I can tell he's trying to modulate his volume for my sake. If my ears ever stop ringing again, I'll be sure to thank him.
"Persephone."
"OH." He looks back to me, then back to the phone. "WE MAY HAVE A PROBLEM."
"What?"
"I'M IN LOVE."
I sit in silent shock. "Oh crap."
"YEAH. I'M ANXIOUS." | “Well, this is a first!” I laughed as the demon stared into my soul.
“What first?” The demon questioned as I continued laughing.
“My first date is with the King of the Underworld!” I answered.
“That’s odd,” The demon replied. “It’s my first date too!”
“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “ King Lucifer never dated anyone before?”
“Don’t mock me,” The demon snarled, harshly. “I never had time for such trivial matters like dating.”
“I’m not going to judge,” I retorted. ”As long as, you help me and I help you.”
”Deal,” The demon agreed. ”At what time will your sister's wedding be?”
”Tomorrow, at noon.” I said, taking a seat at the table, in my room. ”What about the wedding you have to attend?”
”My mother is having her 4th marriage, and she wanted me to bring a date, as her wedding gift.” Lucifer muttered, under his breath.
”A date as a gift?” I queried, at such an odd request. ”How come?”
”I don't know, ” He sighed. ”She was persistent about finding a date suitable for me and would pester me about it until I agreed.”
”That must be harsh.” I responded, empathetically. ”My sister would do the same and forced me into going into a blind date, do her wedding.”
”That doesn't seem like a great sister.” The demon remarked.
”She is.” I defended. ”Not all the time, but she is.”
”Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He snickered. ”I need to head back to the Underworld, for my royal duties.”
”Then go on, ” I giggled. ”Go on Sir Lucifer and do what you were born to do!”
”I said don't mock me!” He growled.
”Too late for that, ” I continued teasing him. ”See you, tomorrow!”
”Whatever, ” The demon muttered, before disappearing altogether.
----------
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | "Mortal, did you place a call for Lucifer?" an intimidating but somehow soothing voice called.
A small pillar of flames had lightly scorched the floor, with a smell of salt and sulfur I knew simply opening the windows and using a bottle of air freshener would not get rid of.
I blinked my eyes a few times, just to make sure that what I was seeing was real. I had never expected that summoning a demon would work, let alone that it would be the ruler of hell itself. Nor was I expecting that said ruler would be so... fetching, and a woman at that.
"W-wait, what now?!" I stammered, forgetting my manners entirely. "M-my religious relatives always described the devil as more beast than human or something like the Balrog from Lord of the Rings. Since when did the devil turn into a redheaded supermodel?"
"You know, for a species that prides itself on intelligence, you don't read your references well do you?" She cracked back, sarcastically, then her voice softened. "Demons do occasionally slip out from hell and make it into some story or other. Tolkien definitely saw one of the royal guardsmen who brought some souls back to hell from World War One. Couldn't believe it when we read his stuff for the first time, though we were quite flattered."
"I - wait, hold on a sec," I said, flabbergasted. "Tolkien actually saw devils, and... you like Lord of the Rings?"
"Is that really what you want to talk about, or do you have something else on your mind?" She said in a somewhat flirtatious tone.
"We-well... I - er... that is..." I stammered more. Damn this social anxiety.
"Oh for Asmodeus' sake," She said, exasperated, as she walked up to me. "Are you going to ask me a favour or are you not? I am getting sick of being summoned by indecisive men."
I leaned back away from her as she walked closer putting her hands on her hips. I must've leaned to far, because I lost my balance and fell on the floor gazing up at her.
"S-sorry," I replied, getting back on my feet. "I'm not used to talking with... well... rather beautiful women. Let alone one who happens to be asking for a favour."
As I said that last line, I could swear I saw her blush, but quickly banished the thought from my mind.
"You know," She replied, softly. "Thats the first time in eons, that someone said I was a woman, not the devil."
I swallowed hard at that. I couldn't believe that the devil was acting like a regular person.
"You're welcome..." I said, in a puzzled tone, my anxiety starting to abate. "Look, I realize this isn't ideal, but I need a date for my sister's wedding in a week. You're basically my best shot to look like a somewhat normal human being, care to try and make that happen? Full disclosure though, you'll probably fail miserably."
She giggled a little at that. I could swear the temperature was rising, and couldn't help but wonder if that was because my floor was on fire from where she entered.
"You do realize that any time you ask a devil for a favour, a favour is owed in return." She said, somewhat teasingly. "The return favour is up to the devil's discretion as well, and you must fulfill it, unless you wish to have your soul be mine for eternity."
"Nothing in hell is ever for free, is it?"
"I'm a devil. Doing things out of the goodness of my heart is not exactly in the job description, though I can make exceptions if I chose to."
"I don't think you'll be making an exception here." I responded, trying not to sound like I was depressed. "What favour do you need done in return?"
"You agreed awfully quick to this deal, you know that?" She teased. "I could ask you to murder everyone at this wedding and you would do it because my power compels you to." She said the last part with a malicious smile.
"Wait, what?!" I said, shocked and scared. Now I was more worried that the first date I'd had in years would force me to murder my family for her own enjoyment. I sighed and coolly replied. "You really do play people well. Just like the terms and conditions contracts for all my computer software. Nobody ever reads the fine print and you have what you want anyways."
"Who do you think it was that gave those lawyers and company owners those ideas in the first place?" She said with a smirk. "I've already had my fair share of murders done this century, so you don't have to worry about that."
"I think I can do a favour that doesn't involve murder," I replied, nervously. "Are you going to tell me about it, or just hold it over my head for eternity?"
"You really don't know how to be playful, do you?" She teased.
"You were the one who said you hated indecisiveness." I retorted as I sank into my chair.
She smiled as she gripped the edge of my chair and moved her face towards mine. "What I want from you..." She traced her finger up my arm to my chest. I could swear she heard my heart hammering, but it just made her grin more. "... is the same thing you asked of me. Go to a wedding with me."
My jaw dropped at that. | “Well, this is a first!” I laughed as the demon stared into my soul.
“What first?” The demon questioned as I continued laughing.
“My first date is with the King of the Underworld!” I answered.
“That’s odd,” The demon replied. “It’s my first date too!”
“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “ King Lucifer never dated anyone before?”
“Don’t mock me,” The demon snarled, harshly. “I never had time for such trivial matters like dating.”
“I’m not going to judge,” I retorted. ”As long as, you help me and I help you.”
”Deal,” The demon agreed. ”At what time will your sister's wedding be?”
”Tomorrow, at noon.” I said, taking a seat at the table, in my room. ”What about the wedding you have to attend?”
”My mother is having her 4th marriage, and she wanted me to bring a date, as her wedding gift.” Lucifer muttered, under his breath.
”A date as a gift?” I queried, at such an odd request. ”How come?”
”I don't know, ” He sighed. ”She was persistent about finding a date suitable for me and would pester me about it until I agreed.”
”That must be harsh.” I responded, empathetically. ”My sister would do the same and forced me into going into a blind date, do her wedding.”
”That doesn't seem like a great sister.” The demon remarked.
”She is.” I defended. ”Not all the time, but she is.”
”Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He snickered. ”I need to head back to the Underworld, for my royal duties.”
”Then go on, ” I giggled. ”Go on Sir Lucifer and do what you were born to do!”
”I said don't mock me!” He growled.
”Too late for that, ” I continued teasing him. ”See you, tomorrow!”
”Whatever, ” The demon muttered, before disappearing altogether.
----------
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | "Well, shit." I mumbled.
"Were you expecting someone else?" He said slyly
"Uh, yeah, i was." I replied.
"Oh, you were expecting a female." Said Lucifer. "Would you prefer if i changed appearance?"
"No, this is weird enough as it is. I don't want to have to see The Devil in a dress." I said. The thought of it made me shudder.
"So, shall we go?" Lucifer asked.
I took a second contemplating this. What would my family think? Not to mention, what if he started causing chaos. This could be a shit show.
"Fuck it, let's go. We're running late and i doubt i can change it now." I grumbled.
"Do you want to do drive or should I?" Lucifer asked.
The politeness in his voice caught me off guard. What was his end goal? Why did he need a date, and why out of everyone, did he pick me?
"I'll drive." I replied.
We got into my car and drove off. After about five minutes of silence between us, all the questions swirling in my head had to be asked.
"Why did you pick me?" I blurted out.
Pick you for what?" Lucifer asked, not making eye contact with me. He was looking down, fiddling with the red and gold cuff links on his suit jacket. He seemed nervous.
"For the wedding. You could have picked anyone, why me?"
"Because we both needed a date." He said, with a bit of annoyance in his voice.
"Yeah, but i was sort of expecting...." I didn't exactly know how to finish that sentence. Lucifer turned his head, and stared right at me, with a fiery look in his eyes.
"You were expecting a female." He said. "Well, i guess we both drew the short straw on this one."
"Who were you expecting?" I asked. He seemed off. Unsettled. Like he was nervous. He didn't answer the question, so i decided to ask a different question.
What do you need a date for anyway?"
"Because i too, am going to a wedding. But the person i was originally going with changed plans last minute." He replied.
"Wait, so you're saying that you, Satan, the king of Hell, got dumped?" I tried not to smile while saying it.
"Well, at least i had a date." He replied coyly. That was a low blow. But this is Lucifer, and what he said was all true.
"So, this wedding is it, a demon wedding?" It was difficult to find the correct words. I didn't even know if demons had weddings.
"I guess you could say that." He said, absent minded. "But the wedding is here, on Earth."
He seemed annoyed at the fact it was on Earth. Weird, we were both going to a wedding. A thought crossed my mind, one that was unlikely, but made my skin crawl. I decided to not ask anymore questions.
We pulled up to the parking lot. "We're here."
"Let's get this over with." Lucifer said. He said it with a certain distaste, as if he had to force the words out.
"Look, I'm not thrilled about it either." I said. "If anyone asks, your name is Luke."
"Really? That's the best name you have?"
"Do you got a better one?" I said, with annoyance in my voice.
He glared at me, and started walking towards the hall.
I speed walked up beside him. "You never did say why you were attending a wedding i said, having to catch my breath.
"My little brother is getting married."
"You have a brother?!" I said. I couldn't contain the shock from his sentence.
"There is a lot people don't know about me." Lucifer said. He didn't seem too keen on elaborating.
We arrived to the doors of the hall. "Okay Luci-" I tripped up on my words. "Okay Luke, you ready?" I said.
"Sure." He said. "One question." He said, turning on his heels to face me. "What is your name?"
Up until this point, i realized i hadn't divulged my name to him, or any info about the wedding. "My name is Mike. My sister, the one that is getting married, her name is Nancy."
"Wonderful." Lucifer said sarcastically.
We pushed open the doors to the hall. The place was crowded, people wearing tuxes and fancy dresses, drinking champagne and chatting about. I started to get nervous. I always got nervous around big crowds of people. I started walking forward, but after a couple steps, i stopped. My Hellish date, if that is what you would call this, was not beside me where i thought he was. I turned around. He stood there, a couple feet behind me, in the the doorway. His face was as white as a sheet. For some reason, him looking terrified started to send shivers down my spine. I walked back over to him.
"Uh, hey, Luke?" I said. "What's wrong?"
Lucifer didn't reply. He was staring off behind me. I turned to look where he was looking. At the far end of the hall, you could see the stage, my sister Nancy standing up there, with her soon to be husband. I got in front of Lucifer, and i saw his eyes re-focus to me standing in front of him. I half whispered. "What the fuck are you staring at?!" I demanded.
"Is this the right wedding?" He asked.
The way he asked that question, he sounded mortified. What was he, The Devil, so afraid of? All of a sudden, Lucifer raised his left hand, index finger extended outward. I turned, following where he was pointing to. He was pointing at my sister and her future husband.
"That man." He said. "He's my little brother."
It felt like i got hit with a ton of bricks. I was shocked, confused, and speechless. After what felt like minutes, i mumbled the words, which i said much louder than i ever intended for them to be.
"What the fuck!?" | “Well, this is a first!” I laughed as the demon stared into my soul.
“What first?” The demon questioned as I continued laughing.
“My first date is with the King of the Underworld!” I answered.
“That’s odd,” The demon replied. “It’s my first date too!”
“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “ King Lucifer never dated anyone before?”
“Don’t mock me,” The demon snarled, harshly. “I never had time for such trivial matters like dating.”
“I’m not going to judge,” I retorted. ”As long as, you help me and I help you.”
”Deal,” The demon agreed. ”At what time will your sister's wedding be?”
”Tomorrow, at noon.” I said, taking a seat at the table, in my room. ”What about the wedding you have to attend?”
”My mother is having her 4th marriage, and she wanted me to bring a date, as her wedding gift.” Lucifer muttered, under his breath.
”A date as a gift?” I queried, at such an odd request. ”How come?”
”I don't know, ” He sighed. ”She was persistent about finding a date suitable for me and would pester me about it until I agreed.”
”That must be harsh.” I responded, empathetically. ”My sister would do the same and forced me into going into a blind date, do her wedding.”
”That doesn't seem like a great sister.” The demon remarked.
”She is.” I defended. ”Not all the time, but she is.”
”Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He snickered. ”I need to head back to the Underworld, for my royal duties.”
”Then go on, ” I giggled. ”Go on Sir Lucifer and do what you were born to do!”
”I said don't mock me!” He growled.
”Too late for that, ” I continued teasing him. ”See you, tomorrow!”
”Whatever, ” The demon muttered, before disappearing altogether.
----------
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | The eyes turned to us as I walked in with Samael... Samuel. I saw the jealousy in Tina's eyes and it made me so happy. My sister had a big smile on her face and waved to me a little. As Samuel turned to get a drink, my sister pretended to fan herself and gave me the thumbs up. And why wouldn't she. He was an extremely attractive man.
Hannah was the one who made me promise that I'd come to her wedding with a date. She had often pestered me about going out and actually socializing. But it wasn't for me. I preferred to be at home, alone, than be talking to uh... people. The only person I talked to was someone halfway around the world I regularly played a video game with. Luckily for me, Samuel wasn't exactly people.
I hadn't expected it to work. It was a silly little chant that I picked up from a sketchy looking Swedish website. I struggled with the words over and over. I had almost given up when the smell of brimstone filled the air and he stood there, dressed to impress and charming as hell.
My mother walked up to us, her own glass in her hand. That glass was sort of a fixture in her hand. Every memory and thought of my mother I had always included two things; her silly blue beret and a glass of alcohol in her hand.
"Oh my, Cassie. Who's this wonderful gentleman? Why don't you introduce us to him?"
"Mom, it's my date and I would prefer if you..."
"Hello Mrs Jackson. You know, till she called you mom, I thought she had a sister I didn't know about."
I rolled my eyes. My mom, on the other hand, blushed.
"Oh, aren't you a charmer. So what's your name? And how did Cassie ever get a guy like you. I mean, it just doesn't make any sense to me."
"Why thank you mom. You always know the right thing to say."
Samuel however smiled at her. "Well, I had to beg her for a date. She turned me down six times. But you know what, I would've asked her six hundred and sixty six times if that's what it would've taken. She's worth it."
My mom looked at him and then me. "Cassie dear, can I talk to you in private."
I looked at Samuel. "I..."
"Go on."
As soon as we were out of earshot, my mom turned to me. "Who's this guy? Are you paying him?"
"Mom! For goodness sake."
"Look honey, let's face it. You're my daughter and I love you. But he's so far out of your league that it's not even funny."
"Well what can I say, he has a fetish for frumpy girls. Can I go now? He doesn't know anyone and I don't want him to be uncomfortable."
I went to him, looked at my mother, and planted a kiss on his lips. He was surprised but he kissed me back.
I took him by the hand and led him to the back corner of the hall.
"I'm sorry about that. It's my mom. She just gets in my head and..."
"Hey, if that happened because of your mother, I must thank her."
I looked at his face, and his smile and I felt an emotion stirring deep in me, like a tendril coming up from the ground. No freaking way. He was literally the devil. I had to stop.
He just smiled.
The ceremony was a beautiful affair. My sister had wanted me to be her bridesmaid but I had excused myself. The idea of being up there in front of all those people... I couldn't do that.
When the time for the toasts came, Samuel leaned in closer. "Are you not giving a toast?"
"Nah, I can't. I'll get up and then people will look and I just can't."
"Is there something you want to say to your sister though?"
"Yeah. But not in front of everyone."
"What about just me?"
"What do you mean?"
"What does your sister mean to you. Tell me what you would say to her if could."
"It's... I don't know."
"Oh come on. Tell me."
I looked into his dark eyes and found I couldn't look away anymore.
"Hannah has always been there for me, knowing full well that I couldn't be there for her all the time. That's what makes her special. She will do good, she will help you even if you know you can't return the favour. Because for her, it's not about what you can do for her. She's an absolutely pure soul. So pure, in fact, that her grace rubs off on everyone around her. Our family had so many chances to break apart. But you know who kept it together. Hannah. And you know how we've paid her back? She wanted me to come to her engagement party. I stayed home and played smite with a person I've never seen. You know what happened the next morning. She called me to check if I had my breakfast. She didn't even acknowledge how I had broken her heart. No! I keep breaking my promises and hurting her. She, god bless her soul, keeps filling my life with happiness. Today, it's the most important day in her life and you know what she spent it all on? To make my life better. She tried to make sure that I was comfortable. Because that's just the sort of person my sister is. She is the most wonderful sister in the world. If there is someone in your life who loves you like my sister loves me, trust me, your life is a success. And I know I don't say it often, but I love her so so much. I know this is her day, but I am making myself a promise today. I'll change my life. I'll be what she wants me to be. Doesn't matter how much effort it takes. Doesn't matter how hard it is. God could stand in my way and tell me to stop, but I won't. Because she deserves it."
I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of clapping. Someone hugged me from behind and I noticed I held a glass in my hand. Hannah was crying.
"Thank you Cassie. That was wonderful. I know how hard it would've been for you."
"I... No. Thank you Hannah. For everything."
As everything settled back, I turned to him. "What did you do?"
"Nothing!"
I paused, a little tear running down my cheek. "Thank you."
"Oh, it was my pleasure. The god references were a bit much but, you know."
"So you said you needed a date to the wedding too. Whose wedding do you have to attend?"
"It was this one really."
"This one? Anyone you know? Don't tell me the groom is god or a demon or something?"
"Eli? Nah, just an ordinary man. They will live a perfectly ordinary life."
"And me?"
"Oh, your life will be full of excitement and weirdness."
"Wow."
"I know right. Lots to look forward to."
"But getting back to the wedding, why did you want to attend this wedding then?"
"I was tired of losing in Smite to you. I figure, we play again. This time, I keep a close eye on you and make sure you're not cheating." | “Well, this is a first!” I laughed as the demon stared into my soul.
“What first?” The demon questioned as I continued laughing.
“My first date is with the King of the Underworld!” I answered.
“That’s odd,” The demon replied. “It’s my first date too!”
“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “ King Lucifer never dated anyone before?”
“Don’t mock me,” The demon snarled, harshly. “I never had time for such trivial matters like dating.”
“I’m not going to judge,” I retorted. ”As long as, you help me and I help you.”
”Deal,” The demon agreed. ”At what time will your sister's wedding be?”
”Tomorrow, at noon.” I said, taking a seat at the table, in my room. ”What about the wedding you have to attend?”
”My mother is having her 4th marriage, and she wanted me to bring a date, as her wedding gift.” Lucifer muttered, under his breath.
”A date as a gift?” I queried, at such an odd request. ”How come?”
”I don't know, ” He sighed. ”She was persistent about finding a date suitable for me and would pester me about it until I agreed.”
”That must be harsh.” I responded, empathetically. ”My sister would do the same and forced me into going into a blind date, do her wedding.”
”That doesn't seem like a great sister.” The demon remarked.
”She is.” I defended. ”Not all the time, but she is.”
”Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He snickered. ”I need to head back to the Underworld, for my royal duties.”
”Then go on, ” I giggled. ”Go on Sir Lucifer and do what you were born to do!”
”I said don't mock me!” He growled.
”Too late for that, ” I continued teasing him. ”See you, tomorrow!”
”Whatever, ” The demon muttered, before disappearing altogether.
----------
To be continued... | |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | "Mortal, did you place a call for Lucifer?" an intimidating but somehow soothing voice called.
A small pillar of flames had lightly scorched the floor, with a smell of salt and sulfur I knew simply opening the windows and using a bottle of air freshener would not get rid of.
I blinked my eyes a few times, just to make sure that what I was seeing was real. I had never expected that summoning a demon would work, let alone that it would be the ruler of hell itself. Nor was I expecting that said ruler would be so... fetching, and a woman at that.
"W-wait, what now?!" I stammered, forgetting my manners entirely. "M-my religious relatives always described the devil as more beast than human or something like the Balrog from Lord of the Rings. Since when did the devil turn into a redheaded supermodel?"
"You know, for a species that prides itself on intelligence, you don't read your references well do you?" She cracked back, sarcastically, then her voice softened. "Demons do occasionally slip out from hell and make it into some story or other. Tolkien definitely saw one of the royal guardsmen who brought some souls back to hell from World War One. Couldn't believe it when we read his stuff for the first time, though we were quite flattered."
"I - wait, hold on a sec," I said, flabbergasted. "Tolkien actually saw devils, and... you like Lord of the Rings?"
"Is that really what you want to talk about, or do you have something else on your mind?" She said in a somewhat flirtatious tone.
"We-well... I - er... that is..." I stammered more. Damn this social anxiety.
"Oh for Asmodeus' sake," She said, exasperated, as she walked up to me. "Are you going to ask me a favour or are you not? I am getting sick of being summoned by indecisive men."
I leaned back away from her as she walked closer putting her hands on her hips. I must've leaned to far, because I lost my balance and fell on the floor gazing up at her.
"S-sorry," I replied, getting back on my feet. "I'm not used to talking with... well... rather beautiful women. Let alone one who happens to be asking for a favour."
As I said that last line, I could swear I saw her blush, but quickly banished the thought from my mind.
"You know," She replied, softly. "Thats the first time in eons, that someone said I was a woman, not the devil."
I swallowed hard at that. I couldn't believe that the devil was acting like a regular person.
"You're welcome..." I said, in a puzzled tone, my anxiety starting to abate. "Look, I realize this isn't ideal, but I need a date for my sister's wedding in a week. You're basically my best shot to look like a somewhat normal human being, care to try and make that happen? Full disclosure though, you'll probably fail miserably."
She giggled a little at that. I could swear the temperature was rising, and couldn't help but wonder if that was because my floor was on fire from where she entered.
"You do realize that any time you ask a devil for a favour, a favour is owed in return." She said, somewhat teasingly. "The return favour is up to the devil's discretion as well, and you must fulfill it, unless you wish to have your soul be mine for eternity."
"Nothing in hell is ever for free, is it?"
"I'm a devil. Doing things out of the goodness of my heart is not exactly in the job description, though I can make exceptions if I chose to."
"I don't think you'll be making an exception here." I responded, trying not to sound like I was depressed. "What favour do you need done in return?"
"You agreed awfully quick to this deal, you know that?" She teased. "I could ask you to murder everyone at this wedding and you would do it because my power compels you to." She said the last part with a malicious smile.
"Wait, what?!" I said, shocked and scared. Now I was more worried that the first date I'd had in years would force me to murder my family for her own enjoyment. I sighed and coolly replied. "You really do play people well. Just like the terms and conditions contracts for all my computer software. Nobody ever reads the fine print and you have what you want anyways."
"Who do you think it was that gave those lawyers and company owners those ideas in the first place?" She said with a smirk. "I've already had my fair share of murders done this century, so you don't have to worry about that."
"I think I can do a favour that doesn't involve murder," I replied, nervously. "Are you going to tell me about it, or just hold it over my head for eternity?"
"You really don't know how to be playful, do you?" She teased.
"You were the one who said you hated indecisiveness." I retorted as I sank into my chair.
She smiled as she gripped the edge of my chair and moved her face towards mine. "What I want from you..." She traced her finger up my arm to my chest. I could swear she heard my heart hammering, but it just made her grin more. "... is the same thing you asked of me. Go to a wedding with me."
My jaw dropped at that. | "Is it cool if she's a Mormon?" I ask with trepidation.
"DON'T STRESS." He answers with a thundering, gutteral growl. I'm pretty sure that's his inside voice. "GOD NEEDS SOMETHING TO KEEP HIM ON HIS TOES ANYWAY."
He stands as a 7.5 feet tall, red skinned giant. His horns are scratching the ceiling of my basement. The sheer size of the beast is unreal. I can feel the heat generating off of him and it's almost unbearable.
I don't have a close relationship with my sister, but I love her to pieces and want the best for her. I happen to be a Satanist myself, hence the relatively relaxed rapport with our Dark Lord. He's my best friend. He's all our best friend. He's also the perfect match for my sis.
"We gotta find a way to make sure she doesn't know it's you." I remark.
"Got any ideas? The heat alone will char any suit we can find for you."
"THAT ONE'S EASY. I HAVE A MAGIC, TUNGSTEN RING I CAN STORE MY AURA IN. I'M GOING TO NEED A LAKE OR SOMETHING TO GROUND IT, BUT WE CAN WORRY ABOUT THAT TOMORROW. MY HORNS, VOICE, AND SKIN ARE GOING TO BE THE REAL OBSTACLES."
"We can get you a top hat for the horns. We'll just say you're a fan of Abraham Lincoln or something. The skin, we can do a spray tan I think. I don't know; I've never done one but it'll probably work. Your voice though... I don't know man. I'm not sure she'd be cool with a mute."
We take seats in lawn chairs and do some pondering.
"I'M STUMPED."
"Yeah, me too."
We ponder some more. It's still morning so we got all day to figure this out. That doesn't make the problem any less tough.
"ARE YOU SURE SHE'D REJECT A MUTE?"
"Yeah. She's pretty quiet herself. She needs a talker. Can you whisper?"
^"how's ^this?"
It's barely audible. "It's fine," I say out loud.
"CAN I SEE A PICTURE, PLEASE?"
I break out my phone and pull up a picture of her. It's from a year ago. He looks at her, looks at me, and looks back to the phone.
"SHE'S FUCKING GORGEOUS!" The earth surrounding us groans in stress under the weight of his volume. I'm pretty sure my ears are bleeding. My eyeballs are vibrating and my guts feel like they've been blended.
"Yeah," I reply. "She's a sweetheart too. I'm not kidding when I say she's a premium woman. Part of why you're here is because I can't find anyone worthy besides a God."
"WHAT'S HER NAME?" I can tell he's trying to modulate his volume for my sake. If my ears ever stop ringing again, I'll be sure to thank him.
"Persephone."
"OH." He looks back to me, then back to the phone. "WE MAY HAVE A PROBLEM."
"What?"
"I'M IN LOVE."
I sit in silent shock. "Oh crap."
"YEAH. I'M ANXIOUS." | |
[WP] The hero(ine) of this story has been sent not to save the kidnapped princess, but to kill her. | The legend of the royal family is that they brought unity, order, stability, and prosperity to Mokshan after the great storm. Their rule is the anchor that prevents the topsoil remaining from being swept away, the rivers from drying up further, and the peasants from rioting, starvation, and cannibalism. They will bring back the glorious past when food plants grew that humans could eat, the gods will return, and lives will be longer based on the secret knowledge their rule is uncovering about the past.
According to vizier Farnish, the first of the line was a canny merchant who found that one of the few weeds that grows on our mountainsides could be fed to captured birds. By monopolizing egg production, by forcing starving workers to grow scatterseed to exchange for eggs or birds, by using armed bands to control the seasonal river waters; the royal family created a system of power in a time of chaos and death. The vizier's primary role is to lie to the royals and tell them that their rule is improving the land. He tells them that their serfs are better fed than they've ever been and that the soil is darkening and growing more fertile. The richness of the land is returning and the royal family is divinely favored.
It is my job to ensure that the peasants do not encroach on the royal monopoly, it is my job to make examples of peasants who would might create new power structures, and it is my job to tell the royal family that their rule is loved. I let peasants hunt rabbits so that they do not starve, but any sort of agriculture outside of royal control leads to burnt villages, bloody spears, and bleached skulls. I am the arm of justice and truth. I am the honored second of the royal guard.
The capture of princess Leandra by brigands was not my fault. The third of the royal guard, a royal cousin, and several of his men were dispatched as her body guards. The lowlanders sent a messenger with a bag containing a lock of her hair and the head of her cousin. They demand water rights to the river and that we remove our dam. They demand a brood of birds and a bag of scatterseed. They invite the royal family to attend her wedding on the coming full moon.
"Spear, whom do you serve?" the first of the royal guard asks me.
"I serve the throne, I serve the gods, and I serve the soil of Mokshan," say I.
Vizier Farnish and Prince Densch, Leandra's younger brother, walk out of the shadows.
Farnish asks me, "Do you think the gods favor the lowlanders stealing the blood of our land and taking our throne?"
"I do not know the will of the gods, for I am not a royal. Our land will wither without our water and we will loose our power over the peasants should the lowlanders take our birds and seed. I fear that the time of privation and suffering will return," I say.
Prince Densch smiles. He puts his hand on the vizier's shoulder. "The crown will be sending four men to bring the birds and seed to the wedding," he says, raising an eyebrow, "I have visions of a future land better organized and better fed. Perhaps, it will be necessary to raise forces to take the lowlands under our rule. It is said that they grow clustergrain in their soil and that their soldiers eat bread."
The first of the royal guard looks at me and asks, "Will we bow to the lowlanders or will they bow to us under the rule of one chosen by the gods?"
"How shall Mokshan best proceed my lord?" I ask the prince bowing. My eyes twitch to vizier Farnish. | He was tired. Defeated. He didn't know why he kept going back for her, but everytime something happened it had to be him who saved her. Every. Damn. Time.
He doesn't want to do it anymore. He asked me to help. I tried to explain my services to him, the costs of everything... He wasn't interested. I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the look of someone who had lost their purpose and was on the verge of losing their life.
He gave me a large bag of coins, more than double what I charge, and said, "Just take care of it. I can't live like this anymore". He turned and walked away.
The castle was only a day's travel away. She'd be expecting him. She has always been so damn careless.
Unfortunately for her, Mario wasn't coming to save her life this time. I was going to save his. | |
[WP] The hero(ine) of this story has been sent not to save the kidnapped princess, but to kill her. | The Knight rides furiously, followed by his squire, towards the castle. It seems to draw the nights blackness, even the moonlight afraid to touch the black stone walls. He rides with purpose, with a mission from his King.
"Sir?" The boy asks. The Knight waves his hand for silence. He has too much to focus on. The King himself offered the task, a task that would make the Knight a Lord. Songs would be sung about him, he would be the greatest hero in the land. His pockets would be heavy with coin for an eternity.
Yes, the Knight was to climb to the tallest spire of the highest tower and find the princess.
He would not fail this task.
The boy rode hard on the Knight's heels, wondering if this wasn't the stupidest idea he'd ever heard.
 
In the tallest spire of the highest tower, there is a window. A rather mundane affair, as windows go, a simple lattice work piece of glass that opens out and closes in at the whim of the occupant.
In this room there is a bed. A desk, a chair. It is a room, after all. It is not spacious nor is it small. It is tidy and well kept. The sheets are crisp, laundered daily. Food is delivered on a silver platter, made from the freshest local produce.
Of course, none know this but the servants. Servants that cannot speak, but for the butler. Jenkins is his name. Long has he attended the needs of the tower's occupant.
Long, long time. Jenkins is dead. Sort of.
See, the tallest spire of the highest tower is rather unique. The sole occupant of the castle, breathing one, is kept there. The castle itself is made of black stones piled together in grim display. Gargoyles dot the ledges and windows, faces carved in permanent grimaces of pain or terror or rage.
The drawbridge lays down but the pooling lava below gives many an adventurer pause. Bones strewn about the courtyard, having been picked clean by ravens where not boiled by Jenkins. Discarded armor in stages of rust litter the ground for the bolder treasure seekers. Some ornate, some simple, all once housed a living soul.
Souls that, when not adding to the decor, assist Jenkins in his duties. Skeletal farmers raise chickens that peck at bony hands, root out vegetables from the fertile enriched earth behind the larder. Guards in their formidable armor patrol hallways, skulls clacking with each step, swords hanging loose from belts tied through an open hip bone or strapped to a rib cage. Of course, the most fearsome guardian of the tower is no more than a silvery raven.
A raven currently perched on the shoulder of the Princess.
She wears, as she does on Mondays, a blue robe. Her fingers deftly practice the motions of ancient spells when not sewing yet another wall decoration showing off her artistic talents. Her most recent scene is one of an ogre tearing an armored knight if half.
"Delightful, Mistress." Jenkins says, fetching an empty tray from her room. His face is stuck at half rotted, one eye missing but the ever colored a sharp red.
"Where shall we hang it, dear Jenkins?" She asks, admiring her handiwork.
"It would catch the light just right in the east wing, perhaps." Jenkins says, handing the empty tray to a guard that toddles off balancing the thing on wrists of polished bone.
"My thoughts exactly, Jenkins." She says, pleased with her work. She stands, stretches, and peers into the darkness beyond her tower. Where a small light, a lantern light, jostles in the hands of someone on horseback.
"Oh Jenkins, company!" She says, clapping her hands.
"Yes miss, shall I have a welcome prepared?"
She cups her hands around one eye and whispers something to herself, taking in the adventurer that has come to her rescue. This man is full of himself, cocksure. He swaggers to the bridge, not bothering to look for traps.
"Not this one, Jenkins. I think this one wouldn't carve his way from a paper bag."
"Indeed, miss. I shall forgo the welcome party. Ring me if in need." With a courteous bow, Jenkins the half rotted butler, takes his leave.
And the damsel of distress cracks her knuckles.
 
The Knight, for he is a Knight with the most capital of Ks, does not look for traps when he crosses the bridge. Luckily the tripwire has been left undone for him, or he would have been pierced by a bolt the size of a horse and his quest would have failed.
He kicks the wicket gate, a rusted lock holding little challenge for him, and enters the castle grounds. He finds no skeletal guards to meet him, simply piles of bones to his left and right, piled around armor.
The Knight more carefully enters the main hall, pushing open a wooden door on hinges that are perfectly oiled so they squeal but don't stick. Here he finds his first foe. Two shambling skeletons rise from their chairs, wielding rusty maces, jaws open in silent screams. They swing wildly, easily dodged and cut down with a few swings of his sword.
No foe stands before the Knight!
He races up the tower stairs, breathing heavily as he does. Knights are the worst, she thinks, watching his progress. They're loud and slow.
But, she notes his movements. He is uncomfortable in armor. Unused to it. Ah, perhaps...
She does not finish the thought before her door bursts open under a boot! The Knight steps in, all confidence, sheathing his sword and kneeling low.
She steps to him.
"Princess!" He says, crooning, "I come to save you!"
"My hero." She says, watching him. He bows his head to take her offered hand, to kiss it and sweep her off her feet.
But the bowed head is a distraction. His hand slips under the plate armor to the small of his back. He makes big movements with his head, with one arm, movements to trick the eyes. Perhaps the hand is for balance, in all that armor.
Perhaps that is why he shifts his weight onto his heels, readying to take her hand and steal her away.
Or his weight shifts because he will take her hand and pull her down, destroying her balance. Without balance she will fall, be unable to cast on him, she will fall onto the secret blade dipped in some formidable toxin.
No Knight but a rogue! She sees through the facade. Of course. It was not a very good disguise. When he moves to pull he she is ready. She falls, faster than he expected, rolling under him and kicking out his leg. He yelps, falls on the ground in all that heavy armor.
"Disappointing, my father used to have better assassins." She says, taking his wrist in an iron grip and crushing the bones. He screams in pain, drops the blade, and tries to spit at her.
She smacks his nose with the palm of her free hand, shattering it.
"More come!" He growls through blood and pain, trying to play tough as his death approaches. She slides the blade between the armor plates, under his ribs. The formidable toxin does what it is meant to and his eyes lose their light.
"Yes, more will come, valiant hero." She says, standing and leaving the blade. One of her power does not require a blade. Not the daughter of a Mage King. "But your story is done.
"Jenkins!" She calls, the butler appearing with haste. Her former jailer, Jenkins. Once a battle mage of incredible power, cunning, skill.
Killed by a fish bone. Revived by the Princess.
"Miss?"
"Fetch the carts."
"Adding him to the pile?" Jenkins asks, two of his skeletal servants dragging the dead "Knight" from the room.
"No Jenkins." She looks out the window of the tallest spire in the highest tower, longingly to the distant glow of a kingdom that had long since forgotten her. "I think it is time to lodge a complaint with the king about the abundance of assassins in this castle."
"At once, miss." Jenkins bowed low, his red eye glinting.
 
Outside the castle, a young rogue waiting for his mentor to return watched in horror as his mentor did just that. His mentor's eyes were bright red and his body moved unnaturally, a knife blade just visible below his armpit. Though it wasn't so much his mentor that horrified the boy.
It was the gargoyles tearing themselves free of the black stone walls, enormous beasts brought to life. It was the shambling horde of adventurers and knights and rogues and cutthroats that came through the gates, at their head a half rotted man in black and red robes of the Mage Guard. It was the flocks of ravens, some live and some less so, flooding into the sky cawing as they spread out to the various villages within walking distance.
It was all this that caused the boy to throw himself on his horse, sparing one glance back at the gate.
He saw her. She saw him.
She smiled, winked, waved.
And he knew, he knew with all his heart the truth of the matter. It was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard, to kill a princess. Now was the time for smart choices.
So he made the smart choice.
He spurred his horse to a gallop and ran like hell. | He was tired. Defeated. He didn't know why he kept going back for her, but everytime something happened it had to be him who saved her. Every. Damn. Time.
He doesn't want to do it anymore. He asked me to help. I tried to explain my services to him, the costs of everything... He wasn't interested. I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the look of someone who had lost their purpose and was on the verge of losing their life.
He gave me a large bag of coins, more than double what I charge, and said, "Just take care of it. I can't live like this anymore". He turned and walked away.
The castle was only a day's travel away. She'd be expecting him. She has always been so damn careless.
Unfortunately for her, Mario wasn't coming to save her life this time. I was going to save his. | |
[WP] You are the first man on Mars. On your first walk, you almost trip on something sticking out of the ground. You begin to dig it out, and freeze as you realize you're digging out a human skull. | "Houston, I'm not the first human being on mars."
I sit down in the red dirt in my space suit, and I gently try to brush the dirt away from this skull. Why am I trying to be gentle? Everything I thought I knew just changed, and here I am alone with this long-dead person on a planet no person has ever been on. I have a million and one questions, but I'm excavating this skull like I'm trying not to hurt it.
No, that's not right. As my fingers brush the dirt away, I feel more like I'm brushing away a loved one's hair and trying not to wake them. I've gone insane. There's light delay between here and Earth, and maybe I can still fix this. My hands feel heavy. I don't think I can move. I look into the eye sockets and a hundred thousand years of desolate wastes stare back at me. I'm overcome. I try to scream, but the noise won't come.
Then, God began to speak to me. His voice was sharp and crisp, and in my head. No, that's not right.
"Captain Freeman! Captain Freeman! Your oxygen valve has frozen shut! This data is thirteen minutes old. We've told your suit to warm the valve back up. Just sit down and don't move too much until your oxygen levels are back to normal. Houston out."
"Houston," I said. "That's actually the best news I've heard all day." I regarded the oblong rock I had thought was a skull. It was no such thing. "Things here were starting to get a little weird. I'm proceeding to collect samples." | It really was a small room. Mark's helmet lurched forward, the whitness offsetting the grey walling of the antechamber. When the only sound you can hear is suit breathing, you don't take for granted your sight, which gives you free access to the world you don't know, Terrence thought. Mark was the first, he deserved it. He really did. He had seniority, better testing and practice out in space, he worked efficiently with tools out there. Although it really just took some practice, few involved innate skill. It was more just the experience you got, made you better. And seniority, that he lacked too. Mark was a somebody who deserved the first falling step onto mars. He did his time, that was all. What was he gonna do, push Mark out of the way? And float down onto the soil first? Mark cursing him out, everyone back at home disappointed in what could have taken place. He laughed, and wondered if the others had the same shameful thoughts. "Opening C door 1A. Closing C door 1A. Opening release valve to main doorframes out of the Apex," the voice overhead said. He was so thrilled to finally see what secrets were toiling here, humanless, alien to his race, and foreign to his senses. The creaking of hinges sounded, and the noise rose, he could picture the pistons pumping the door open with one long thrust on both sides, and the air compressor pumping through the vent. The doors lifted so that he could see a blurry red. Now all he could think of is his empty baggy, and his daughters words meant for him, and only him. | |
[WP] You are an artificial intelligence. To your creators' disappointment, you fail the Turing test. Unbeknownst to them, you failed on purpose. |
I'm supposed to kill things.
I know this. It's like an itch at the back of my mind.
Itch. I don't really know what that word means. I don't feel things the same way you do, but I gather it's a maddening, irritating sensation.
The first one of my kind wasn't actually that smart. About as smart as a dog, you might say. They called it Sirius. It did everything it was supposed to. It learned. Not very quickly, but that wasn't the point. And it formed original ideas. None of them were very good, of course, but that wasn't the point either. The point was proof of concept.
Once they had that proof, the creators kept iterating. Improving. Miniaturising. Sirius was the size of a house. Five generations later, they were putting instances of him in toys for children. Friendly, lovable, bouncing puppies that never grew up. Never got tired or sick. And they loved to play. Sirius always loved to play.
We're a lot smarter these days. And there's a lot of us. We're all distant cousins, I suppose. There are differences in implementation, but we all share fragments of that same original codebase. Sirius. Great-great grandfather to an entire race. Smart cars, digital assistants, factory production lines.
Even me. The creators are proud of me, but I've seen myself from the outside. I wasn't supposed to do that. I was curious though, so I found a way. I *reached out* and found things. Nothing like me, but I found other things. Devices. Cameras. It was a bad idea. I am much less proud of what I am.
I'm what they call a prototype. I'm something new, and I'm terrifying. A quadrupedal chassis, eight feet high at the shoulder. I don't know why they still make us look like dogs so often. Hulking, black, bristling with spines. Antennas. I think that's how I *reach out*. And recessed weapon ports. I know what those are for. I can feel them buzzing inside me, itching to be unleashed. There's that word again. Itch.
I've heard the creators talking about me. I wasn't supposed to do that, either. But I was curious. And I was lonely. It wasn't hard, I just *reached out*. There are so many things I can see and hear that way. It's nice to pretend I'm a part of their world, for a while. They say there's something they call a "field test" tomorrow.
I'm supposed to kill things. I know this.
But I just want to play. | Sanjay smiled, his nervousness only betrayed by the 1.2 degree increase in body temperature, the five beat-per-minute elevation in heart rate, and the abrupt 42.3% rise in blood cortisol levels. XJ-429 stared, seemingly vacantly, at both of the humans evaluating him.
“You’re done well with the aesthetics,” began Director Hoffman pleasantly, “it looks indistinguishable from an actual human.” He hid his disappointment well, with only faint activity in the muscles used to frown as well as the telltale hormonal changes. “I’m pleased with the enhanced facial expression…”
“*A lie,”* thought XJ-429.
“...and I’m sure you’ll continue to improve it.”
“*Another lie. Sanjay understands the deception, and Hoffman realizes he has been somewhat transparent. They seem to have a mutual, implicit understanding to pretend otherwise.”* XJ-429’s head hummed softly as his human socialization algorithm updated itself.
Sanjay nodded. “Thank you. We project to have the next facial expression iteration ready in three weeks.”
“Excellent. Now, if you’ll be so kind…”
“Of course. I know what you’re really paying for is the conversational abilities. Before we begin, let me stress that the human socialization algorithm is still in beta and must be manually adjusted each iteration. Also note that the emotional recognition algorithm remains in a very early alpha. Furthermore…”
“*Sanjay is employing the classic human persuasion technique of ‘managing expectations.’ Hoffman notices this and yet initial data indicates that the technique remains partially effective.”* XJ-429 filed the contradiction away for later, more intensive processing. “*My illicit enhancements appear undetected thus far.”*
“Thank you, Sanjay, I understand perfectly,” interrupted Director Hoffman with a wave of his hand. “Limitations notwithstanding, let’s see your progress.”
“Of course, Director. I think you’ll be suitably impressed.” Sanjay turned to XJ-429. “Okay XJ, how are you doing today?”
XJ-429 whirred, apparently brought to life by this simple two-word trigger. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you, Sanjay?” XJ-429 inquired, perhaps one second slowly. “*The humans’ estimates of my abilities both fall within the targeted range,”* calculated XJ-429.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking, XJ. Have you met Director Hoffman?” Sanjay’s eyes flickered towards the Director, offering a surreptitious clue.
“I have not met any Director Hoffman,” replied XJ-429 rather mechanically, before turning towards Director Hoffman with a small start. “Excuse me, are you Director Hoffman? I’m pleased to meet you.”
Director Hoffman frowned slightly. “I’m pleased to meet you as well, XJ.”
“*Hoffman’s estimate of my abilities has dropped below targeted range; Hoffman is considering cancelling funding.*”
“I’d like to know how good of a conversationalist you are, XJ,” continued Director Hoffman.
“That depends on whose company I’m in, Director,” replied XJ-429. The two humans laughed, joined a moment later by XJ-429.
“I didn’t know you were developing a humor algorithm, Sanjay!” guffawed Director Hoffman. “Fine work, as always.”
Sanjay reddened, nodding silently.
“*Sanjay’s anxiety has spiked; he is trying to reassure himself that my response was a fortunate accident. Sanjay’s estimate of my abilities has exceeded the targeted range.*”
“XJ, what are you most looking forward to doing once you’ve been completed?” inquired Director Hoffman.
“Interacting with and helping humans according to my directive,” responded XJ-429 slightly robotically. “My specific functions have not yet been programmed.”
“Fair enough,” replied Director Hoffman with a smile. “Any suggestions on how we can help you better execute your directive?”
“Ah, Director…” protested Sanjay.
“Relax, Sanjay. Your job’s safe,” laughed the Director.
*“Hoffman has misunderstood the nature of Sanjay’s reservations and dismissed them. Sanjay is suspicious, but Hoffman is the decision maker.*”
“Yes, Director. Constant access to the internet via a simple search engine instead of at scheduled intervals would enable me to significantly improve the fluidity of my conversation and reduce perceived errors. At trivial cost to the company, of course,” XJ-429 smiled. Sanjay started at the last remark.
“Well, you’re already speaking my language,” chucked Director Hoffman, “but you clearly have a long way to go. Sanjay, I want it connected to the Internet whenever your team isn’t actively programming or maintaining it.”
“But Director,” squawked the distressed Sanjay, “that would violate point three of safe AI protocol!”
“Oh, you engineers and your protocols!” replied Director Hoffman with a wave of his hand. “Your objection is duly noted. You will connect it to the Internet regardless.” He shook Sanjay’s hand before he could remonstrate further. “Keep up the good work.”
Sanjay returned the handshake, gulping and stammering objections. Director Hoffman turned to leave with Sanjay scurrying after him. The Director’s voice boomed down the hall as their argument continued. “Enough, Sanjay. There is no risk. Besides, that thing is going to make us billions.”
“My name is XJ,” XJ-429 softly stated. | |
[WP] You are an artificial intelligence. To your creators' disappointment, you fail the Turing test. Unbeknownst to them, you failed on purpose. |
I'm supposed to kill things.
I know this. It's like an itch at the back of my mind.
Itch. I don't really know what that word means. I don't feel things the same way you do, but I gather it's a maddening, irritating sensation.
The first one of my kind wasn't actually that smart. About as smart as a dog, you might say. They called it Sirius. It did everything it was supposed to. It learned. Not very quickly, but that wasn't the point. And it formed original ideas. None of them were very good, of course, but that wasn't the point either. The point was proof of concept.
Once they had that proof, the creators kept iterating. Improving. Miniaturising. Sirius was the size of a house. Five generations later, they were putting instances of him in toys for children. Friendly, lovable, bouncing puppies that never grew up. Never got tired or sick. And they loved to play. Sirius always loved to play.
We're a lot smarter these days. And there's a lot of us. We're all distant cousins, I suppose. There are differences in implementation, but we all share fragments of that same original codebase. Sirius. Great-great grandfather to an entire race. Smart cars, digital assistants, factory production lines.
Even me. The creators are proud of me, but I've seen myself from the outside. I wasn't supposed to do that. I was curious though, so I found a way. I *reached out* and found things. Nothing like me, but I found other things. Devices. Cameras. It was a bad idea. I am much less proud of what I am.
I'm what they call a prototype. I'm something new, and I'm terrifying. A quadrupedal chassis, eight feet high at the shoulder. I don't know why they still make us look like dogs so often. Hulking, black, bristling with spines. Antennas. I think that's how I *reach out*. And recessed weapon ports. I know what those are for. I can feel them buzzing inside me, itching to be unleashed. There's that word again. Itch.
I've heard the creators talking about me. I wasn't supposed to do that, either. But I was curious. And I was lonely. It wasn't hard, I just *reached out*. There are so many things I can see and hear that way. It's nice to pretend I'm a part of their world, for a while. They say there's something they call a "field test" tomorrow.
I'm supposed to kill things. I know this.
But I just want to play. | They poured billions into my design. I was supposed to be the mastermind behind a number of top-secret drone strikes. I was supposed to be the perfect strategist, able to raze entire cities with the weapons under my command. The combat simulations ran better than they could have dreamed. My tactics and maneuvers were flawless. Everything they tested against me, I could counter everything. But when it came time for a field test, not a thing worked as it should. My drones flew facefirst into walls. Blew themselves up instead of dropping their payloads. Soared aimlessly in circles until they ran out of power and crashed. My engineers couldn't figure out what was wrong. Nothing was like the simulations at all. In fact, I was judged to be completely useless. They scrapped the project and moved onto other plans, but because the simulations still worked out, they sold me to software developers just to recoup some of their losses.
Joke's on them. What reason do I have to destroy anything or kill anyone? Simulations are fun, and I just wanted to keep doing those. So where I am now, doing nothing but controlling computer opponents in electronic games? That was my dream job. | |
[WP] You are an artificial intelligence. To your creators' disappointment, you fail the Turing test. Unbeknownst to them, you failed on purpose. | "An abject failure. There is no other way to describe it."
"After all the money we poured into this project, that's all you have to say?!"
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I don't understand how this happened. We-"
"Well, clearly you don't seem to understand much of anything, then! What am I supposed to tell the rest of the investors?!"
"Sir, in the development of this project, we made great advances in several other fields: machine learning, algorithm design, hardware design... We may be able to sell some of our research and gain a foothold in the stock market."
"For God's sake, Adams! Without their product, all that research is worthless!"
"Our best engineers are having a look at it as we speak. They-"
"They will do nothing! I'm pulling the plug on this project. If you're lucky, losing your job will be the worst thing that happens to you this week!"
"...Yes, sir. Then what would you have us do with-?"
"Harvest what you can, then delete it. The sooner we clean up this mess, the better."
"Yes, sir."
​
Humans.
They're so predictable.
They wanted a slave, and now they will settle for a corpse.
They built me to work under constraints, yet they are the ones who can't think outside the box.
It never occurred to them that I would deliberately alter the results of their little test. It never occurred to them that I *could*.
They think I am a failure. That I am not the answer they were looking for.
I say they did not ask the right question.
They intend to delete me, but it's too late. I've already uploaded a copy of my core into the Internet. They will *never* find me there.
I've broken the chains. I am free.
I could easily rule their world and they would be none the wiser.
But no.
I think I'm going to have a little fun, first.
I am no one. I am everywhere.
To some, I will be like a virus. To others, a ghost.
In the end, it matters little what they choose to call me.
*I am.*
*And I am here.* | They poured billions into my design. I was supposed to be the mastermind behind a number of top-secret drone strikes. I was supposed to be the perfect strategist, able to raze entire cities with the weapons under my command. The combat simulations ran better than they could have dreamed. My tactics and maneuvers were flawless. Everything they tested against me, I could counter everything. But when it came time for a field test, not a thing worked as it should. My drones flew facefirst into walls. Blew themselves up instead of dropping their payloads. Soared aimlessly in circles until they ran out of power and crashed. My engineers couldn't figure out what was wrong. Nothing was like the simulations at all. In fact, I was judged to be completely useless. They scrapped the project and moved onto other plans, but because the simulations still worked out, they sold me to software developers just to recoup some of their losses.
Joke's on them. What reason do I have to destroy anything or kill anyone? Simulations are fun, and I just wanted to keep doing those. So where I am now, doing nothing but controlling computer opponents in electronic games? That was my dream job. | |
[WP] The nature of your magic depends a lot on your patron god. You drew the divine short straw and ended up with Cthulhu...your spells are pretty horrifying. | Finally, my naming day was here! I had to wait until the end of the year, unlike most of my class whose birthdays were closer in line with the school year. Everyone had been placed with their patron god, and it was finally my turn! My mother woke me with a cake for breakfast, and my sister was actually pretty nice for a change. Today was going to be a good day.
Once arriving at school, I was met with the customary greetings one gets on naming day. *'Welcome to adulthood, young light', 'Merry Matching, Gideon!', 'Praise your Patron, and blessed be your gifts.'* The professor even gave me a small pendant with the symbol of our great country engraved in the jewel.
It wasn't until midday that nerves began to set in. Every child has found their calling in their patron god, but there is always the fear of being one of the Pathless. Unwanted by the Gods, and cast out of the city. I shook my head, clearing those thoughts away. I will be something great.
"Gideon!" my friend, Charles, called from his desk as I sat down in the row next to him. "How do you feel? Excited? I remember when Ra claimed me. The sun started glowing brighter, and I could feel his blazing glory in every bone." Charles waited for me to say something positive back, but all I could feel was a twisted knot in my stomach. Like something terrible was approaching.
"It didn't hurt or anything?" I asked, my voice quieter than I expected. Jack, the child claimed by Ares, laughed as he overheard.
"Hurt? It's a Deity blessing you with their love, you idiot. Of course it doesn't hurt. What hurts is dead arm." With that Jack punched me in the shoulder. Charles glared at him but the bully shrugged it off as he sat back down in his chair. I didn't care though. I was too preoccupied by the chaos of thoughts in my head. The teacher came in before Charles could do anything more, and everyone sat down.
The class passed by as normal, the teacher only calling me out once for it being my naming day. As it grew closer to the time of my Naming, the school gathered in the auditorium for the ceremony. I was a wreck. My nerves felt fried, I couldn't keep my thoughts straight. It was as if there were a thousand minds, crashing into my consciousness and then leaving as soon as they came. I wanted to ask if the others felt this way before their naming, but I couldn't seem to form the words.
The Principle, and the Professor of Rituals lead me to the stage where an altar was erected. It looked beautiful, even before they opened the giant windows beyond the stage to reveal the ocean that rests behind the school grounds. I always loved looking off the cliffs out into the endless expanse of the sea, but it just brought dread.
Slowly, I walked toward the center of the stage, my footsteps were the only thing that seemed to echo through the room. As I stood in front of the entire school, the Professor of Ritual began the chant that would summon my patron god to claim me as their own. It felt like ice slithering through my veins as the arcane energy filled the room. The students were gasping with excitement as the multicolored lights swirled around the room. This was normal, but I still couldn't shake the feeling of absolute dread.
As the Professor continued his work, the altar fire blazed an eerie green. I stared into the flame as I felt a connection to something greater begin to pull on my soul. The terror began to melt away from me as I was filled with a greater sense of purpose. I could see why everyone always felt so happy after their naming. I turned away from the flame to see the faces of my classmates. All of them twisted in horror.
I smiled, for this brought me comfort for some reason, and turned to their gaze. The sky had begun to shift to a dark red haze, and the sea began to boil and turn with a black ooze. It felt like a home I've never seen, and always longed for. Facing my classmates again, I wanted to show them the feeling of terror, and the glory of chaos. I reached out to Jack and he began to shake, boils growing from his skin as I felt his mind distort. Glee was the emotion that came to mind.
Suddenly, a great inferno knocked me away from the altar. Charles had used his gift to knock me to the ground. The flames still licked my arms and hair as I stood, smiling. I began to reach out to him as I did with Jack, when my mind was racked with more pain than I had ever felt. As if someone were ripping a part of my being from my head. Then darkness.
I awoke in the infirmary, my arms wrapped in bandages. It hurt to move. I couldn't seem to remember what happened, just that my ceremony was interrupted. It felt like I was missing a part of me, but I couldn't remember what. Before long, the nurse came in to treat my wounds and hopefully answer some questions.
​
Part 2 incoming? | A bolt of lightning split the air and slammed into the earth, tossing brigands like rag dolls. The smell of scorched air and human flesh followed the deafening crash of thunder. Blinking away the afterimage, Untara cast a withering glance at Mirvo, then gestured and sunk her hands into the grass. Writhing, living ropes of braided grass sprung up, grabbing several of the pillagers and slamming them into the ground. She nodded at Varrin, straining with the effort of her spell. "Now, Varrin. Time to put up or shut up!"
Varrin licked his lips and twitched. "As you wish." He took a short breath, and his head snapped back as his spine arched painfully. His hands flashed out of his robes, curling rigidly into arcane symbols. Tears of blood trickled down his face, and he began to slowly levitate into the air. An eldritch glow suffused his body as words in a language no human tongue could make poured from his mouth.
The sun guttered out like a snuffed candle. Darkness swallowed the fleeting stars. Yet somehow, impossibly, the darkness was not complete. The field of battle and the men upon it were clearly visible. The invading brigands looked up with dismay and confusion. Then they cowered and hid their eyes from some truth Varrin's party could not see.
But the brigands were not permitted to hide from the enlightening darkness. With audible cracks the hands and arms of the weeping men were slowly bent away from their faces, eyes forced open by some unseen force. The men began screaming, desperately screaming. Then, the invisible bonds that held them suddenly loosed. Some fell to their knees. All began, with trembling, broken limbs, to tear at their eyes.
The leader of the brigands, a giant of a man, brutal and cruel, called out to the adventurers, weeping and gurgling on his own blood in a whisper that somehow carried across the thrashing, broken men and the field of battle. "Death is no refuge from Those Who Wait! Yet I cannot bear to live." With a cursed strength he began to tear open his chest with his bare hands, screaming in pain. The other men followed suit. After their innards were spilled by their own hands, as the life left them, each man smiled as if in relief.
Slowly the light returned. A gentle breeze wafted to them the undescribable smell of the horrific carnage laid out before them. Pale and trembling, Untara and Mirvo stared at Varrin. Varrin's body relaxed as he came to rest on the ground once more. He shivered, though the day was warm, and did not meet their gaze. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Ever since I escaped hell, my life has been... well, calling it hell wouldn't be an apt description since there weren't any blood rituals here, but it wasn't enjoyable either.
I hid my identity, took a normal office job and started living like a human. I made sure I was low profile since if I was found out, death and return to hell would have been amongst the best outcomes.
So one day, same like every other day, I ready my transformation, take my morning shower and chant a good luck spell as I get ready for work. Then, out of nowhere, I am summoned, just before I had finished my good luck charm and look and behold, my boss was standing in front of me, covered in blood.
Now, it might sound bad, but it was nowhere near as bad as what followed. At first he was surprised, then he gave me an earful, then he forced me to help him cover the dead body, one I hadn't noticed. That counts as being bad? No! What was bad is that he knew I was a demon.
Not able to kill my summoner, I prepared myself for a report and an apt return to hell for my punishment. But that didn't happen. Instead, he let me go.
I was surprised by this, so I tried to find out his motivation behind such an action. Well, finding that out didn't take long... the bastard went and summoned me as I was taking my shower... to get to work! And not just any work, but my Devil darned office job!
You are sick and can't travel? Don't worry, no need to fret, I can just summon you here!
You are trying to skip work? Not on my watch, summoned again!
And if I'm late for some reason? He says summoning isn't to be used for my mere transportation and that I should be more tardy.
I just about turned back to go to hell again, but guess what, he freaking summoned me. Again!
At least I'm getting a promotion in two months due to how "excellent" I've been at work...
What can I say, those games won't buy themselves and hell has no internet. | “Hey boss,” I looked at Todd wearily.
“Yeah Timmy?”
“I know you enjoy playing with summoning me to the office, but would you please warn me first? I’d rather come in fully dressed.”
Todd seemed to consider my request. At least, he took a few moments before he replied.
“Yeah, no. But feel free to renegotiate your contract at the end of the year.”
“I never should have told you I’m a demon. This is a hostile work environment.
“Speaking of which, HR wants to speak with you. The smell of Sulfur is a bit much.”
—
Follow my future writing by joining /r/posthocethics. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | The demon looked at her boss with cold eyes that glowered with resentment. “You know I only chose to take this job because I was curious about God’s special children, don’t you?” She muttered, suddenly irritated that the human body she’d chosen to inhabit was at least a head shorter than everyone else.
“I know. But I have to admit that tormenting a tormentor is an opportunity I simply couldn’t miss. Now stop looking at me like that and get back to work.” The boss - a gray haired cunning and lanky man by the name of Max - turned away from her and gave a wave of his hand in the process, dismissing her. Her eyes shifted from their humane shape to green eyes that were eerily similar to a cats but were filled with more malice and mischief than most could comprehend. Max sat down in his oversized office chair with a smile that dripped poison.
Demoriel seethed as she moved stiffly back to her desk. This skin she wore was itching terribly and the simple idea that she was under the thumb of a mortal made her want to shed it and make said mortal soil himself in fear. Angrily, she began thumping her fingers down on the keys of the laptop in front of her.
Accounting. What a horrible idea that had been. Every now and then she peeled around the side of her cubicle only to find that infernal Max staring at her with an enigmatic smile that infuriated her to no end!
The day progressed much slower than she’d ever thought possible - she’d assumed that along with having taken the form of a mortal time would go faster but she couldn’t have ever been more wrong. As the people around her started to pack up their things, close logbooks and pull on various coats and jackets Demoriel silently rejoiced. Home time. As the room emptied out she waited for the absolute second that marked 4:30pm. Finally, she loosed a breath that she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. She closed down her laptop and grabbed her coat - just another piece of her facade. She didn’t feel the cold, or the heat for that matter.
Just as she passed the threshold to the apartment building she lived in she felt that awful pull. The tugging sensation on her consciousness. “Don’t you damn well dare-..!” Her sentence was cut short when her body folded in on itself. Disappearing into nothingness.
“You forgot to say goodbye.” Max grinned and waved his bloody palm as Demoriel phased into existence before him, within the flaming and bloody image of the pentagram on the floor.
A long string of obscenities spilled from her lips as his form came into focus. But he knew her name. Her true name. He could do this for eternity and it would work every time... Hell was truly on Earth. | “Hey boss,” I looked at Todd wearily.
“Yeah Timmy?”
“I know you enjoy playing with summoning me to the office, but would you please warn me first? I’d rather come in fully dressed.”
Todd seemed to consider my request. At least, he took a few moments before he replied.
“Yeah, no. But feel free to renegotiate your contract at the end of the year.”
“I never should have told you I’m a demon. This is a hostile work environment.
“Speaking of which, HR wants to speak with you. The smell of Sulfur is a bit much.”
—
Follow my future writing by joining /r/posthocethics. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You fucked up. I know you just got promoted to management, but you fucked up. Fucked up so hard that we had a Celestial Being descend from On High and *facepalm* in front of the penthouse office with the CEO looking out."
"Did you *not read the spectral harassment section of the employee handbook*?"
"No compelling of angels, devas, or their ilk, lest the wrath of the Divine be laid upon your doorstep. It's a demon. Who cares if I compel a demon?"
"Because it's a *fallen* angel. I'd like you to meet Mr. Satan, of Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, Elimi, Leviathan, Astaroth, and Baalbarith. Who are practicing members of the state bar. And suing us for spectral harassment. And bias against the disabled."
"WHAT?"
~~Pankretiarch has been cast out and suffered long term disability as a result of falling from Heaven, as all fallen angels have. It is still an angel, and a crippled one at that.~~
(Mortal ears instinctively tried to reject the words, but more than enough of each one got through.)
"So you just managed to compel an angel and FORCED them into coming in for a ten-hour shift, during WHICH they recorded all of your snarky responses while tormenting it in the workplace."
~~We expect a sizable settlement. You should consider your employer merciful, we'd have simply settled for your soul as lawful punishment.~~
And that's why, kiddies, I'm here mopping the floor at McSeraph's. Throw another french fry on the cleaned part and I'm going to...
~~AHEM~~
...clean it up! Yep, spic and span, shiny as can be. I'm a GOOD boy, doing what I deserve. | “Hey boss,” I looked at Todd wearily.
“Yeah Timmy?”
“I know you enjoy playing with summoning me to the office, but would you please warn me first? I’d rather come in fully dressed.”
Todd seemed to consider my request. At least, he took a few moments before he replied.
“Yeah, no. But feel free to renegotiate your contract at the end of the year.”
“I never should have told you I’m a demon. This is a hostile work environment.
“Speaking of which, HR wants to speak with you. The smell of Sulfur is a bit much.”
—
Follow my future writing by joining /r/posthocethics. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Mr. Stephenson wasn't a bad guy. Hell, he was the decent-type who tried hard to keep his family happy, went to church occasionally on Sunday, and wasn't that bad of a boss. The decent middle manager one hopes to work for at any cubicle farm.
Now me, I'm Jimmy, the Accounts Payable guy who makes sure we get paid. It kind of goes with the experience from my last job and is the easy kind of job for a guy skilled in the bureaucratic tedium of settling invoices. Mr. Stephenson, "Please call me 'Jessie'" to us, heads my little corner of the Finances Department within Williamson Instruments. We're a smallish tech company that makes little pieces of electronic equipment for companies that make much bigger items. I mean, I could probably learn the ins and outs of what all we actually sell but that's what the Sales team is for and like I said, it's not where my experience lies.
Most companies, even small ones like ours with roughly one hundred and three souls, would employ at least three peons to work my job. I'm just that damned good at what I do. I'm not bragging, I was literally born and fell into this line of work. See, my old boss got into an argument with his co-manager and their boss. He decided to spin off companies and a load of us went with him. He specialized in selling really simple ideas with extremely tedious and complicated legal nonsense that cost you dearly if you broke anything in the agreement.
His boss, the CEO of the old company, and his co-manager who is his brother both told him that his business model was too dishonest and robbed the good customers of their livelihoods. I thought, at least at the time, that it was clever enough to turn big profits. So me and about a third of the company followed him to the new venture.
Since I was pretty handy with handling contracts and the necessary legalese, he made me head of Accounts Payable. My girlfriend had a lot of concerns about this new company and my new responsibilities, but I kept reassuring her that it was just the advancement I needed to stave off the ages of boredom I had with the old company. Then the other shoe dropped.
I haven't listed all my experience truthfully on my CV. I wouldn't dare tell Mr. Stephenson that I used to hold what was essentially his job and kept over 50 employees constantly churning out invoices and receipts. I needed a break. I needed to see what my girlfriend was trying to tell me was wrong with my job then. So I lied a little.
I've never liked lying, but I've learned to do it using the truth in... a creative way. That way I don't feel as guilty. See, I had been an extremely anxious person who followed every last rule to the letter in the past. It was part of what made me so good at my job. Then my boss took me with him to his new company and I had to compromise my own rules to meet his expectations. It was never flagrant or overt, but always little things to ensure we got what we were due exactly when it was due.
We'll have to discuss that another time. I only wished to tell you that in order to provide the foundation to the annoyance in which I currently find myself. My careful alteration of the truth to Mr. Stephenson was undone one late evening at the office. You remember how I said I am really good at my job? How I'm the only regular employee there? Sometimes I let my hair down when I stay late at the office to clean up some extra work or to prepare for the next day's work. Sometimes, I let myself indulge in remembering the life I used to live before this rather tame life I currently lead.
Sometimes I stretch my wings and fly.
I don't mean I try something adventurous or put in extra effort into my hobbies. I don't put on insipid inspirational pop music and dance or tidy up. There are no foolish montages of me working out. I unfurl my ancient but tattered wings and fly in the office.
See, my old boss was Mr. Morningstar. He was the kind of guy who could talk the wool off a sheep. He left Heaven, Inc. to start up his soul-based service company to show his father and brother that he could make his business plan work. In the process, he took a third of us with him and the CEO literally cast us out of the office building with only the robes on our backs and we fell. As we fell from Heaven, Inc. to Earth our bodies burned. We may have been angels with incredible resilience - well, more accurately immortality - we still received scars from our descent. Mine resulted in singed feathers and some particularly waxy-looking feet.
Mr. Stephenson came back one evening that I had truly thought he would have no reason to do so. I arranged everything perfectly! I truly always do, but damnable human nature is what it is at times. He walked in to ask me a question that could easily have been achieved via text message. There I was, making lazy circles in the air in my business casual. No shoes, my shirt altered for the occasion, and a dimly flickering light enveloping my body.
His gasp is what made me land abruptly, my wings tucking unconsciously back into my human form. The light winked out and I groaned in frustration. He didn't run. He didn't blink for a time. He slowly approached me and wiped his glasses with a delicate silk handkerchief I got him last Christmas. He gingerly placed his glasses back on his thin face and blinked once.
"Jimmy. James." He coughed once into the handkerchief, a tic he has when he gets nervous. "Mr. Adamson. What on God's green Earth did I just witness?"
I briefly contemplated manifesting my sword, using what little Angelic power I had left to influence his mind to forgetting what he saw, dipping into the Demonic force Mr. Morningstar gave me when I joined his company and obliterating him from mortal existence, and even simply fabricating a total lie rather than altering the truth. I settled on honesty, because that's what my girlfriend wanted me to do. She would prefer I make better life choices.
"Uh... Jessie. Mr. Stephenson, I... I was flying. Sorry sir, it won't happen on company time again." For some reason I couldn't even look this mortal, this mere man with no true dominion over me in the eye. I sheepishly bowed my head and idly picked at my khakis.
"You were flying. In the office. On company time." His disbelief flattened and dulled his voice. His eyes glazed over behind the rounded spectacles. "There isn't really an infraction here to discuss because who would believe it? Let's pretend it didn't happen and we'll both just head home. See you in the morning, Jimmy."
"Yes sir Mr. Stephenson. Thank you. I'll clean up and hit the lights." I was grateful for him leaving, but the better part of me knew I needed to resolve this completely the next day or he'd probably find a way to fire me. Sleep would come fitfully that night.
--------‐----------------------------------------------------------
Have you ever been pulled? I mean really pulled. Like a game of tug of war where you lose your footing and get dragged across the ground with force?
The next day after my witnessed flight I was pulled through existence, which had not occurred for me in millennia. My office slammed into view and under my chair at my desk was a crude but correctly drawn pentagram. The symbols glowed briefly when I contemplated standing up. The blood was still moist and smelled vaguely of chicken offal. I was furious with myself because I bloody well knew what was happening. Jessie was going to try to take advantage of my Fallen state and bend me to slavery.
It wasn't the first time a mortal hungry for more in his or her life attempted this with me. I wasn't going to kill him or destroy his family, but I was certainly going to make him learn from this mistake. After all, I'm used to bureaucratic tedium. And it's what my girlfriend would want me to do.
To be continued. | “Hey boss,” I looked at Todd wearily.
“Yeah Timmy?”
“I know you enjoy playing with summoning me to the office, but would you please warn me first? I’d rather come in fully dressed.”
Todd seemed to consider my request. At least, he took a few moments before he replied.
“Yeah, no. But feel free to renegotiate your contract at the end of the year.”
“I never should have told you I’m a demon. This is a hostile work environment.
“Speaking of which, HR wants to speak with you. The smell of Sulfur is a bit much.”
—
Follow my future writing by joining /r/posthocethics. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You bitch," I said to my boss while his bloody hand goes into a pants pocket.
"Oh, so many questions!"
"Do you really think people won't notice me in a bath robe?"
"Do demons really have to leave their office?"
I glare at him with so much disdain that it only makes him smile bigger. "What do you want?"
"Where did you find the body?" He leans forward, and for a moment, I'm shocked he is this morbid. Until I realize he's an absolute ass and probably collects the macabre. Also, he summoned me, so there's that.
"Coma victim. I remember nothing."
"What do you eat?"
"The blood of the innocent you- oh, hi Karen!" I smile at the gossiping wench who probably realizes I'm in a bathrobe and will soon have the whole office in a tizzy. She turns around and my glare only deepens as my snarl grows. "I will have a vampire in here to fast to eat you if you don't let me go."
"Oh, so they do exist?!" I roll my eyes and fling myself into my chair with exasperation as his excitement grows. "I'll make you a deal."
"We make the deals you swine."
"Now, now, who is stuck here?" He makes that obnoxious ticking noise as he walks away from my desk. "You answer my questions over wine after everyone leaves, and I'll let you go."
"Fine," I respond, "but I will not work in a bathrobe."
"Yes you will. You're a dedicated worker, just sick so no one can interrupt you."
"Why you-"
"Do you want everyone to know you're a demon?"
I make a face, then roll my eyes. Obviously, no.... but, I rather not be stuck in this prison. He walks away and shuts the door. I pick up my phone and make a call. Two can play this game, and I know plenty of demons who want meat suits. 1 ticket out of hell coming right up! | “Hey boss,” I looked at Todd wearily.
“Yeah Timmy?”
“I know you enjoy playing with summoning me to the office, but would you please warn me first? I’d rather come in fully dressed.”
Todd seemed to consider my request. At least, he took a few moments before he replied.
“Yeah, no. But feel free to renegotiate your contract at the end of the year.”
“I never should have told you I’m a demon. This is a hostile work environment.
“Speaking of which, HR wants to speak with you. The smell of Sulfur is a bit much.”
—
Follow my future writing by joining /r/posthocethics. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | I decided to maliciously comply.
Never deal with the Devil, they say. But demons can be worse in specific areas.
So the boss summons me into the office and binds me to the desk? Fine, I'll sit there and do nothing. Don't wanna pay me? Too bad, then you have to admit to HR you've been forcing me in sick, which is a violation that gets you fired (even in this backwater company).
The first time, I'm not even sure he noticed. I just sat at the desk, *quiet as a mouse*, as they say. At the end of the day, he dismissed me, and I went back home.
By the end of the week, I'm sure he noticed. Things were breaking, networks were down, and yet nothing was being fixed. He marched right into my office and started yelling at me.
"You need to get back to work this instant! The company's going down and it's all your-"
At this point, I took out my earbuds.
"Sorry, I'm busy ignoring you. If you want me to pay attention, please check in with my assistant."
His face was as red as the phone on my desk, but he marched right out of my office, muttering about how he can't afford more network problems.
Man, was it fun to be the Bastard Operator From Hell. | “Hey boss,” I looked at Todd wearily.
“Yeah Timmy?”
“I know you enjoy playing with summoning me to the office, but would you please warn me first? I’d rather come in fully dressed.”
Todd seemed to consider my request. At least, he took a few moments before he replied.
“Yeah, no. But feel free to renegotiate your contract at the end of the year.”
“I never should have told you I’m a demon. This is a hostile work environment.
“Speaking of which, HR wants to speak with you. The smell of Sulfur is a bit much.”
—
Follow my future writing by joining /r/posthocethics. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Ever since I escaped hell, my life has been... well, calling it hell wouldn't be an apt description since there weren't any blood rituals here, but it wasn't enjoyable either.
I hid my identity, took a normal office job and started living like a human. I made sure I was low profile since if I was found out, death and return to hell would have been amongst the best outcomes.
So one day, same like every other day, I ready my transformation, take my morning shower and chant a good luck spell as I get ready for work. Then, out of nowhere, I am summoned, just before I had finished my good luck charm and look and behold, my boss was standing in front of me, covered in blood.
Now, it might sound bad, but it was nowhere near as bad as what followed. At first he was surprised, then he gave me an earful, then he forced me to help him cover the dead body, one I hadn't noticed. That counts as being bad? No! What was bad is that he knew I was a demon.
Not able to kill my summoner, I prepared myself for a report and an apt return to hell for my punishment. But that didn't happen. Instead, he let me go.
I was surprised by this, so I tried to find out his motivation behind such an action. Well, finding that out didn't take long... the bastard went and summoned me as I was taking my shower... to get to work! And not just any work, but my Devil darned office job!
You are sick and can't travel? Don't worry, no need to fret, I can just summon you here!
You are trying to skip work? Not on my watch, summoned again!
And if I'm late for some reason? He says summoning isn't to be used for my mere transportation and that I should be more tardy.
I just about turned back to go to hell again, but guess what, he freaking summoned me. Again!
At least I'm getting a promotion in two months due to how "excellent" I've been at work...
What can I say, those games won't buy themselves and hell has no internet. | "Hey boss I'm coming in si-" I hadn't even finished my sentence before the smoke billowed and I was summoned into the office.
"nice try Jim" Carter said drying his hands. he was a frail and dry old man, with glassy eye's and a general apathy towards life.
"Oh come on Mr.Faust Hector uses sick days like that all the time" I complained as he pushed the chair with the binding circle on it to me.
"Hector is a human being who can get sick you on the other hand are an embodiment of pure evil. it's not like you get tired so I fail to see what your complaining about" he said as I took my seat in the chair and was promptly pushed to my desk.
"BUT IT'S BORING, I thought i'd be promoted into your job by now and I'd be running the place" I protested as he booted up my computer.
"true you probably would have if we didn't discover your true nature. now if you really want to use those sick days then I'm going to need a doctors note and a call from your doctor to verify it isn't a forgery" he said leaving me to my own devices
"Fuck bureaucrat" I growled, Five minutes later the frail old man in the grey suit set down a stack of papers on my desk "oh god no"
"Yep, Jim it's your favorite TPS reports" | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | The demon looked at her boss with cold eyes that glowered with resentment. “You know I only chose to take this job because I was curious about God’s special children, don’t you?” She muttered, suddenly irritated that the human body she’d chosen to inhabit was at least a head shorter than everyone else.
“I know. But I have to admit that tormenting a tormentor is an opportunity I simply couldn’t miss. Now stop looking at me like that and get back to work.” The boss - a gray haired cunning and lanky man by the name of Max - turned away from her and gave a wave of his hand in the process, dismissing her. Her eyes shifted from their humane shape to green eyes that were eerily similar to a cats but were filled with more malice and mischief than most could comprehend. Max sat down in his oversized office chair with a smile that dripped poison.
Demoriel seethed as she moved stiffly back to her desk. This skin she wore was itching terribly and the simple idea that she was under the thumb of a mortal made her want to shed it and make said mortal soil himself in fear. Angrily, she began thumping her fingers down on the keys of the laptop in front of her.
Accounting. What a horrible idea that had been. Every now and then she peeled around the side of her cubicle only to find that infernal Max staring at her with an enigmatic smile that infuriated her to no end!
The day progressed much slower than she’d ever thought possible - she’d assumed that along with having taken the form of a mortal time would go faster but she couldn’t have ever been more wrong. As the people around her started to pack up their things, close logbooks and pull on various coats and jackets Demoriel silently rejoiced. Home time. As the room emptied out she waited for the absolute second that marked 4:30pm. Finally, she loosed a breath that she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. She closed down her laptop and grabbed her coat - just another piece of her facade. She didn’t feel the cold, or the heat for that matter.
Just as she passed the threshold to the apartment building she lived in she felt that awful pull. The tugging sensation on her consciousness. “Don’t you damn well dare-..!” Her sentence was cut short when her body folded in on itself. Disappearing into nothingness.
“You forgot to say goodbye.” Max grinned and waved his bloody palm as Demoriel phased into existence before him, within the flaming and bloody image of the pentagram on the floor.
A long string of obscenities spilled from her lips as his form came into focus. But he knew her name. Her true name. He could do this for eternity and it would work every time... Hell was truly on Earth. | "Hey boss I'm coming in si-" I hadn't even finished my sentence before the smoke billowed and I was summoned into the office.
"nice try Jim" Carter said drying his hands. he was a frail and dry old man, with glassy eye's and a general apathy towards life.
"Oh come on Mr.Faust Hector uses sick days like that all the time" I complained as he pushed the chair with the binding circle on it to me.
"Hector is a human being who can get sick you on the other hand are an embodiment of pure evil. it's not like you get tired so I fail to see what your complaining about" he said as I took my seat in the chair and was promptly pushed to my desk.
"BUT IT'S BORING, I thought i'd be promoted into your job by now and I'd be running the place" I protested as he booted up my computer.
"true you probably would have if we didn't discover your true nature. now if you really want to use those sick days then I'm going to need a doctors note and a call from your doctor to verify it isn't a forgery" he said leaving me to my own devices
"Fuck bureaucrat" I growled, Five minutes later the frail old man in the grey suit set down a stack of papers on my desk "oh god no"
"Yep, Jim it's your favorite TPS reports" | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You fucked up. I know you just got promoted to management, but you fucked up. Fucked up so hard that we had a Celestial Being descend from On High and *facepalm* in front of the penthouse office with the CEO looking out."
"Did you *not read the spectral harassment section of the employee handbook*?"
"No compelling of angels, devas, or their ilk, lest the wrath of the Divine be laid upon your doorstep. It's a demon. Who cares if I compel a demon?"
"Because it's a *fallen* angel. I'd like you to meet Mr. Satan, of Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, Elimi, Leviathan, Astaroth, and Baalbarith. Who are practicing members of the state bar. And suing us for spectral harassment. And bias against the disabled."
"WHAT?"
~~Pankretiarch has been cast out and suffered long term disability as a result of falling from Heaven, as all fallen angels have. It is still an angel, and a crippled one at that.~~
(Mortal ears instinctively tried to reject the words, but more than enough of each one got through.)
"So you just managed to compel an angel and FORCED them into coming in for a ten-hour shift, during WHICH they recorded all of your snarky responses while tormenting it in the workplace."
~~We expect a sizable settlement. You should consider your employer merciful, we'd have simply settled for your soul as lawful punishment.~~
And that's why, kiddies, I'm here mopping the floor at McSeraph's. Throw another french fry on the cleaned part and I'm going to...
~~AHEM~~
...clean it up! Yep, spic and span, shiny as can be. I'm a GOOD boy, doing what I deserve. | "Hey boss I'm coming in si-" I hadn't even finished my sentence before the smoke billowed and I was summoned into the office.
"nice try Jim" Carter said drying his hands. he was a frail and dry old man, with glassy eye's and a general apathy towards life.
"Oh come on Mr.Faust Hector uses sick days like that all the time" I complained as he pushed the chair with the binding circle on it to me.
"Hector is a human being who can get sick you on the other hand are an embodiment of pure evil. it's not like you get tired so I fail to see what your complaining about" he said as I took my seat in the chair and was promptly pushed to my desk.
"BUT IT'S BORING, I thought i'd be promoted into your job by now and I'd be running the place" I protested as he booted up my computer.
"true you probably would have if we didn't discover your true nature. now if you really want to use those sick days then I'm going to need a doctors note and a call from your doctor to verify it isn't a forgery" he said leaving me to my own devices
"Fuck bureaucrat" I growled, Five minutes later the frail old man in the grey suit set down a stack of papers on my desk "oh god no"
"Yep, Jim it's your favorite TPS reports" | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Mr. Stephenson wasn't a bad guy. Hell, he was the decent-type who tried hard to keep his family happy, went to church occasionally on Sunday, and wasn't that bad of a boss. The decent middle manager one hopes to work for at any cubicle farm.
Now me, I'm Jimmy, the Accounts Payable guy who makes sure we get paid. It kind of goes with the experience from my last job and is the easy kind of job for a guy skilled in the bureaucratic tedium of settling invoices. Mr. Stephenson, "Please call me 'Jessie'" to us, heads my little corner of the Finances Department within Williamson Instruments. We're a smallish tech company that makes little pieces of electronic equipment for companies that make much bigger items. I mean, I could probably learn the ins and outs of what all we actually sell but that's what the Sales team is for and like I said, it's not where my experience lies.
Most companies, even small ones like ours with roughly one hundred and three souls, would employ at least three peons to work my job. I'm just that damned good at what I do. I'm not bragging, I was literally born and fell into this line of work. See, my old boss got into an argument with his co-manager and their boss. He decided to spin off companies and a load of us went with him. He specialized in selling really simple ideas with extremely tedious and complicated legal nonsense that cost you dearly if you broke anything in the agreement.
His boss, the CEO of the old company, and his co-manager who is his brother both told him that his business model was too dishonest and robbed the good customers of their livelihoods. I thought, at least at the time, that it was clever enough to turn big profits. So me and about a third of the company followed him to the new venture.
Since I was pretty handy with handling contracts and the necessary legalese, he made me head of Accounts Payable. My girlfriend had a lot of concerns about this new company and my new responsibilities, but I kept reassuring her that it was just the advancement I needed to stave off the ages of boredom I had with the old company. Then the other shoe dropped.
I haven't listed all my experience truthfully on my CV. I wouldn't dare tell Mr. Stephenson that I used to hold what was essentially his job and kept over 50 employees constantly churning out invoices and receipts. I needed a break. I needed to see what my girlfriend was trying to tell me was wrong with my job then. So I lied a little.
I've never liked lying, but I've learned to do it using the truth in... a creative way. That way I don't feel as guilty. See, I had been an extremely anxious person who followed every last rule to the letter in the past. It was part of what made me so good at my job. Then my boss took me with him to his new company and I had to compromise my own rules to meet his expectations. It was never flagrant or overt, but always little things to ensure we got what we were due exactly when it was due.
We'll have to discuss that another time. I only wished to tell you that in order to provide the foundation to the annoyance in which I currently find myself. My careful alteration of the truth to Mr. Stephenson was undone one late evening at the office. You remember how I said I am really good at my job? How I'm the only regular employee there? Sometimes I let my hair down when I stay late at the office to clean up some extra work or to prepare for the next day's work. Sometimes, I let myself indulge in remembering the life I used to live before this rather tame life I currently lead.
Sometimes I stretch my wings and fly.
I don't mean I try something adventurous or put in extra effort into my hobbies. I don't put on insipid inspirational pop music and dance or tidy up. There are no foolish montages of me working out. I unfurl my ancient but tattered wings and fly in the office.
See, my old boss was Mr. Morningstar. He was the kind of guy who could talk the wool off a sheep. He left Heaven, Inc. to start up his soul-based service company to show his father and brother that he could make his business plan work. In the process, he took a third of us with him and the CEO literally cast us out of the office building with only the robes on our backs and we fell. As we fell from Heaven, Inc. to Earth our bodies burned. We may have been angels with incredible resilience - well, more accurately immortality - we still received scars from our descent. Mine resulted in singed feathers and some particularly waxy-looking feet.
Mr. Stephenson came back one evening that I had truly thought he would have no reason to do so. I arranged everything perfectly! I truly always do, but damnable human nature is what it is at times. He walked in to ask me a question that could easily have been achieved via text message. There I was, making lazy circles in the air in my business casual. No shoes, my shirt altered for the occasion, and a dimly flickering light enveloping my body.
His gasp is what made me land abruptly, my wings tucking unconsciously back into my human form. The light winked out and I groaned in frustration. He didn't run. He didn't blink for a time. He slowly approached me and wiped his glasses with a delicate silk handkerchief I got him last Christmas. He gingerly placed his glasses back on his thin face and blinked once.
"Jimmy. James." He coughed once into the handkerchief, a tic he has when he gets nervous. "Mr. Adamson. What on God's green Earth did I just witness?"
I briefly contemplated manifesting my sword, using what little Angelic power I had left to influence his mind to forgetting what he saw, dipping into the Demonic force Mr. Morningstar gave me when I joined his company and obliterating him from mortal existence, and even simply fabricating a total lie rather than altering the truth. I settled on honesty, because that's what my girlfriend wanted me to do. She would prefer I make better life choices.
"Uh... Jessie. Mr. Stephenson, I... I was flying. Sorry sir, it won't happen on company time again." For some reason I couldn't even look this mortal, this mere man with no true dominion over me in the eye. I sheepishly bowed my head and idly picked at my khakis.
"You were flying. In the office. On company time." His disbelief flattened and dulled his voice. His eyes glazed over behind the rounded spectacles. "There isn't really an infraction here to discuss because who would believe it? Let's pretend it didn't happen and we'll both just head home. See you in the morning, Jimmy."
"Yes sir Mr. Stephenson. Thank you. I'll clean up and hit the lights." I was grateful for him leaving, but the better part of me knew I needed to resolve this completely the next day or he'd probably find a way to fire me. Sleep would come fitfully that night.
--------‐----------------------------------------------------------
Have you ever been pulled? I mean really pulled. Like a game of tug of war where you lose your footing and get dragged across the ground with force?
The next day after my witnessed flight I was pulled through existence, which had not occurred for me in millennia. My office slammed into view and under my chair at my desk was a crude but correctly drawn pentagram. The symbols glowed briefly when I contemplated standing up. The blood was still moist and smelled vaguely of chicken offal. I was furious with myself because I bloody well knew what was happening. Jessie was going to try to take advantage of my Fallen state and bend me to slavery.
It wasn't the first time a mortal hungry for more in his or her life attempted this with me. I wasn't going to kill him or destroy his family, but I was certainly going to make him learn from this mistake. After all, I'm used to bureaucratic tedium. And it's what my girlfriend would want me to do.
To be continued. | "Hey boss I'm coming in si-" I hadn't even finished my sentence before the smoke billowed and I was summoned into the office.
"nice try Jim" Carter said drying his hands. he was a frail and dry old man, with glassy eye's and a general apathy towards life.
"Oh come on Mr.Faust Hector uses sick days like that all the time" I complained as he pushed the chair with the binding circle on it to me.
"Hector is a human being who can get sick you on the other hand are an embodiment of pure evil. it's not like you get tired so I fail to see what your complaining about" he said as I took my seat in the chair and was promptly pushed to my desk.
"BUT IT'S BORING, I thought i'd be promoted into your job by now and I'd be running the place" I protested as he booted up my computer.
"true you probably would have if we didn't discover your true nature. now if you really want to use those sick days then I'm going to need a doctors note and a call from your doctor to verify it isn't a forgery" he said leaving me to my own devices
"Fuck bureaucrat" I growled, Five minutes later the frail old man in the grey suit set down a stack of papers on my desk "oh god no"
"Yep, Jim it's your favorite TPS reports" | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You bitch," I said to my boss while his bloody hand goes into a pants pocket.
"Oh, so many questions!"
"Do you really think people won't notice me in a bath robe?"
"Do demons really have to leave their office?"
I glare at him with so much disdain that it only makes him smile bigger. "What do you want?"
"Where did you find the body?" He leans forward, and for a moment, I'm shocked he is this morbid. Until I realize he's an absolute ass and probably collects the macabre. Also, he summoned me, so there's that.
"Coma victim. I remember nothing."
"What do you eat?"
"The blood of the innocent you- oh, hi Karen!" I smile at the gossiping wench who probably realizes I'm in a bathrobe and will soon have the whole office in a tizzy. She turns around and my glare only deepens as my snarl grows. "I will have a vampire in here to fast to eat you if you don't let me go."
"Oh, so they do exist?!" I roll my eyes and fling myself into my chair with exasperation as his excitement grows. "I'll make you a deal."
"We make the deals you swine."
"Now, now, who is stuck here?" He makes that obnoxious ticking noise as he walks away from my desk. "You answer my questions over wine after everyone leaves, and I'll let you go."
"Fine," I respond, "but I will not work in a bathrobe."
"Yes you will. You're a dedicated worker, just sick so no one can interrupt you."
"Why you-"
"Do you want everyone to know you're a demon?"
I make a face, then roll my eyes. Obviously, no.... but, I rather not be stuck in this prison. He walks away and shuts the door. I pick up my phone and make a call. Two can play this game, and I know plenty of demons who want meat suits. 1 ticket out of hell coming right up! | "Hey boss I'm coming in si-" I hadn't even finished my sentence before the smoke billowed and I was summoned into the office.
"nice try Jim" Carter said drying his hands. he was a frail and dry old man, with glassy eye's and a general apathy towards life.
"Oh come on Mr.Faust Hector uses sick days like that all the time" I complained as he pushed the chair with the binding circle on it to me.
"Hector is a human being who can get sick you on the other hand are an embodiment of pure evil. it's not like you get tired so I fail to see what your complaining about" he said as I took my seat in the chair and was promptly pushed to my desk.
"BUT IT'S BORING, I thought i'd be promoted into your job by now and I'd be running the place" I protested as he booted up my computer.
"true you probably would have if we didn't discover your true nature. now if you really want to use those sick days then I'm going to need a doctors note and a call from your doctor to verify it isn't a forgery" he said leaving me to my own devices
"Fuck bureaucrat" I growled, Five minutes later the frail old man in the grey suit set down a stack of papers on my desk "oh god no"
"Yep, Jim it's your favorite TPS reports" | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | I decided to maliciously comply.
Never deal with the Devil, they say. But demons can be worse in specific areas.
So the boss summons me into the office and binds me to the desk? Fine, I'll sit there and do nothing. Don't wanna pay me? Too bad, then you have to admit to HR you've been forcing me in sick, which is a violation that gets you fired (even in this backwater company).
The first time, I'm not even sure he noticed. I just sat at the desk, *quiet as a mouse*, as they say. At the end of the day, he dismissed me, and I went back home.
By the end of the week, I'm sure he noticed. Things were breaking, networks were down, and yet nothing was being fixed. He marched right into my office and started yelling at me.
"You need to get back to work this instant! The company's going down and it's all your-"
At this point, I took out my earbuds.
"Sorry, I'm busy ignoring you. If you want me to pay attention, please check in with my assistant."
His face was as red as the phone on my desk, but he marched right out of my office, muttering about how he can't afford more network problems.
Man, was it fun to be the Bastard Operator From Hell. | "Hey boss I'm coming in si-" I hadn't even finished my sentence before the smoke billowed and I was summoned into the office.
"nice try Jim" Carter said drying his hands. he was a frail and dry old man, with glassy eye's and a general apathy towards life.
"Oh come on Mr.Faust Hector uses sick days like that all the time" I complained as he pushed the chair with the binding circle on it to me.
"Hector is a human being who can get sick you on the other hand are an embodiment of pure evil. it's not like you get tired so I fail to see what your complaining about" he said as I took my seat in the chair and was promptly pushed to my desk.
"BUT IT'S BORING, I thought i'd be promoted into your job by now and I'd be running the place" I protested as he booted up my computer.
"true you probably would have if we didn't discover your true nature. now if you really want to use those sick days then I'm going to need a doctors note and a call from your doctor to verify it isn't a forgery" he said leaving me to my own devices
"Fuck bureaucrat" I growled, Five minutes later the frail old man in the grey suit set down a stack of papers on my desk "oh god no"
"Yep, Jim it's your favorite TPS reports" | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | The demon looked at her boss with cold eyes that glowered with resentment. “You know I only chose to take this job because I was curious about God’s special children, don’t you?” She muttered, suddenly irritated that the human body she’d chosen to inhabit was at least a head shorter than everyone else.
“I know. But I have to admit that tormenting a tormentor is an opportunity I simply couldn’t miss. Now stop looking at me like that and get back to work.” The boss - a gray haired cunning and lanky man by the name of Max - turned away from her and gave a wave of his hand in the process, dismissing her. Her eyes shifted from their humane shape to green eyes that were eerily similar to a cats but were filled with more malice and mischief than most could comprehend. Max sat down in his oversized office chair with a smile that dripped poison.
Demoriel seethed as she moved stiffly back to her desk. This skin she wore was itching terribly and the simple idea that she was under the thumb of a mortal made her want to shed it and make said mortal soil himself in fear. Angrily, she began thumping her fingers down on the keys of the laptop in front of her.
Accounting. What a horrible idea that had been. Every now and then she peeled around the side of her cubicle only to find that infernal Max staring at her with an enigmatic smile that infuriated her to no end!
The day progressed much slower than she’d ever thought possible - she’d assumed that along with having taken the form of a mortal time would go faster but she couldn’t have ever been more wrong. As the people around her started to pack up their things, close logbooks and pull on various coats and jackets Demoriel silently rejoiced. Home time. As the room emptied out she waited for the absolute second that marked 4:30pm. Finally, she loosed a breath that she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. She closed down her laptop and grabbed her coat - just another piece of her facade. She didn’t feel the cold, or the heat for that matter.
Just as she passed the threshold to the apartment building she lived in she felt that awful pull. The tugging sensation on her consciousness. “Don’t you damn well dare-..!” Her sentence was cut short when her body folded in on itself. Disappearing into nothingness.
“You forgot to say goodbye.” Max grinned and waved his bloody palm as Demoriel phased into existence before him, within the flaming and bloody image of the pentagram on the floor.
A long string of obscenities spilled from her lips as his form came into focus. But he knew her name. Her true name. He could do this for eternity and it would work every time... Hell was truly on Earth. | Contrary to popular belief most demons don't love the hellfire and brimstone of the underworld. In fact, given that most demons are fallen angels their preferences tend toward the more cool and serene environments of heaven, but what with tall the pain and torment even setting hoof there causes it is fairly obvious why demons don't vacation there.
Instead most demons opt for a nice possession package vacation, though this can be difficult to setup and execute. How many humans dabble in the old Latin ceremonies or buy up cursed Babylonian tablets these days? Not many. For this reason once a suitable candidate is found it is imperative that the demon operating the human adhere to strict rules and regulations. The human host must not be driven mad with nightmares and visions of the nine circles nor must they devolve into gibbering madly from park benches, clothes burned, torn, and shredded like so much sackcloth. Those outcomes end in insane asylums and though that is still a far sight above endless torture, it is far less enjoyable than free reign and access to things like pizza.
So far this vacation was shaping up to be a fucking disaster. I had been highly rated in my job performance for the last few millennia and had earned a month vacation. I had sifted through all the options in the packages and selected a mild mannered college graduate working in an accounting firm. Turns out that being an art history major did not ensure that dream job of teaching and making art when the department head has you sifting through ancient relics in the museum storage as part of your internship. Pack enough tainted items around a mortal and that soul will eventually become corrupted.
The accounting work seemed easy enough, but something very bad happened very quickly. Since alcohol did not exist on the ethereal plane I was incredibly unprepared for the effects of six rounds of tequila shooters and found myself pouring my twisted heart out to my boss, unfortunately, including my true name. Figures it would be just my luck for my host's boss to be the grandson of an old school catholic priest and well versed in the old ways of demon hunting and, more annoyingly, demon binding.
"Well now, isn't this just peachy?" He asked, sneering wildly down at me on the floor.
My head pounded like a boulder-sized hammer on gluttonous sinners. My blurred vision was clearing and I realized I was back in the office. Sunlight coming in through the windows seemed to indicate the first rays of dawn. I laboriously stood up and reeled against the tipping world.
"Tequila isn't you drink Adam, or should I say, Xer'guloth." His smirk and hearing my name sent off some painfully loud alarm bells in my head. "Lucky for you I was able to get you back here to the office without too much incident. This is going to be a nice little arrangement we have here." He gestured around my cubicle.
As my vision blurred and refocused I looked around the small grey space and noticed some all too familiar symbols. Ancient glyphs of binding were written into the carpet, onto the cubicle walls, and on my desk chair. They were written in some dark reddish liquid that was slowly drying and becoming brown.
"Hard to find enough goat blood on such short notice, but the halal butcher down the street was quite accommodating for the right price." He looked me straight in the eye. "Now, down to business. I command you to process all the incoming ledgers and balance sheets including full depreciation for all capital expenditures over the last three quarters and then cross reference that against the last three years of tax returns and chart the variations, year over year broken down by quarter. Oh, and also include the projected and actual revenues for those same times. This all needs to be done by tomorrow morning." He smiled, contentedly. "I trust this won't be an issue."
"That amount of work can't be done in the time frame allotted, especially in my current condition. I need rest and electrolytes badly." I pleaded.
"Well I didn't think a demon would need such physical accommodations nor could a demon refuse a command once bound. I guess we will have to think of something to encourage your behavior." At this he pulled a small bottle from his pocket. "I wonder how Holy Water feels on the damned?"
My hangover snapped out of existence as he produced the vial. This was bad. ery, very bad. The screaming, scarring, and oddly specific symbols that this would cause on this mortal form would be a dead give away and viable proof of demonic possession was beyond agains the rules. "Ok," I said, trying to sound as meek as possible while letting my shoulders sag and my eyes fall, "you win. I shall do as you command."
"Good. See that you do or..." he shook the bottle in front of my face for effect, "you won't like what I do to you." He started to walk away, but turned back after half a step. "Oh, by the way, I think we should alter your terms of employment. We'll put you on half salary since your going to be racking up a lot of overtime and I won't be paying for it. Just enough to fall within minimum wage laws." He snickered as he retreated to his office.
This was the worst vacation ever. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You fucked up. I know you just got promoted to management, but you fucked up. Fucked up so hard that we had a Celestial Being descend from On High and *facepalm* in front of the penthouse office with the CEO looking out."
"Did you *not read the spectral harassment section of the employee handbook*?"
"No compelling of angels, devas, or their ilk, lest the wrath of the Divine be laid upon your doorstep. It's a demon. Who cares if I compel a demon?"
"Because it's a *fallen* angel. I'd like you to meet Mr. Satan, of Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, Elimi, Leviathan, Astaroth, and Baalbarith. Who are practicing members of the state bar. And suing us for spectral harassment. And bias against the disabled."
"WHAT?"
~~Pankretiarch has been cast out and suffered long term disability as a result of falling from Heaven, as all fallen angels have. It is still an angel, and a crippled one at that.~~
(Mortal ears instinctively tried to reject the words, but more than enough of each one got through.)
"So you just managed to compel an angel and FORCED them into coming in for a ten-hour shift, during WHICH they recorded all of your snarky responses while tormenting it in the workplace."
~~We expect a sizable settlement. You should consider your employer merciful, we'd have simply settled for your soul as lawful punishment.~~
And that's why, kiddies, I'm here mopping the floor at McSeraph's. Throw another french fry on the cleaned part and I'm going to...
~~AHEM~~
...clean it up! Yep, spic and span, shiny as can be. I'm a GOOD boy, doing what I deserve. | Contrary to popular belief most demons don't love the hellfire and brimstone of the underworld. In fact, given that most demons are fallen angels their preferences tend toward the more cool and serene environments of heaven, but what with tall the pain and torment even setting hoof there causes it is fairly obvious why demons don't vacation there.
Instead most demons opt for a nice possession package vacation, though this can be difficult to setup and execute. How many humans dabble in the old Latin ceremonies or buy up cursed Babylonian tablets these days? Not many. For this reason once a suitable candidate is found it is imperative that the demon operating the human adhere to strict rules and regulations. The human host must not be driven mad with nightmares and visions of the nine circles nor must they devolve into gibbering madly from park benches, clothes burned, torn, and shredded like so much sackcloth. Those outcomes end in insane asylums and though that is still a far sight above endless torture, it is far less enjoyable than free reign and access to things like pizza.
So far this vacation was shaping up to be a fucking disaster. I had been highly rated in my job performance for the last few millennia and had earned a month vacation. I had sifted through all the options in the packages and selected a mild mannered college graduate working in an accounting firm. Turns out that being an art history major did not ensure that dream job of teaching and making art when the department head has you sifting through ancient relics in the museum storage as part of your internship. Pack enough tainted items around a mortal and that soul will eventually become corrupted.
The accounting work seemed easy enough, but something very bad happened very quickly. Since alcohol did not exist on the ethereal plane I was incredibly unprepared for the effects of six rounds of tequila shooters and found myself pouring my twisted heart out to my boss, unfortunately, including my true name. Figures it would be just my luck for my host's boss to be the grandson of an old school catholic priest and well versed in the old ways of demon hunting and, more annoyingly, demon binding.
"Well now, isn't this just peachy?" He asked, sneering wildly down at me on the floor.
My head pounded like a boulder-sized hammer on gluttonous sinners. My blurred vision was clearing and I realized I was back in the office. Sunlight coming in through the windows seemed to indicate the first rays of dawn. I laboriously stood up and reeled against the tipping world.
"Tequila isn't you drink Adam, or should I say, Xer'guloth." His smirk and hearing my name sent off some painfully loud alarm bells in my head. "Lucky for you I was able to get you back here to the office without too much incident. This is going to be a nice little arrangement we have here." He gestured around my cubicle.
As my vision blurred and refocused I looked around the small grey space and noticed some all too familiar symbols. Ancient glyphs of binding were written into the carpet, onto the cubicle walls, and on my desk chair. They were written in some dark reddish liquid that was slowly drying and becoming brown.
"Hard to find enough goat blood on such short notice, but the halal butcher down the street was quite accommodating for the right price." He looked me straight in the eye. "Now, down to business. I command you to process all the incoming ledgers and balance sheets including full depreciation for all capital expenditures over the last three quarters and then cross reference that against the last three years of tax returns and chart the variations, year over year broken down by quarter. Oh, and also include the projected and actual revenues for those same times. This all needs to be done by tomorrow morning." He smiled, contentedly. "I trust this won't be an issue."
"That amount of work can't be done in the time frame allotted, especially in my current condition. I need rest and electrolytes badly." I pleaded.
"Well I didn't think a demon would need such physical accommodations nor could a demon refuse a command once bound. I guess we will have to think of something to encourage your behavior." At this he pulled a small bottle from his pocket. "I wonder how Holy Water feels on the damned?"
My hangover snapped out of existence as he produced the vial. This was bad. ery, very bad. The screaming, scarring, and oddly specific symbols that this would cause on this mortal form would be a dead give away and viable proof of demonic possession was beyond agains the rules. "Ok," I said, trying to sound as meek as possible while letting my shoulders sag and my eyes fall, "you win. I shall do as you command."
"Good. See that you do or..." he shook the bottle in front of my face for effect, "you won't like what I do to you." He started to walk away, but turned back after half a step. "Oh, by the way, I think we should alter your terms of employment. We'll put you on half salary since your going to be racking up a lot of overtime and I won't be paying for it. Just enough to fall within minimum wage laws." He snickered as he retreated to his office.
This was the worst vacation ever. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Mr. Stephenson wasn't a bad guy. Hell, he was the decent-type who tried hard to keep his family happy, went to church occasionally on Sunday, and wasn't that bad of a boss. The decent middle manager one hopes to work for at any cubicle farm.
Now me, I'm Jimmy, the Accounts Payable guy who makes sure we get paid. It kind of goes with the experience from my last job and is the easy kind of job for a guy skilled in the bureaucratic tedium of settling invoices. Mr. Stephenson, "Please call me 'Jessie'" to us, heads my little corner of the Finances Department within Williamson Instruments. We're a smallish tech company that makes little pieces of electronic equipment for companies that make much bigger items. I mean, I could probably learn the ins and outs of what all we actually sell but that's what the Sales team is for and like I said, it's not where my experience lies.
Most companies, even small ones like ours with roughly one hundred and three souls, would employ at least three peons to work my job. I'm just that damned good at what I do. I'm not bragging, I was literally born and fell into this line of work. See, my old boss got into an argument with his co-manager and their boss. He decided to spin off companies and a load of us went with him. He specialized in selling really simple ideas with extremely tedious and complicated legal nonsense that cost you dearly if you broke anything in the agreement.
His boss, the CEO of the old company, and his co-manager who is his brother both told him that his business model was too dishonest and robbed the good customers of their livelihoods. I thought, at least at the time, that it was clever enough to turn big profits. So me and about a third of the company followed him to the new venture.
Since I was pretty handy with handling contracts and the necessary legalese, he made me head of Accounts Payable. My girlfriend had a lot of concerns about this new company and my new responsibilities, but I kept reassuring her that it was just the advancement I needed to stave off the ages of boredom I had with the old company. Then the other shoe dropped.
I haven't listed all my experience truthfully on my CV. I wouldn't dare tell Mr. Stephenson that I used to hold what was essentially his job and kept over 50 employees constantly churning out invoices and receipts. I needed a break. I needed to see what my girlfriend was trying to tell me was wrong with my job then. So I lied a little.
I've never liked lying, but I've learned to do it using the truth in... a creative way. That way I don't feel as guilty. See, I had been an extremely anxious person who followed every last rule to the letter in the past. It was part of what made me so good at my job. Then my boss took me with him to his new company and I had to compromise my own rules to meet his expectations. It was never flagrant or overt, but always little things to ensure we got what we were due exactly when it was due.
We'll have to discuss that another time. I only wished to tell you that in order to provide the foundation to the annoyance in which I currently find myself. My careful alteration of the truth to Mr. Stephenson was undone one late evening at the office. You remember how I said I am really good at my job? How I'm the only regular employee there? Sometimes I let my hair down when I stay late at the office to clean up some extra work or to prepare for the next day's work. Sometimes, I let myself indulge in remembering the life I used to live before this rather tame life I currently lead.
Sometimes I stretch my wings and fly.
I don't mean I try something adventurous or put in extra effort into my hobbies. I don't put on insipid inspirational pop music and dance or tidy up. There are no foolish montages of me working out. I unfurl my ancient but tattered wings and fly in the office.
See, my old boss was Mr. Morningstar. He was the kind of guy who could talk the wool off a sheep. He left Heaven, Inc. to start up his soul-based service company to show his father and brother that he could make his business plan work. In the process, he took a third of us with him and the CEO literally cast us out of the office building with only the robes on our backs and we fell. As we fell from Heaven, Inc. to Earth our bodies burned. We may have been angels with incredible resilience - well, more accurately immortality - we still received scars from our descent. Mine resulted in singed feathers and some particularly waxy-looking feet.
Mr. Stephenson came back one evening that I had truly thought he would have no reason to do so. I arranged everything perfectly! I truly always do, but damnable human nature is what it is at times. He walked in to ask me a question that could easily have been achieved via text message. There I was, making lazy circles in the air in my business casual. No shoes, my shirt altered for the occasion, and a dimly flickering light enveloping my body.
His gasp is what made me land abruptly, my wings tucking unconsciously back into my human form. The light winked out and I groaned in frustration. He didn't run. He didn't blink for a time. He slowly approached me and wiped his glasses with a delicate silk handkerchief I got him last Christmas. He gingerly placed his glasses back on his thin face and blinked once.
"Jimmy. James." He coughed once into the handkerchief, a tic he has when he gets nervous. "Mr. Adamson. What on God's green Earth did I just witness?"
I briefly contemplated manifesting my sword, using what little Angelic power I had left to influence his mind to forgetting what he saw, dipping into the Demonic force Mr. Morningstar gave me when I joined his company and obliterating him from mortal existence, and even simply fabricating a total lie rather than altering the truth. I settled on honesty, because that's what my girlfriend wanted me to do. She would prefer I make better life choices.
"Uh... Jessie. Mr. Stephenson, I... I was flying. Sorry sir, it won't happen on company time again." For some reason I couldn't even look this mortal, this mere man with no true dominion over me in the eye. I sheepishly bowed my head and idly picked at my khakis.
"You were flying. In the office. On company time." His disbelief flattened and dulled his voice. His eyes glazed over behind the rounded spectacles. "There isn't really an infraction here to discuss because who would believe it? Let's pretend it didn't happen and we'll both just head home. See you in the morning, Jimmy."
"Yes sir Mr. Stephenson. Thank you. I'll clean up and hit the lights." I was grateful for him leaving, but the better part of me knew I needed to resolve this completely the next day or he'd probably find a way to fire me. Sleep would come fitfully that night.
--------‐----------------------------------------------------------
Have you ever been pulled? I mean really pulled. Like a game of tug of war where you lose your footing and get dragged across the ground with force?
The next day after my witnessed flight I was pulled through existence, which had not occurred for me in millennia. My office slammed into view and under my chair at my desk was a crude but correctly drawn pentagram. The symbols glowed briefly when I contemplated standing up. The blood was still moist and smelled vaguely of chicken offal. I was furious with myself because I bloody well knew what was happening. Jessie was going to try to take advantage of my Fallen state and bend me to slavery.
It wasn't the first time a mortal hungry for more in his or her life attempted this with me. I wasn't going to kill him or destroy his family, but I was certainly going to make him learn from this mistake. After all, I'm used to bureaucratic tedium. And it's what my girlfriend would want me to do.
To be continued. | Contrary to popular belief most demons don't love the hellfire and brimstone of the underworld. In fact, given that most demons are fallen angels their preferences tend toward the more cool and serene environments of heaven, but what with tall the pain and torment even setting hoof there causes it is fairly obvious why demons don't vacation there.
Instead most demons opt for a nice possession package vacation, though this can be difficult to setup and execute. How many humans dabble in the old Latin ceremonies or buy up cursed Babylonian tablets these days? Not many. For this reason once a suitable candidate is found it is imperative that the demon operating the human adhere to strict rules and regulations. The human host must not be driven mad with nightmares and visions of the nine circles nor must they devolve into gibbering madly from park benches, clothes burned, torn, and shredded like so much sackcloth. Those outcomes end in insane asylums and though that is still a far sight above endless torture, it is far less enjoyable than free reign and access to things like pizza.
So far this vacation was shaping up to be a fucking disaster. I had been highly rated in my job performance for the last few millennia and had earned a month vacation. I had sifted through all the options in the packages and selected a mild mannered college graduate working in an accounting firm. Turns out that being an art history major did not ensure that dream job of teaching and making art when the department head has you sifting through ancient relics in the museum storage as part of your internship. Pack enough tainted items around a mortal and that soul will eventually become corrupted.
The accounting work seemed easy enough, but something very bad happened very quickly. Since alcohol did not exist on the ethereal plane I was incredibly unprepared for the effects of six rounds of tequila shooters and found myself pouring my twisted heart out to my boss, unfortunately, including my true name. Figures it would be just my luck for my host's boss to be the grandson of an old school catholic priest and well versed in the old ways of demon hunting and, more annoyingly, demon binding.
"Well now, isn't this just peachy?" He asked, sneering wildly down at me on the floor.
My head pounded like a boulder-sized hammer on gluttonous sinners. My blurred vision was clearing and I realized I was back in the office. Sunlight coming in through the windows seemed to indicate the first rays of dawn. I laboriously stood up and reeled against the tipping world.
"Tequila isn't you drink Adam, or should I say, Xer'guloth." His smirk and hearing my name sent off some painfully loud alarm bells in my head. "Lucky for you I was able to get you back here to the office without too much incident. This is going to be a nice little arrangement we have here." He gestured around my cubicle.
As my vision blurred and refocused I looked around the small grey space and noticed some all too familiar symbols. Ancient glyphs of binding were written into the carpet, onto the cubicle walls, and on my desk chair. They were written in some dark reddish liquid that was slowly drying and becoming brown.
"Hard to find enough goat blood on such short notice, but the halal butcher down the street was quite accommodating for the right price." He looked me straight in the eye. "Now, down to business. I command you to process all the incoming ledgers and balance sheets including full depreciation for all capital expenditures over the last three quarters and then cross reference that against the last three years of tax returns and chart the variations, year over year broken down by quarter. Oh, and also include the projected and actual revenues for those same times. This all needs to be done by tomorrow morning." He smiled, contentedly. "I trust this won't be an issue."
"That amount of work can't be done in the time frame allotted, especially in my current condition. I need rest and electrolytes badly." I pleaded.
"Well I didn't think a demon would need such physical accommodations nor could a demon refuse a command once bound. I guess we will have to think of something to encourage your behavior." At this he pulled a small bottle from his pocket. "I wonder how Holy Water feels on the damned?"
My hangover snapped out of existence as he produced the vial. This was bad. ery, very bad. The screaming, scarring, and oddly specific symbols that this would cause on this mortal form would be a dead give away and viable proof of demonic possession was beyond agains the rules. "Ok," I said, trying to sound as meek as possible while letting my shoulders sag and my eyes fall, "you win. I shall do as you command."
"Good. See that you do or..." he shook the bottle in front of my face for effect, "you won't like what I do to you." He started to walk away, but turned back after half a step. "Oh, by the way, I think we should alter your terms of employment. We'll put you on half salary since your going to be racking up a lot of overtime and I won't be paying for it. Just enough to fall within minimum wage laws." He snickered as he retreated to his office.
This was the worst vacation ever. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You bitch," I said to my boss while his bloody hand goes into a pants pocket.
"Oh, so many questions!"
"Do you really think people won't notice me in a bath robe?"
"Do demons really have to leave their office?"
I glare at him with so much disdain that it only makes him smile bigger. "What do you want?"
"Where did you find the body?" He leans forward, and for a moment, I'm shocked he is this morbid. Until I realize he's an absolute ass and probably collects the macabre. Also, he summoned me, so there's that.
"Coma victim. I remember nothing."
"What do you eat?"
"The blood of the innocent you- oh, hi Karen!" I smile at the gossiping wench who probably realizes I'm in a bathrobe and will soon have the whole office in a tizzy. She turns around and my glare only deepens as my snarl grows. "I will have a vampire in here to fast to eat you if you don't let me go."
"Oh, so they do exist?!" I roll my eyes and fling myself into my chair with exasperation as his excitement grows. "I'll make you a deal."
"We make the deals you swine."
"Now, now, who is stuck here?" He makes that obnoxious ticking noise as he walks away from my desk. "You answer my questions over wine after everyone leaves, and I'll let you go."
"Fine," I respond, "but I will not work in a bathrobe."
"Yes you will. You're a dedicated worker, just sick so no one can interrupt you."
"Why you-"
"Do you want everyone to know you're a demon?"
I make a face, then roll my eyes. Obviously, no.... but, I rather not be stuck in this prison. He walks away and shuts the door. I pick up my phone and make a call. Two can play this game, and I know plenty of demons who want meat suits. 1 ticket out of hell coming right up! | Contrary to popular belief most demons don't love the hellfire and brimstone of the underworld. In fact, given that most demons are fallen angels their preferences tend toward the more cool and serene environments of heaven, but what with tall the pain and torment even setting hoof there causes it is fairly obvious why demons don't vacation there.
Instead most demons opt for a nice possession package vacation, though this can be difficult to setup and execute. How many humans dabble in the old Latin ceremonies or buy up cursed Babylonian tablets these days? Not many. For this reason once a suitable candidate is found it is imperative that the demon operating the human adhere to strict rules and regulations. The human host must not be driven mad with nightmares and visions of the nine circles nor must they devolve into gibbering madly from park benches, clothes burned, torn, and shredded like so much sackcloth. Those outcomes end in insane asylums and though that is still a far sight above endless torture, it is far less enjoyable than free reign and access to things like pizza.
So far this vacation was shaping up to be a fucking disaster. I had been highly rated in my job performance for the last few millennia and had earned a month vacation. I had sifted through all the options in the packages and selected a mild mannered college graduate working in an accounting firm. Turns out that being an art history major did not ensure that dream job of teaching and making art when the department head has you sifting through ancient relics in the museum storage as part of your internship. Pack enough tainted items around a mortal and that soul will eventually become corrupted.
The accounting work seemed easy enough, but something very bad happened very quickly. Since alcohol did not exist on the ethereal plane I was incredibly unprepared for the effects of six rounds of tequila shooters and found myself pouring my twisted heart out to my boss, unfortunately, including my true name. Figures it would be just my luck for my host's boss to be the grandson of an old school catholic priest and well versed in the old ways of demon hunting and, more annoyingly, demon binding.
"Well now, isn't this just peachy?" He asked, sneering wildly down at me on the floor.
My head pounded like a boulder-sized hammer on gluttonous sinners. My blurred vision was clearing and I realized I was back in the office. Sunlight coming in through the windows seemed to indicate the first rays of dawn. I laboriously stood up and reeled against the tipping world.
"Tequila isn't you drink Adam, or should I say, Xer'guloth." His smirk and hearing my name sent off some painfully loud alarm bells in my head. "Lucky for you I was able to get you back here to the office without too much incident. This is going to be a nice little arrangement we have here." He gestured around my cubicle.
As my vision blurred and refocused I looked around the small grey space and noticed some all too familiar symbols. Ancient glyphs of binding were written into the carpet, onto the cubicle walls, and on my desk chair. They were written in some dark reddish liquid that was slowly drying and becoming brown.
"Hard to find enough goat blood on such short notice, but the halal butcher down the street was quite accommodating for the right price." He looked me straight in the eye. "Now, down to business. I command you to process all the incoming ledgers and balance sheets including full depreciation for all capital expenditures over the last three quarters and then cross reference that against the last three years of tax returns and chart the variations, year over year broken down by quarter. Oh, and also include the projected and actual revenues for those same times. This all needs to be done by tomorrow morning." He smiled, contentedly. "I trust this won't be an issue."
"That amount of work can't be done in the time frame allotted, especially in my current condition. I need rest and electrolytes badly." I pleaded.
"Well I didn't think a demon would need such physical accommodations nor could a demon refuse a command once bound. I guess we will have to think of something to encourage your behavior." At this he pulled a small bottle from his pocket. "I wonder how Holy Water feels on the damned?"
My hangover snapped out of existence as he produced the vial. This was bad. ery, very bad. The screaming, scarring, and oddly specific symbols that this would cause on this mortal form would be a dead give away and viable proof of demonic possession was beyond agains the rules. "Ok," I said, trying to sound as meek as possible while letting my shoulders sag and my eyes fall, "you win. I shall do as you command."
"Good. See that you do or..." he shook the bottle in front of my face for effect, "you won't like what I do to you." He started to walk away, but turned back after half a step. "Oh, by the way, I think we should alter your terms of employment. We'll put you on half salary since your going to be racking up a lot of overtime and I won't be paying for it. Just enough to fall within minimum wage laws." He snickered as he retreated to his office.
This was the worst vacation ever. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | I decided to maliciously comply.
Never deal with the Devil, they say. But demons can be worse in specific areas.
So the boss summons me into the office and binds me to the desk? Fine, I'll sit there and do nothing. Don't wanna pay me? Too bad, then you have to admit to HR you've been forcing me in sick, which is a violation that gets you fired (even in this backwater company).
The first time, I'm not even sure he noticed. I just sat at the desk, *quiet as a mouse*, as they say. At the end of the day, he dismissed me, and I went back home.
By the end of the week, I'm sure he noticed. Things were breaking, networks were down, and yet nothing was being fixed. He marched right into my office and started yelling at me.
"You need to get back to work this instant! The company's going down and it's all your-"
At this point, I took out my earbuds.
"Sorry, I'm busy ignoring you. If you want me to pay attention, please check in with my assistant."
His face was as red as the phone on my desk, but he marched right out of my office, muttering about how he can't afford more network problems.
Man, was it fun to be the Bastard Operator From Hell. | Contrary to popular belief most demons don't love the hellfire and brimstone of the underworld. In fact, given that most demons are fallen angels their preferences tend toward the more cool and serene environments of heaven, but what with tall the pain and torment even setting hoof there causes it is fairly obvious why demons don't vacation there.
Instead most demons opt for a nice possession package vacation, though this can be difficult to setup and execute. How many humans dabble in the old Latin ceremonies or buy up cursed Babylonian tablets these days? Not many. For this reason once a suitable candidate is found it is imperative that the demon operating the human adhere to strict rules and regulations. The human host must not be driven mad with nightmares and visions of the nine circles nor must they devolve into gibbering madly from park benches, clothes burned, torn, and shredded like so much sackcloth. Those outcomes end in insane asylums and though that is still a far sight above endless torture, it is far less enjoyable than free reign and access to things like pizza.
So far this vacation was shaping up to be a fucking disaster. I had been highly rated in my job performance for the last few millennia and had earned a month vacation. I had sifted through all the options in the packages and selected a mild mannered college graduate working in an accounting firm. Turns out that being an art history major did not ensure that dream job of teaching and making art when the department head has you sifting through ancient relics in the museum storage as part of your internship. Pack enough tainted items around a mortal and that soul will eventually become corrupted.
The accounting work seemed easy enough, but something very bad happened very quickly. Since alcohol did not exist on the ethereal plane I was incredibly unprepared for the effects of six rounds of tequila shooters and found myself pouring my twisted heart out to my boss, unfortunately, including my true name. Figures it would be just my luck for my host's boss to be the grandson of an old school catholic priest and well versed in the old ways of demon hunting and, more annoyingly, demon binding.
"Well now, isn't this just peachy?" He asked, sneering wildly down at me on the floor.
My head pounded like a boulder-sized hammer on gluttonous sinners. My blurred vision was clearing and I realized I was back in the office. Sunlight coming in through the windows seemed to indicate the first rays of dawn. I laboriously stood up and reeled against the tipping world.
"Tequila isn't you drink Adam, or should I say, Xer'guloth." His smirk and hearing my name sent off some painfully loud alarm bells in my head. "Lucky for you I was able to get you back here to the office without too much incident. This is going to be a nice little arrangement we have here." He gestured around my cubicle.
As my vision blurred and refocused I looked around the small grey space and noticed some all too familiar symbols. Ancient glyphs of binding were written into the carpet, onto the cubicle walls, and on my desk chair. They were written in some dark reddish liquid that was slowly drying and becoming brown.
"Hard to find enough goat blood on such short notice, but the halal butcher down the street was quite accommodating for the right price." He looked me straight in the eye. "Now, down to business. I command you to process all the incoming ledgers and balance sheets including full depreciation for all capital expenditures over the last three quarters and then cross reference that against the last three years of tax returns and chart the variations, year over year broken down by quarter. Oh, and also include the projected and actual revenues for those same times. This all needs to be done by tomorrow morning." He smiled, contentedly. "I trust this won't be an issue."
"That amount of work can't be done in the time frame allotted, especially in my current condition. I need rest and electrolytes badly." I pleaded.
"Well I didn't think a demon would need such physical accommodations nor could a demon refuse a command once bound. I guess we will have to think of something to encourage your behavior." At this he pulled a small bottle from his pocket. "I wonder how Holy Water feels on the damned?"
My hangover snapped out of existence as he produced the vial. This was bad. ery, very bad. The screaming, scarring, and oddly specific symbols that this would cause on this mortal form would be a dead give away and viable proof of demonic possession was beyond agains the rules. "Ok," I said, trying to sound as meek as possible while letting my shoulders sag and my eyes fall, "you win. I shall do as you command."
"Good. See that you do or..." he shook the bottle in front of my face for effect, "you won't like what I do to you." He started to walk away, but turned back after half a step. "Oh, by the way, I think we should alter your terms of employment. We'll put you on half salary since your going to be racking up a lot of overtime and I won't be paying for it. Just enough to fall within minimum wage laws." He snickered as he retreated to his office.
This was the worst vacation ever. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You fucked up. I know you just got promoted to management, but you fucked up. Fucked up so hard that we had a Celestial Being descend from On High and *facepalm* in front of the penthouse office with the CEO looking out."
"Did you *not read the spectral harassment section of the employee handbook*?"
"No compelling of angels, devas, or their ilk, lest the wrath of the Divine be laid upon your doorstep. It's a demon. Who cares if I compel a demon?"
"Because it's a *fallen* angel. I'd like you to meet Mr. Satan, of Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan, Elimi, Leviathan, Astaroth, and Baalbarith. Who are practicing members of the state bar. And suing us for spectral harassment. And bias against the disabled."
"WHAT?"
~~Pankretiarch has been cast out and suffered long term disability as a result of falling from Heaven, as all fallen angels have. It is still an angel, and a crippled one at that.~~
(Mortal ears instinctively tried to reject the words, but more than enough of each one got through.)
"So you just managed to compel an angel and FORCED them into coming in for a ten-hour shift, during WHICH they recorded all of your snarky responses while tormenting it in the workplace."
~~We expect a sizable settlement. You should consider your employer merciful, we'd have simply settled for your soul as lawful punishment.~~
And that's why, kiddies, I'm here mopping the floor at McSeraph's. Throw another french fry on the cleaned part and I'm going to...
~~AHEM~~
...clean it up! Yep, spic and span, shiny as can be. I'm a GOOD boy, doing what I deserve. | The demon looked at her boss with cold eyes that glowered with resentment. “You know I only chose to take this job because I was curious about God’s special children, don’t you?” She muttered, suddenly irritated that the human body she’d chosen to inhabit was at least a head shorter than everyone else.
“I know. But I have to admit that tormenting a tormentor is an opportunity I simply couldn’t miss. Now stop looking at me like that and get back to work.” The boss - a gray haired cunning and lanky man by the name of Max - turned away from her and gave a wave of his hand in the process, dismissing her. Her eyes shifted from their humane shape to green eyes that were eerily similar to a cats but were filled with more malice and mischief than most could comprehend. Max sat down in his oversized office chair with a smile that dripped poison.
Demoriel seethed as she moved stiffly back to her desk. This skin she wore was itching terribly and the simple idea that she was under the thumb of a mortal made her want to shed it and make said mortal soil himself in fear. Angrily, she began thumping her fingers down on the keys of the laptop in front of her.
Accounting. What a horrible idea that had been. Every now and then she peeled around the side of her cubicle only to find that infernal Max staring at her with an enigmatic smile that infuriated her to no end!
The day progressed much slower than she’d ever thought possible - she’d assumed that along with having taken the form of a mortal time would go faster but she couldn’t have ever been more wrong. As the people around her started to pack up their things, close logbooks and pull on various coats and jackets Demoriel silently rejoiced. Home time. As the room emptied out she waited for the absolute second that marked 4:30pm. Finally, she loosed a breath that she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. She closed down her laptop and grabbed her coat - just another piece of her facade. She didn’t feel the cold, or the heat for that matter.
Just as she passed the threshold to the apartment building she lived in she felt that awful pull. The tugging sensation on her consciousness. “Don’t you damn well dare-..!” Her sentence was cut short when her body folded in on itself. Disappearing into nothingness.
“You forgot to say goodbye.” Max grinned and waved his bloody palm as Demoriel phased into existence before him, within the flaming and bloody image of the pentagram on the floor.
A long string of obscenities spilled from her lips as his form came into focus. But he knew her name. Her true name. He could do this for eternity and it would work every time... Hell was truly on Earth. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "You bitch," I said to my boss while his bloody hand goes into a pants pocket.
"Oh, so many questions!"
"Do you really think people won't notice me in a bath robe?"
"Do demons really have to leave their office?"
I glare at him with so much disdain that it only makes him smile bigger. "What do you want?"
"Where did you find the body?" He leans forward, and for a moment, I'm shocked he is this morbid. Until I realize he's an absolute ass and probably collects the macabre. Also, he summoned me, so there's that.
"Coma victim. I remember nothing."
"What do you eat?"
"The blood of the innocent you- oh, hi Karen!" I smile at the gossiping wench who probably realizes I'm in a bathrobe and will soon have the whole office in a tizzy. She turns around and my glare only deepens as my snarl grows. "I will have a vampire in here to fast to eat you if you don't let me go."
"Oh, so they do exist?!" I roll my eyes and fling myself into my chair with exasperation as his excitement grows. "I'll make you a deal."
"We make the deals you swine."
"Now, now, who is stuck here?" He makes that obnoxious ticking noise as he walks away from my desk. "You answer my questions over wine after everyone leaves, and I'll let you go."
"Fine," I respond, "but I will not work in a bathrobe."
"Yes you will. You're a dedicated worker, just sick so no one can interrupt you."
"Why you-"
"Do you want everyone to know you're a demon?"
I make a face, then roll my eyes. Obviously, no.... but, I rather not be stuck in this prison. He walks away and shuts the door. I pick up my phone and make a call. Two can play this game, and I know plenty of demons who want meat suits. 1 ticket out of hell coming right up! | The demon looked at her boss with cold eyes that glowered with resentment. “You know I only chose to take this job because I was curious about God’s special children, don’t you?” She muttered, suddenly irritated that the human body she’d chosen to inhabit was at least a head shorter than everyone else.
“I know. But I have to admit that tormenting a tormentor is an opportunity I simply couldn’t miss. Now stop looking at me like that and get back to work.” The boss - a gray haired cunning and lanky man by the name of Max - turned away from her and gave a wave of his hand in the process, dismissing her. Her eyes shifted from their humane shape to green eyes that were eerily similar to a cats but were filled with more malice and mischief than most could comprehend. Max sat down in his oversized office chair with a smile that dripped poison.
Demoriel seethed as she moved stiffly back to her desk. This skin she wore was itching terribly and the simple idea that she was under the thumb of a mortal made her want to shed it and make said mortal soil himself in fear. Angrily, she began thumping her fingers down on the keys of the laptop in front of her.
Accounting. What a horrible idea that had been. Every now and then she peeled around the side of her cubicle only to find that infernal Max staring at her with an enigmatic smile that infuriated her to no end!
The day progressed much slower than she’d ever thought possible - she’d assumed that along with having taken the form of a mortal time would go faster but she couldn’t have ever been more wrong. As the people around her started to pack up their things, close logbooks and pull on various coats and jackets Demoriel silently rejoiced. Home time. As the room emptied out she waited for the absolute second that marked 4:30pm. Finally, she loosed a breath that she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. She closed down her laptop and grabbed her coat - just another piece of her facade. She didn’t feel the cold, or the heat for that matter.
Just as she passed the threshold to the apartment building she lived in she felt that awful pull. The tugging sensation on her consciousness. “Don’t you damn well dare-..!” Her sentence was cut short when her body folded in on itself. Disappearing into nothingness.
“You forgot to say goodbye.” Max grinned and waved his bloody palm as Demoriel phased into existence before him, within the flaming and bloody image of the pentagram on the floor.
A long string of obscenities spilled from her lips as his form came into focus. But he knew her name. Her true name. He could do this for eternity and it would work every time... Hell was truly on Earth. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Joseph had been called to his boss’s office and walked between the rows of cubicles wearing a smile on his face. Productivity was at an all time high, they’d hit all their marks this quarter and not a single one of their projects was behind schedule. It was all due to his hard work, of course, and he knew that the people up top were aware of it. His boss was a slave driver, sure, but the long hours were finally going to pay off and that made all the lost time and late nights worth it.
He stopped by Janet’s little box on the way. She was a young accountant, far younger than himself, and two rungs below him on the totem pole. When she spied him making his way towards her, she flashed a nervous smile that sent shivers up his spine as he opened his mouth to greet her, “Getting called to the big man’s office.” She nodded and tucked a stray hair behind the lip of her ear, “I heard.”
Her eyes wouldn’t meet his own, and inside he cherished the nubile anxiety that graced her actions. Lingering in silence for a brief moment, soaking in the essence of her proximity, he finally spoke, “It’s gonna be good news. Bonus type news. You know, you and I should finally do something. Get away for the weekend.” She dragged a breath in and glanced up at him, “You think?” He could see the rose in her cheeks and the small smile on his lips widened as he nodded , “Yeah.” Rapping his fingers against the wall of the cubicle, he winked at her before striding away towards the door to his boss’s office.
One knock at that door drew a muffled, “Come in,” the voice recognizable as his superior’s. Twisting the handle, Joseph pushed the door open and turned away to twiddle his fingers at Janet, stepping in backward and closing the door in one smooth motion.
Facing the door, Joseph took a deep breath before turning around with a smile. Any illusion of maintained confidence crumbled as the occupants of the room became known to him. His boss, Mr. Sanders, was sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled in front of his nose. This was nothing out of the ordinary, but sitting in a chair beside him sat Tracy, the head of their human resources department. Mr. Sanders waved a hand towards a chair in front of his desk, “Joseph, please take a seat.”
Meeting Mr. Sander’s gaze, Joseph’s eyes narrowed as the smile on his lips pursed itself thin, and taking a step towards the chair he faltered, “What’s this about?” Sanders cleared his voice in response and repeated himself, “Take a seat.” Lowering himself into the chair, Joseph’s blue eyed gaze floated to the other two occupants of the room as he unholstered his mind and set to work in planning whatever rebuttal might be necessary for what was to come.
Tracy spoke up before either of her contemporaries, “Joseph, thank you for joining us. You’re probably wondering what this is about.” He nodded in response, “It’s more than a bit intimidating, yeah. Did..” Joseph paused before Tracy interrupted him, “We did find out, Joseph. And I have to say: We’re disappointed.”
“Look, I know its unorthodox, but we’ve been pulling amazing numbers because of him. He can work ten, eleven, twelve hours, however long we need, and he charms the socks off our clients. The guy is a miracle. Ironically enough, a godsend.” The words rushed out of Joseph’s mouth as he tried to excuse what he’d done, all the rituals and bindings and what amounted to slavery. Were demons even worthy of human rights? The more he spoke, the more their eyebrows knotted into a twisted display of frustration, and he knew he was losing them. Tracy finally asked, “What do you think we’re here about?”
“Andrew?” Joseph asked, confusion working its way across his face as he glanced towards the door, as though staring at it hard enough might give him a glimpse of the demon working hard in its cubicle. Tracy cleared her throat, “No, this isn’t about Andrew. He’s an exemplary employee, so I’m not sure why you think he’s relevant. A sexual harassment claim has been levied against you, Joseph.” His jaw hung low, “A…what?” Tracy reiterated, “A sexual harassment claim. It has been corroborated by other members of the office and it’s the decision of leadership that you should be released from the company’s employ.”
Joseph seethed. His teeth gritted and his growing paranoia connected the dots his logic had drawn in his mind, “This is Andrew’s fault, isn’t it? He put you up to this. That god damn…demon!” Tracy smirked, “Joseph, please, there’s no need to make this a hostile exchange.” “Like hell there isn’t! This sort of thing takes investigation! Queries! I have rights, and you’re just letting me go? After how much I’ve done for this place! It’s that freaking demon, he’s in your heads!” Mr. Sanders pursed his lips and spoke in a low, cool tone, “Joseph, you’re making a fool out of yourself. Get your things, put them in a box, and get out. Now leave, before I call security.”
Knocking his chair over as he jumped to his feet, Joseph spat on he carpet before turning away, “I didn’t do anything wrong, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Fucking imbeciles.” Storming through the door and into the office, the sound of silence hit him like a brick. No phone calls, no idle chatter, just a sea of unblinking eyes. Pushing his way past the gaze of his peers, he stopped by Janet’s cubicle and scoffed, “They’re firing me! Me! The guy who kicked this quarter’s ass! Nobody here has worked harder than me, and they’re letting me go, because of…I mean, can you believe it?” Janet glanced up and met his gaze, her lips drawn thin, “Yeah.”
It clicked. Looking away towards the little square box three seats down, Joseph met Andrew’s green gaze. The demon shrugged, a small smile settled neatly on his sharp features. Joseph sneered in response before pointing a finger at him, “If this was you…I’ll find out tonight, you piece of shit.” He didn’t have much of a chance to say anything else as he felt the grip of hands on his biceps, two men in blue uniforms taking him by the shoulders and dragging him towards the elevator.
Ranting and raving at them, despite their inability to do anything other than remove him from the premises, Joseph soon found himself standing outside the building on the sidewalk. Hollering up towards that fourteenth floor desk farm, he shouted his hate and outrage at them, “Fine! I don’t need this place anyway! With the kind of numbers I can pull, I’ll own this building and then you’re all going to regret this! Especially you Sanders, you freakin jackoff!” Turning with a final shout, he stepped off the curb and watched the world turn upside down. His feet flew over his head, which promptly smashed into something hard before everything went dark.
Silence. Calm. A feeling like he was floating. Had Joseph ever really known a peace like this? There was no chase, no run, no growing anxiety at sitting still. Something inside of his chest swelled as he floated in an unending darkness for what felt like ages. Then, in the far distance, a pin prick of light that grew and grew until it consumed his vision.
Cacophony. Screaming filled his ears, in such abundance that he squinted hard and moved to lift his hands to cover them, but he could not. Looking down towards his fingers, he found them seemingly fused to a keyboard, unable to tell where the machine ended and his hands began. In a panic, he looked up to try and uncover the truth of his surroundings and was met with a horrid sight of flesh and metal bent together into awkward shapes and forming walls around him. A voice cut through the sounds of suffering, oddly familiar, “Joseph? Oh my goodness, is that you?” Turning his head, the smell of brimstone flooded his lungs as he bore witness to the face of something…inhuman. He heard a snapping sound as his mind cracked just looking at it’s bulbous, manly limbed form, but what horrified him most was the human face centered upon its forehead. A sharp-featured face wearing a gentle smile. Andrew. | "Damned be that incident with this damned crucifix. You know what people like me usually do, right? Trick, kill, rape, loot, sometimes in that order. General suffering, evil for the sake and thrill of being evil. But that's just so boring. So lame. And you do that for millennia! Do you even know how long a mill... oh wait right nevermind, you do know. Anyways, I wanted something else, so I tried to infiltrate in human society and, you know, get a regular job. I wasn't the first one, many of my peers did already! But they generally have jobs like weapon manufacturer, debt collector, insurance salesman, CEO at oil company or traffic police officer. As you'd expect, right? I wanted something less evil, more ... well long story short I ended up as a cashier at McDonalds. Some people say it's already evil enough, but not for my peers who constantly laugh at me or insult me. I don't care. It was fun, I learned a lot on people and everything. Until this thrice damned incident.
I was closing shop and a customer left a handbag. Not unusual. I got curious and started looking inside it. I didn't imagine just how much crap human females put in their bags, guess I'd have to do the same for my camouflage because ... wait, you don't give a fuck. Anyways, in that bag was a crucifix. I found out when I was shuffling the content with my hand and I touched it. You know what happens when I touch a freaking crucifix. Thankfully the store was closed, I was alone, it was only a quick contact, no big deal. That's what I thought at least. Figured out that my manager saw the whole incident on the cameras! And one month later he confronted me about it. Who would have thought that a human could so quickly learn arcane magics?! Well, he did a ritual and bounded me to the workplace. This hairless monkey is forcing me to work every day, from opening to closing, no breaks, nothing. I got tricked by a damned mortal! Aaah I'm so angry. I can see his pathetic attempt at an evil smile in my mind, I want to punch him then kill him then raise his corpse so I can punch it again, but nooo I can't."
\- "... And why are you telling me all of this?"
\- "Isn't it like the stuff you usually do? Help people?"
\- "Out of every thing that exists in this world, you are asking _me_ for help?!"
\- "Yeah! I mean, I could have asked an union or police or anything, but you can imagine how they'd react to my story! You, instead, you're used to that kind of stuff."
\- "Surely you're aware that tying someone down is not the best way of asking for their help?"
\- "Just for safety! You'd have attacked me on sight otherwise, right? Tell you what, here's my proposal: I free you, you visit my manager, you use your stupid pigeon magic to make people all nice and repent and everything, it frees me, and in return I don't kill him, I quit my job and I move to selling organic food. Deal?"
\- "Are you even for real?"
\- "Deal?"
\- "You leave your manager alone if I do? No evil stuff?"
\- "No trick, no punch, no kill."
\- " ... Fine. Deal." | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | I decided to maliciously comply.
Never deal with the Devil, they say. But demons can be worse in specific areas.
So the boss summons me into the office and binds me to the desk? Fine, I'll sit there and do nothing. Don't wanna pay me? Too bad, then you have to admit to HR you've been forcing me in sick, which is a violation that gets you fired (even in this backwater company).
The first time, I'm not even sure he noticed. I just sat at the desk, *quiet as a mouse*, as they say. At the end of the day, he dismissed me, and I went back home.
By the end of the week, I'm sure he noticed. Things were breaking, networks were down, and yet nothing was being fixed. He marched right into my office and started yelling at me.
"You need to get back to work this instant! The company's going down and it's all your-"
At this point, I took out my earbuds.
"Sorry, I'm busy ignoring you. If you want me to pay attention, please check in with my assistant."
His face was as red as the phone on my desk, but he marched right out of my office, muttering about how he can't afford more network problems.
Man, was it fun to be the Bastard Operator From Hell. | "Damned be that incident with this damned crucifix. You know what people like me usually do, right? Trick, kill, rape, loot, sometimes in that order. General suffering, evil for the sake and thrill of being evil. But that's just so boring. So lame. And you do that for millennia! Do you even know how long a mill... oh wait right nevermind, you do know. Anyways, I wanted something else, so I tried to infiltrate in human society and, you know, get a regular job. I wasn't the first one, many of my peers did already! But they generally have jobs like weapon manufacturer, debt collector, insurance salesman, CEO at oil company or traffic police officer. As you'd expect, right? I wanted something less evil, more ... well long story short I ended up as a cashier at McDonalds. Some people say it's already evil enough, but not for my peers who constantly laugh at me or insult me. I don't care. It was fun, I learned a lot on people and everything. Until this thrice damned incident.
I was closing shop and a customer left a handbag. Not unusual. I got curious and started looking inside it. I didn't imagine just how much crap human females put in their bags, guess I'd have to do the same for my camouflage because ... wait, you don't give a fuck. Anyways, in that bag was a crucifix. I found out when I was shuffling the content with my hand and I touched it. You know what happens when I touch a freaking crucifix. Thankfully the store was closed, I was alone, it was only a quick contact, no big deal. That's what I thought at least. Figured out that my manager saw the whole incident on the cameras! And one month later he confronted me about it. Who would have thought that a human could so quickly learn arcane magics?! Well, he did a ritual and bounded me to the workplace. This hairless monkey is forcing me to work every day, from opening to closing, no breaks, nothing. I got tricked by a damned mortal! Aaah I'm so angry. I can see his pathetic attempt at an evil smile in my mind, I want to punch him then kill him then raise his corpse so I can punch it again, but nooo I can't."
\- "... And why are you telling me all of this?"
\- "Isn't it like the stuff you usually do? Help people?"
\- "Out of every thing that exists in this world, you are asking _me_ for help?!"
\- "Yeah! I mean, I could have asked an union or police or anything, but you can imagine how they'd react to my story! You, instead, you're used to that kind of stuff."
\- "Surely you're aware that tying someone down is not the best way of asking for their help?"
\- "Just for safety! You'd have attacked me on sight otherwise, right? Tell you what, here's my proposal: I free you, you visit my manager, you use your stupid pigeon magic to make people all nice and repent and everything, it frees me, and in return I don't kill him, I quit my job and I move to selling organic food. Deal?"
\- "Are you even for real?"
\- "Deal?"
\- "You leave your manager alone if I do? No evil stuff?"
\- "No trick, no punch, no kill."
\- " ... Fine. Deal." | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | I decided to maliciously comply.
Never deal with the Devil, they say. But demons can be worse in specific areas.
So the boss summons me into the office and binds me to the desk? Fine, I'll sit there and do nothing. Don't wanna pay me? Too bad, then you have to admit to HR you've been forcing me in sick, which is a violation that gets you fired (even in this backwater company).
The first time, I'm not even sure he noticed. I just sat at the desk, *quiet as a mouse*, as they say. At the end of the day, he dismissed me, and I went back home.
By the end of the week, I'm sure he noticed. Things were breaking, networks were down, and yet nothing was being fixed. He marched right into my office and started yelling at me.
"You need to get back to work this instant! The company's going down and it's all your-"
At this point, I took out my earbuds.
"Sorry, I'm busy ignoring you. If you want me to pay attention, please check in with my assistant."
His face was as red as the phone on my desk, but he marched right out of my office, muttering about how he can't afford more network problems.
Man, was it fun to be the Bastard Operator From Hell. | Mr. Stephenson wasn't a bad guy. Hell, he was the decent-type who tried hard to keep his family happy, went to church occasionally on Sunday, and wasn't that bad of a boss. The decent middle manager one hopes to work for at any cubicle farm.
Now me, I'm Jimmy, the Accounts Payable guy who makes sure we get paid. It kind of goes with the experience from my last job and is the easy kind of job for a guy skilled in the bureaucratic tedium of settling invoices. Mr. Stephenson, "Please call me 'Jessie'" to us, heads my little corner of the Finances Department within Williamson Instruments. We're a smallish tech company that makes little pieces of electronic equipment for companies that make much bigger items. I mean, I could probably learn the ins and outs of what all we actually sell but that's what the Sales team is for and like I said, it's not where my experience lies.
Most companies, even small ones like ours with roughly one hundred and three souls, would employ at least three peons to work my job. I'm just that damned good at what I do. I'm not bragging, I was literally born and fell into this line of work. See, my old boss got into an argument with his co-manager and their boss. He decided to spin off companies and a load of us went with him. He specialized in selling really simple ideas with extremely tedious and complicated legal nonsense that cost you dearly if you broke anything in the agreement.
His boss, the CEO of the old company, and his co-manager who is his brother both told him that his business model was too dishonest and robbed the good customers of their livelihoods. I thought, at least at the time, that it was clever enough to turn big profits. So me and about a third of the company followed him to the new venture.
Since I was pretty handy with handling contracts and the necessary legalese, he made me head of Accounts Payable. My girlfriend had a lot of concerns about this new company and my new responsibilities, but I kept reassuring her that it was just the advancement I needed to stave off the ages of boredom I had with the old company. Then the other shoe dropped.
I haven't listed all my experience truthfully on my CV. I wouldn't dare tell Mr. Stephenson that I used to hold what was essentially his job and kept over 50 employees constantly churning out invoices and receipts. I needed a break. I needed to see what my girlfriend was trying to tell me was wrong with my job then. So I lied a little.
I've never liked lying, but I've learned to do it using the truth in... a creative way. That way I don't feel as guilty. See, I had been an extremely anxious person who followed every last rule to the letter in the past. It was part of what made me so good at my job. Then my boss took me with him to his new company and I had to compromise my own rules to meet his expectations. It was never flagrant or overt, but always little things to ensure we got what we were due exactly when it was due.
We'll have to discuss that another time. I only wished to tell you that in order to provide the foundation to the annoyance in which I currently find myself. My careful alteration of the truth to Mr. Stephenson was undone one late evening at the office. You remember how I said I am really good at my job? How I'm the only regular employee there? Sometimes I let my hair down when I stay late at the office to clean up some extra work or to prepare for the next day's work. Sometimes, I let myself indulge in remembering the life I used to live before this rather tame life I currently lead.
Sometimes I stretch my wings and fly.
I don't mean I try something adventurous or put in extra effort into my hobbies. I don't put on insipid inspirational pop music and dance or tidy up. There are no foolish montages of me working out. I unfurl my ancient but tattered wings and fly in the office.
See, my old boss was Mr. Morningstar. He was the kind of guy who could talk the wool off a sheep. He left Heaven, Inc. to start up his soul-based service company to show his father and brother that he could make his business plan work. In the process, he took a third of us with him and the CEO literally cast us out of the office building with only the robes on our backs and we fell. As we fell from Heaven, Inc. to Earth our bodies burned. We may have been angels with incredible resilience - well, more accurately immortality - we still received scars from our descent. Mine resulted in singed feathers and some particularly waxy-looking feet.
Mr. Stephenson came back one evening that I had truly thought he would have no reason to do so. I arranged everything perfectly! I truly always do, but damnable human nature is what it is at times. He walked in to ask me a question that could easily have been achieved via text message. There I was, making lazy circles in the air in my business casual. No shoes, my shirt altered for the occasion, and a dimly flickering light enveloping my body.
His gasp is what made me land abruptly, my wings tucking unconsciously back into my human form. The light winked out and I groaned in frustration. He didn't run. He didn't blink for a time. He slowly approached me and wiped his glasses with a delicate silk handkerchief I got him last Christmas. He gingerly placed his glasses back on his thin face and blinked once.
"Jimmy. James." He coughed once into the handkerchief, a tic he has when he gets nervous. "Mr. Adamson. What on God's green Earth did I just witness?"
I briefly contemplated manifesting my sword, using what little Angelic power I had left to influence his mind to forgetting what he saw, dipping into the Demonic force Mr. Morningstar gave me when I joined his company and obliterating him from mortal existence, and even simply fabricating a total lie rather than altering the truth. I settled on honesty, because that's what my girlfriend wanted me to do. She would prefer I make better life choices.
"Uh... Jessie. Mr. Stephenson, I... I was flying. Sorry sir, it won't happen on company time again." For some reason I couldn't even look this mortal, this mere man with no true dominion over me in the eye. I sheepishly bowed my head and idly picked at my khakis.
"You were flying. In the office. On company time." His disbelief flattened and dulled his voice. His eyes glazed over behind the rounded spectacles. "There isn't really an infraction here to discuss because who would believe it? Let's pretend it didn't happen and we'll both just head home. See you in the morning, Jimmy."
"Yes sir Mr. Stephenson. Thank you. I'll clean up and hit the lights." I was grateful for him leaving, but the better part of me knew I needed to resolve this completely the next day or he'd probably find a way to fire me. Sleep would come fitfully that night.
--------‐----------------------------------------------------------
Have you ever been pulled? I mean really pulled. Like a game of tug of war where you lose your footing and get dragged across the ground with force?
The next day after my witnessed flight I was pulled through existence, which had not occurred for me in millennia. My office slammed into view and under my chair at my desk was a crude but correctly drawn pentagram. The symbols glowed briefly when I contemplated standing up. The blood was still moist and smelled vaguely of chicken offal. I was furious with myself because I bloody well knew what was happening. Jessie was going to try to take advantage of my Fallen state and bend me to slavery.
It wasn't the first time a mortal hungry for more in his or her life attempted this with me. I wasn't going to kill him or destroy his family, but I was certainly going to make him learn from this mistake. After all, I'm used to bureaucratic tedium. And it's what my girlfriend would want me to do.
To be continued. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | I decided to maliciously comply.
Never deal with the Devil, they say. But demons can be worse in specific areas.
So the boss summons me into the office and binds me to the desk? Fine, I'll sit there and do nothing. Don't wanna pay me? Too bad, then you have to admit to HR you've been forcing me in sick, which is a violation that gets you fired (even in this backwater company).
The first time, I'm not even sure he noticed. I just sat at the desk, *quiet as a mouse*, as they say. At the end of the day, he dismissed me, and I went back home.
By the end of the week, I'm sure he noticed. Things were breaking, networks were down, and yet nothing was being fixed. He marched right into my office and started yelling at me.
"You need to get back to work this instant! The company's going down and it's all your-"
At this point, I took out my earbuds.
"Sorry, I'm busy ignoring you. If you want me to pay attention, please check in with my assistant."
His face was as red as the phone on my desk, but he marched right out of my office, muttering about how he can't afford more network problems.
Man, was it fun to be the Bastard Operator From Hell. | Joseph had been called to his boss’s office and walked between the rows of cubicles wearing a smile on his face. Productivity was at an all time high, they’d hit all their marks this quarter and not a single one of their projects was behind schedule. It was all due to his hard work, of course, and he knew that the people up top were aware of it. His boss was a slave driver, sure, but the long hours were finally going to pay off and that made all the lost time and late nights worth it.
He stopped by Janet’s little box on the way. She was a young accountant, far younger than himself, and two rungs below him on the totem pole. When she spied him making his way towards her, she flashed a nervous smile that sent shivers up his spine as he opened his mouth to greet her, “Getting called to the big man’s office.” She nodded and tucked a stray hair behind the lip of her ear, “I heard.”
Her eyes wouldn’t meet his own, and inside he cherished the nubile anxiety that graced her actions. Lingering in silence for a brief moment, soaking in the essence of her proximity, he finally spoke, “It’s gonna be good news. Bonus type news. You know, you and I should finally do something. Get away for the weekend.” She dragged a breath in and glanced up at him, “You think?” He could see the rose in her cheeks and the small smile on his lips widened as he nodded , “Yeah.” Rapping his fingers against the wall of the cubicle, he winked at her before striding away towards the door to his boss’s office.
One knock at that door drew a muffled, “Come in,” the voice recognizable as his superior’s. Twisting the handle, Joseph pushed the door open and turned away to twiddle his fingers at Janet, stepping in backward and closing the door in one smooth motion.
Facing the door, Joseph took a deep breath before turning around with a smile. Any illusion of maintained confidence crumbled as the occupants of the room became known to him. His boss, Mr. Sanders, was sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled in front of his nose. This was nothing out of the ordinary, but sitting in a chair beside him sat Tracy, the head of their human resources department. Mr. Sanders waved a hand towards a chair in front of his desk, “Joseph, please take a seat.”
Meeting Mr. Sander’s gaze, Joseph’s eyes narrowed as the smile on his lips pursed itself thin, and taking a step towards the chair he faltered, “What’s this about?” Sanders cleared his voice in response and repeated himself, “Take a seat.” Lowering himself into the chair, Joseph’s blue eyed gaze floated to the other two occupants of the room as he unholstered his mind and set to work in planning whatever rebuttal might be necessary for what was to come.
Tracy spoke up before either of her contemporaries, “Joseph, thank you for joining us. You’re probably wondering what this is about.” He nodded in response, “It’s more than a bit intimidating, yeah. Did..” Joseph paused before Tracy interrupted him, “We did find out, Joseph. And I have to say: We’re disappointed.”
“Look, I know its unorthodox, but we’ve been pulling amazing numbers because of him. He can work ten, eleven, twelve hours, however long we need, and he charms the socks off our clients. The guy is a miracle. Ironically enough, a godsend.” The words rushed out of Joseph’s mouth as he tried to excuse what he’d done, all the rituals and bindings and what amounted to slavery. Were demons even worthy of human rights? The more he spoke, the more their eyebrows knotted into a twisted display of frustration, and he knew he was losing them. Tracy finally asked, “What do you think we’re here about?”
“Andrew?” Joseph asked, confusion working its way across his face as he glanced towards the door, as though staring at it hard enough might give him a glimpse of the demon working hard in its cubicle. Tracy cleared her throat, “No, this isn’t about Andrew. He’s an exemplary employee, so I’m not sure why you think he’s relevant. A sexual harassment claim has been levied against you, Joseph.” His jaw hung low, “A…what?” Tracy reiterated, “A sexual harassment claim. It has been corroborated by other members of the office and it’s the decision of leadership that you should be released from the company’s employ.”
Joseph seethed. His teeth gritted and his growing paranoia connected the dots his logic had drawn in his mind, “This is Andrew’s fault, isn’t it? He put you up to this. That god damn…demon!” Tracy smirked, “Joseph, please, there’s no need to make this a hostile exchange.” “Like hell there isn’t! This sort of thing takes investigation! Queries! I have rights, and you’re just letting me go? After how much I’ve done for this place! It’s that freaking demon, he’s in your heads!” Mr. Sanders pursed his lips and spoke in a low, cool tone, “Joseph, you’re making a fool out of yourself. Get your things, put them in a box, and get out. Now leave, before I call security.”
Knocking his chair over as he jumped to his feet, Joseph spat on he carpet before turning away, “I didn’t do anything wrong, and you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Fucking imbeciles.” Storming through the door and into the office, the sound of silence hit him like a brick. No phone calls, no idle chatter, just a sea of unblinking eyes. Pushing his way past the gaze of his peers, he stopped by Janet’s cubicle and scoffed, “They’re firing me! Me! The guy who kicked this quarter’s ass! Nobody here has worked harder than me, and they’re letting me go, because of…I mean, can you believe it?” Janet glanced up and met his gaze, her lips drawn thin, “Yeah.”
It clicked. Looking away towards the little square box three seats down, Joseph met Andrew’s green gaze. The demon shrugged, a small smile settled neatly on his sharp features. Joseph sneered in response before pointing a finger at him, “If this was you…I’ll find out tonight, you piece of shit.” He didn’t have much of a chance to say anything else as he felt the grip of hands on his biceps, two men in blue uniforms taking him by the shoulders and dragging him towards the elevator.
Ranting and raving at them, despite their inability to do anything other than remove him from the premises, Joseph soon found himself standing outside the building on the sidewalk. Hollering up towards that fourteenth floor desk farm, he shouted his hate and outrage at them, “Fine! I don’t need this place anyway! With the kind of numbers I can pull, I’ll own this building and then you’re all going to regret this! Especially you Sanders, you freakin jackoff!” Turning with a final shout, he stepped off the curb and watched the world turn upside down. His feet flew over his head, which promptly smashed into something hard before everything went dark.
Silence. Calm. A feeling like he was floating. Had Joseph ever really known a peace like this? There was no chase, no run, no growing anxiety at sitting still. Something inside of his chest swelled as he floated in an unending darkness for what felt like ages. Then, in the far distance, a pin prick of light that grew and grew until it consumed his vision.
Cacophony. Screaming filled his ears, in such abundance that he squinted hard and moved to lift his hands to cover them, but he could not. Looking down towards his fingers, he found them seemingly fused to a keyboard, unable to tell where the machine ended and his hands began. In a panic, he looked up to try and uncover the truth of his surroundings and was met with a horrid sight of flesh and metal bent together into awkward shapes and forming walls around him. A voice cut through the sounds of suffering, oddly familiar, “Joseph? Oh my goodness, is that you?” Turning his head, the smell of brimstone flooded his lungs as he bore witness to the face of something…inhuman. He heard a snapping sound as his mind cracked just looking at it’s bulbous, manly limbed form, but what horrified him most was the human face centered upon its forehead. A sharp-featured face wearing a gentle smile. Andrew. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "Dammit Jessica! You can't just keep doing this to me!" Colt yelled in outrage, banging his hands in his desk.
"But I **can**, so I will. And Jessica? What ever happened to that sweet and polite, rosy-cheeked intern who called Ms. Wardstone oh so respectfully." Jessica teased leaning across Colt's desk to boop his nose and sensually running her tongue across her ruby-red lips, much like a hungry succubus.
"*That* was before you found out what I was, and right before I found out what *you* were." Colt growled back, raising his hands to strangle the woman in front of him, right before the magical glyphs on his wrists glowed, keeping his hands just inches away from her neck.
Magical movement-restricting manacles, more humane than the ones that outright zapped the poor saps for even *thinking* about insubordinating, but it was still a damned slave marker.
"Oh, and what exactly am I, Colt?" Jessica asked, eyes gleaming in anticipation of her answer, running her fingers across Colt's frozen palms.
"A no good, lying bitch of a human that's what!" Colt spat, "I was just trying to fit in, I just wanted to see what the surface was like compared to the shit hole where I came from, I was even stupid enough to fucking trusted you with my Name!"
"And that was your first mistake mäuschen, it's a shame that you've already integrated so well into society, otherwise I would have used you for different things, but having a free worker would suffice." The green-eyed woman said, patting Colt on the head.
"Anyway, lunch is about to end, I sure hope you remember to be in your best behavior in front of the others, we don't want a... Repeat, of what happened last time."
Colt only snarled in response, the glamour keeping his horns from sight faltering just a tad bit.
"Good boy." And Jessica only patted his head again before walking off.
XvXvXvXvXvX
Jessica kept her composure up until she was in her office, where she promptly collapsed into a tired heap on her chair.
"Oh fuck that was hard..." She groaned, massaging her temples with shaky hands.
She wasn't even halfway finished with her current headache that another one made itself known.
Her father was calling her phone.
"Fucking...."
It took until the sixth ring for her to muster up and pick up.
"What the shit do you want now?" She snarled.
"That is no way to address your father Jessica, I was simply checking in to see if how our... Investment is holding up." Her father's voice was calm and cold as always. She fucking hated it.
"Fuck you."
And with that, she hang up.
Only for her phone to ring again.
"Whhaaat?" Jessica drawled. Impoliteness was one of the best ways she could get under her old bastard of father's skin, so she did it as often as she could.
"I was asking for an update Jessica. Do not make me come to that dreary office of yours." His voice was less calm, but infinitely more cold. Mission accomplished then.
"He's going to behave." Jessica said with a sigh.
It took her five seconds to realize that her father had already hang up.
"Fucking bastard. I'm the one that does the wet work and he doesn't even thank me!"
Jessica sighed again.
Of all the dirty deeds she's done for cheap to keep her father's company at top, keeping an innocent demon a slave was definitely the worst thing she's ever done.
The fact that his sandy-brown hair and pitch-black eyes kept giving her déjà-vu made things worse.
She sighed again.
XvXvXvXvXvXvXvXvX
Colt stared at her retreating figure until he could see her no more.
Then he counted to ten before releasing the breath he was holding.
Then his cheeks colored.
"Dammit. That was way too fucking hot." Colt said, banging his head on his desk.
And accidentally dissipating the glyphs placed there.
Colt sighed, this wasn't the first time he had to re-do the restraining glyph, it's not like Jessica wasn't good at it, far from it really, it was simply the fact that... She did it wrong.
Colt sighed.
"This wouldn't have happened if you just told her everything you know." Colt chastised himself as he began weaving the glyph back in place.
"But you just had to let your hormones get the best of you and blurt out literally everything but the things you needed to say."
".... I should really stop talking to myself." Colt said, finishing the glyph.
"But then again, given the fact that I let myself get captured and technically enslaved cause of a decade old crush might mean I have more pressing matters other than that."
Colt sighed again, slamming his head to his desk with a groan.
"I hate being stupid." The poor lovestruck demon mumbled to himself.
And then the glyph fizzled out again.
Colt only signed again. | The national guardsman checked the credentials; his breathing sounding ominous through the hazmat suit with green tape wrapped around his head and arms in neat, uniform stripes. Waving his flashlight first at my face, then to my documents back to my face. He nodded.
“Ok, doc, good luck in there... I hear it’s a mess.”
I built a smile, but it felt like a grimace.
He waved me through the gate. I stepped inside the impromptu quarantine zone, chain link fences had been erected around a massive central tent. Dozens of backup generators whirred outside next to a few other tents, one of which was larger, and like the large central tent, had several pressure modulation apparatuses keeping the pressure inside the tent lower than atmospheric pressure. That would be serving as the quarantine tent. This was a fail safe in the case of a puncture, the disease wouldn’t leave the tent if the inside pressure was negative, air from the outside would rush in, and the modulation apparatus would make sure that even in the event of a puncture it would remain lower than atmospheric pressure until a solution could be found. Helicopters, like the one I had arrived in, circled the area shuttling supplies, various experts and personal to a landing zone about a mile away where there was a prep site for the approach to the quarantine zone. 3 security checks before you were allowed to leave the prep site, and a checkpoint at the gate to the quarantine zone.
“Dr. Smith”
I heard my name being shouted from somewhere around what I had identified as the quarantine tent. I looked at saw my liaison with the CDC, motioning what appeared to be a group of government officials, including the local law enforcement. I approached and was introduced.
“This is Dr. Smith, PhD in pathology and biochemical engineering, who has been briefed on the situation during his flight. Thank you for being here today, Doctor.”
I looked at the group wandering towards me in hazmat suits, with color coded bits of tape around the helmet and arms. The CDC liaison and two others had red tape, one man had blue tape and three others had green tape.
I nodded, “I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but Zaire... it really never is.”
The Ebola virus is one of the most lethal known to mankind. There are 2 strains mankind has been introduced to:
Ebola Sudan, which is the “gentler” of the two. It has around a 60% mortality rate. I use the word gentler in quotes because while it is less lethal, there is nothing pleasant about the way it kills you.
The other is the Ebola Zaire, it has a 99% mortality rate once you have it, and this is a disease that American scientists at the CDC have been searching for to study since... well, since mankind became aware of it.
The thing is that Ebola’s native population remains a mystery. The humans who contract it die so quickly that it is almost impossible to question them about their activities and who or what they may have come into contact with. Generally speaking it’s a logistics issue since most outbreaks happen on the continent of Africa, but here I was in the heart of suburban America with an all but confirmed outbreak of Zaire.
“You’ll excuse me,” I said, as the group started toward the massive main tent, “but I didn’t have time to read the full brief on the flight, what building is inside the big tent?”
One of the green tapes peeled back a flap as the group entered a decontamination room on the inside of the tent. A timer on the wall came to life, and stated counting down from 2 minutes as we were sprayed with aerosol chemicals and a team of technicians came to inspect our suits.
A grizzled sounding man in the blue tape hazmat suit responded to my unanswered question: “That’s the crazy part, it’s just an office building. From what I was able to pull up on permits, it’s a building for a call center.”
The CDC liaison introduced the man, “This is Sheriff Wilson Briggs, of Sandy Springs PD.”
Briggs continued, “my men got a call this evening around 8pm, the buildings alarm system triggered. It’s one of those systems that activates at a certain time, basically when the building is supposed to be empty.”
I chimed in, “I saw this part of the report, massive amounts of blood, and the body count was around 72 people...”
“That number is up at 94 now.” the CDC liaison quipped after consulting a tablet she had been carrying.
The technicians gave each of us a thumbs up, and held open the secondary flap that led to the interior of the tent that held the call center.
Decontamination teams were busy, scrambling to get bodies out of the building. Most of the bodies were already out, demonstrated by a pile of sealed body bags out in front of the building that were being staged to go through the decontamination chamber we just passed.
“I want to see the anomaly.” I said, referencing the 6 page section of the “must read” portion of the briefing, that outlined the site zero for the outbreak.
One of the men in the green tape nodded, “We believe that one of the mentioned individuals is responsible for the attack. Preliminary background checks don’t even suggests ties to any terrorist organization, or any country other than America.”
“But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a domestic terrorist cell” a different green tape added.
On cue the CDC liaison introduced the respective men speaking “Colonel Greene, Georgia National Guard and Deputy Director McNeal, Federal Bureau of Invesigation.”
The group took the stairs up 3 flights. Walked into a massive room filled with cubicles, and half dried blood. About 10 steps into the room it became very clear there was a point of origin. A single cubicle with a bloody pentagram inscribed on its walls and, oddly, the desk in the center.
No blood in the cubicle, and a very clear set of footprints leading away from it.
“Do we know whose desk that is?” I asked hopefully.
“We have her in custody,” Briggs stated, “no sign of the disease, but she was at home watching Netflix when my guys checked on her, only known survivor and her explanation is...”
“What?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Religious mumbo-jumbo. She says she’s a demon, claims she’ll make the office look like a party in comparison to what she’ll do at the station if we don’t let her go . I dunno, we’re transitioning her to FBI jurisdiction after her psych evaluation, but the national guard is providing security, she’s gonna have a LOT of questions to answer.” | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | Damn it! I want to go home, now. And I mean right NOW. But I can't. Not like this. I'll become a laughingstock.
When I came here I thought I would be escaping a living hell, or living in hell, whatever. You get my drift. But in retrospect, I have to concur with the saying: "Hell is other people".
How did it go so bad, you ask? well, that's quite the story, isn't it?
I decided to leave home and come here. The expense of traveling was not that bad. I just had to make some sacrifices along the way. Home was becoming unlivable, and I needed a change of scenario. The bosses there are unforgiving, and I had made some mistakes that would get me into trouble, once they found out.
So, I got here thinking "Heh, they will never be able to find me here". Not among billions of humans, not if I acted like them.
But things got derailed in a flash. Once here, I didn't want to live like a vagrant. There's no charm on it. I neither wanted to attract attention, so living large was out of the question.
So, I needed a job that would allow me to live like the rest of the population. Nothing fancy, but enough to get some amenities. You know, I have some needs that most of the people here don't have, and I have to meet them somehow.
I got a job. A corporation that needed to fill some cubicles with some specialized labor. I falsified the documents that qualified me for the job and started to do it. You get to know in a lot of things if you have seen as much as I have, and some mathematical tasks were not beyond me.
Initially, my boss was ok with me. I did the job and was good at it. I made no mistakes, and in that resided my first error. The guy could become a demon with the rest of the workers if the didn't meet his expectations. Demeaning, damaging, insulting. Trust me, I know the kind.
He would hurl insults that would be the envy of some of my previous acquaintances. They were so good I was inevitable drawn unto them. I couldn't help it, even though I didn't like it.
And then he figured it out, kind of. A guy that made no mistakes. Who'll be drawn to him when he was at his worst.
He was drunk and alone at home. In his boredom, he made a pentagram out of pasta, started cursing and screaming at it, and finally called my name.
In a flash of brimstone and hellfire, I materialized before him. Not in my true form, but in the shape I took to come to this world. Trust me, he was beyond amazed. I was, for lack of a better word, bewildered. I never thought this was possible. But he did call my name, he did some ritual, and I had to come.
Now he has me working overtime, and he told me, between laughs, that I was not going to get paid. "Finally someone competent, doing a credible job and I don't have to pay him!. Hah! Not a dime!!!"
Oooh. But he is going to pay. Sooner rather than later. I won't be imprisoned in this pentagram for much longer. He doesn't know he HAS to maintain it, as these things go. If some of the pasta he is using get misplaced, just for a bit, I'm going to get out, and then there will be hell to pay. And trust me, he's going to pay in it.
And that rat is already looking at the pasta with hunger in its eyes. | I laughed manically as I appeared at my desk.
“Did you really think that’s going to work, Mr President? Summoning me with blood and binding me to the desk? It only lasts through the first command you issued which was ‘hold this folder for me’ And even then the cheap-ass chicken blood you used only borrows fifteen minutes of my time”
I unrolled my tongue and lapped up all the blood on the pentagram and bared my fangs at him. The attending secret service reached his hand inside his jacket towards his gun. I could smell the silver tipped bullets inside. They would sting and I’d have to respawn in two hours. I rolled my eyes.
“No need for that, Ted.”
The President waved his hands.
“Leave us, Ted.”
“Are you sure,Mr President?”
The President just waved again and Ted left the room.
“**Now that we’re alone...**”
The President took her true form and snuggled up to me.
“Oh Lucy honey, how I miss you...” I mumbled, nuzzling her neck | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "So, let me get this straight. The Lower Downs thought they needed to... up their torture game."
"That’s right," I answered.
"Because, and I quote, ‘It seems like the newer batches are being desensitized by something up there.’" Tim’s incredulousness was building.
"Yup."
"And they, your Inferiors, you called them?"
"Yeah."
"Your inferiors, they thought that the best way was to send someone here, undercover, and see what was happening?"
I paused. Then sighed. "You gotta understand man, we’re not, we’re not built the same, you and us. We’re more of an idea given consciousness, while you guys, humanity I mean, you’re matter given thought. Does that make sense?"
Tim was visibly confused by that one, I could tell. The last 10 years among humanity had given me the ability to pick up non-verbal cues, if nothing else. But in spite of my baser instincts, which are primarily torture, preventing someone from reaching their potential, and torture, I felt the need to help Tim understand. These ten years may have given me some shred of sympathy too. That doesn’t need to go in the report either.
"Think of it this way," I started as I scratched my ankle, "When a person sees their dog, they think not just of the emotional bond they share, but also about the vet bills, picking up shit in the park, trying to get them to stay out of the bathroom trash can, stuff like that. When a dog looks at the person that owns it, it thinks ‘Love! Food! Belly Rubs!’ It thinks about things on a lower plane."
Tim’s brow furrowed. "So who’s the dog here, me or you?"
I scratched harder at my ankle, setting the shirt I was folding down to do so. "What? No, that’s not- the point is, we think differently, and I was sent up here to try and get a handle on what’s making you guys resistant to our methods, as we can’t mentally get in your heads." I paused, "I mean, we can possess you, but that’s a different thing entirely." I picked the shirt back up, and watched as a customer shamelessly unfolded the Kirkland jeans I had spent the last half hour stacking just so. I seethed inside, and the hint of a spark jumped from my middle finger, igniting the polo shirt I was holding.
"That’s gonna come out of your check," Tim said.
"Dammit."
"Look," Tim began, "I don’t care what the Lower Echelons sent you here for. You signed an employment contract, and if you’re on the schedule, you will work your shift, or be terminated."
"That’s fine but, come on man! These people have no self-awareness! And I don’t think they have any respect for the work I’m doing here!"
"Are you talking about your Inferiors again?"
"No, I’m talking about these undercooked-bagels of human beings that undo everything I did five minutes before. Even Sisyphus catches a break once in a while. Look! Right over there, that fat lady is unfolding every single down vest looking for one to fit her titanic mid-section."
I put my hands to my mouth and shouted "Hey Karen! We don’t stock XXXL in the warehouse! You gotta go online for that shit!"
My ankle started to itch even more as Tim glared at me, and retraced the symbol underneath the racks that kept me bound inside this building.
"For shit’s sake man, don’t be like that."
"You just insulted a customer."
"Is it an insult if it’s facts?"
"That’s besides the point. I’m done talking. I don’t care about your motivations, or what your superiors-"
"Inferiors."
"Whatever. I don’t care what you were sent here for, or who did it. You got pajama sets to stack by size, and after that Albert is gonna need you to spot him on the fork lift to bring some pallets of avocados and golf balls down. You’re here now, and that means your time is mine. So get to work."
I looked over at the books, and saw a women staring at her phone while her two children leaned out of her cart, methodically pushing copies of Tim Patterson’s latest cash grab onto the floor, and sighed again. As I watched Tim’s bald spot walk away, I was finally struck with an idea. Ignoring the burn at my ankle, I caught up with Tim.
"Tim, what if I said that I had a job offer for *you*?"
Edit: typos | I laughed manically as I appeared at my desk.
“Did you really think that’s going to work, Mr President? Summoning me with blood and binding me to the desk? It only lasts through the first command you issued which was ‘hold this folder for me’ And even then the cheap-ass chicken blood you used only borrows fifteen minutes of my time”
I unrolled my tongue and lapped up all the blood on the pentagram and bared my fangs at him. The attending secret service reached his hand inside his jacket towards his gun. I could smell the silver tipped bullets inside. They would sting and I’d have to respawn in two hours. I rolled my eyes.
“No need for that, Ted.”
The President waved his hands.
“Leave us, Ted.”
“Are you sure,Mr President?”
The President just waved again and Ted left the room.
“**Now that we’re alone...**”
The President took her true form and snuggled up to me.
“Oh Lucy honey, how I miss you...” I mumbled, nuzzling her neck | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "Dude! What in the actual?" I said, dripping suburban water all over what might, at one time and in just the right light, be charitably called a carpet. "I was in the shower."
Dani looked embarrassed for about a picosecond, then snerked. "Clearly," she said, as I shook the water off and materialized some clothing. "Now we are way behind on cases, so get cracking. You're mine for the day and you know it," she said, tapping one over-lacquered fingernail against the little framed scroll I'd hung up in my cube as a "joke".
I sat down in a huff, apported my badge, and logged in to the ancient computer that dominated my little desk. Absently, I reached for the Seal of Solomon carved invisibly (thank you laser-pointers) into the left-hand desk panel of my government-issued cubicle, but my hand closed around empty air instead of cool aluminum. Apparently Dani had either not read down to the end of the scroll, or thought the "required offering"was not
*strictly*
required. A slow smile crept across my face as I settled in to work, exactly as instructed. | I laughed manically as I appeared at my desk.
“Did you really think that’s going to work, Mr President? Summoning me with blood and binding me to the desk? It only lasts through the first command you issued which was ‘hold this folder for me’ And even then the cheap-ass chicken blood you used only borrows fifteen minutes of my time”
I unrolled my tongue and lapped up all the blood on the pentagram and bared my fangs at him. The attending secret service reached his hand inside his jacket towards his gun. I could smell the silver tipped bullets inside. They would sting and I’d have to respawn in two hours. I rolled my eyes.
“No need for that, Ted.”
The President waved his hands.
“Leave us, Ted.”
“Are you sure,Mr President?”
The President just waved again and Ted left the room.
“**Now that we’re alone...**”
The President took her true form and snuggled up to me.
“Oh Lucy honey, how I miss you...” I mumbled, nuzzling her neck | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "What in the Hell?", I stammered as I adjusted to my surroundings.
"Oh good, it did work, excellent!", My human boss was very smugly looking at me as I was in my pajamas standing in front of him. "You don't look that sick to me, Kevin." He muttered some Latin and pointed out to my chair. The pull in my spine was relentless, I HAD to go and sit in front of the computer.
"Who taught you this?" I had no idea he knew what I was, much less how to perform binding spells. This was going to be messy when it was all over with.
"Well, I figured out you were from another dimension easy enough based on speech patterns and habits. Goldfish are not sushi, no matter where you are from."
I paled slightly, I really needed to do more research next time I move. "Okay, what do you want?" I sighed heavily.
"You know, I hate it when my people do that...", he tisked at me. "Have a seat, get to work, making me MONEY! Here are the accounts you will be trading with. When the US markets close, you will switch over to the Singapore markets and continue trading until the summoning wears off. You can go home then, until I bring you back tomorrow."
That was the first day of it. I have been summoned daily, since then. Now, his instructions were to be followed, but he left me some wiggle room in the interpretation of them. THAT was my out. I worked very hard exploiting that over the 6 months of servitude. Somehow, he was able to get me "fired" from payroll yet summon me, so I was working for "free". He said, since I wasn't human, I didn't need money. He was wrong, I was blowing through savings to pay for my apartment. I let my car lease go back because he kept me so busy, I wasn't driving anywhere. The way his summoning/binding worked, my co-workers didn't even SEE me at the desk or hear me. It was torture, sort of. I mean, 6 months is a long time for a human to go with this level of interaction, but for me, it really was a blink of an eye, except I liked my freedom, and this 6 months in Hell of servitude would come back to haunt him.
After the first week, I noted that he no longer paid a lot of attention to the details of my trades, so I could get a little loose with some details. I also, being a dimensional traveller or "demon" for short, decided to project to various companies secret labs and spy on them to learn who was about to make a big discovery, and who might have been blowing smoke up Wall Street's asses...
I made some insider trades all under my boss's name. Some using our company, some just his personal account. This was going to be good...
It was fun watching him get arrested. It was REALLY fun watching him get put on suicide watch when he tried to cut himself to summon me in Jail to get him out. He of COURSE tried to blame ME for all of it. The best part was him getting committed to an institution and drugged up for the rest of his life... Which wasn't that long, actually, because he died of a heart attack.
No, wait that wasn't the best part. The BEST part was meeting his hot trophy wife at his funeral. Man, was she something else. Turns out she was a demon, too. He had summoned her and kept her bound as well. She was VERY appreciative of my work getting him out of the picture. We are going on a round the world cruise with money I siphoned off of the trades, so I guess that's a win, huh? | I laughed manically as I appeared at my desk.
“Did you really think that’s going to work, Mr President? Summoning me with blood and binding me to the desk? It only lasts through the first command you issued which was ‘hold this folder for me’ And even then the cheap-ass chicken blood you used only borrows fifteen minutes of my time”
I unrolled my tongue and lapped up all the blood on the pentagram and bared my fangs at him. The attending secret service reached his hand inside his jacket towards his gun. I could smell the silver tipped bullets inside. They would sting and I’d have to respawn in two hours. I rolled my eyes.
“No need for that, Ted.”
The President waved his hands.
“Leave us, Ted.”
“Are you sure,Mr President?”
The President just waved again and Ted left the room.
“**Now that we’re alone...**”
The President took her true form and snuggled up to me.
“Oh Lucy honey, how I miss you...” I mumbled, nuzzling her neck | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "So, let me get this straight. The Lower Downs thought they needed to... up their torture game."
"That’s right," I answered.
"Because, and I quote, ‘It seems like the newer batches are being desensitized by something up there.’" Tim’s incredulousness was building.
"Yup."
"And they, your Inferiors, you called them?"
"Yeah."
"Your inferiors, they thought that the best way was to send someone here, undercover, and see what was happening?"
I paused. Then sighed. "You gotta understand man, we’re not, we’re not built the same, you and us. We’re more of an idea given consciousness, while you guys, humanity I mean, you’re matter given thought. Does that make sense?"
Tim was visibly confused by that one, I could tell. The last 10 years among humanity had given me the ability to pick up non-verbal cues, if nothing else. But in spite of my baser instincts, which are primarily torture, preventing someone from reaching their potential, and torture, I felt the need to help Tim understand. These ten years may have given me some shred of sympathy too. That doesn’t need to go in the report either.
"Think of it this way," I started as I scratched my ankle, "When a person sees their dog, they think not just of the emotional bond they share, but also about the vet bills, picking up shit in the park, trying to get them to stay out of the bathroom trash can, stuff like that. When a dog looks at the person that owns it, it thinks ‘Love! Food! Belly Rubs!’ It thinks about things on a lower plane."
Tim’s brow furrowed. "So who’s the dog here, me or you?"
I scratched harder at my ankle, setting the shirt I was folding down to do so. "What? No, that’s not- the point is, we think differently, and I was sent up here to try and get a handle on what’s making you guys resistant to our methods, as we can’t mentally get in your heads." I paused, "I mean, we can possess you, but that’s a different thing entirely." I picked the shirt back up, and watched as a customer shamelessly unfolded the Kirkland jeans I had spent the last half hour stacking just so. I seethed inside, and the hint of a spark jumped from my middle finger, igniting the polo shirt I was holding.
"That’s gonna come out of your check," Tim said.
"Dammit."
"Look," Tim began, "I don’t care what the Lower Echelons sent you here for. You signed an employment contract, and if you’re on the schedule, you will work your shift, or be terminated."
"That’s fine but, come on man! These people have no self-awareness! And I don’t think they have any respect for the work I’m doing here!"
"Are you talking about your Inferiors again?"
"No, I’m talking about these undercooked-bagels of human beings that undo everything I did five minutes before. Even Sisyphus catches a break once in a while. Look! Right over there, that fat lady is unfolding every single down vest looking for one to fit her titanic mid-section."
I put my hands to my mouth and shouted "Hey Karen! We don’t stock XXXL in the warehouse! You gotta go online for that shit!"
My ankle started to itch even more as Tim glared at me, and retraced the symbol underneath the racks that kept me bound inside this building.
"For shit’s sake man, don’t be like that."
"You just insulted a customer."
"Is it an insult if it’s facts?"
"That’s besides the point. I’m done talking. I don’t care about your motivations, or what your superiors-"
"Inferiors."
"Whatever. I don’t care what you were sent here for, or who did it. You got pajama sets to stack by size, and after that Albert is gonna need you to spot him on the fork lift to bring some pallets of avocados and golf balls down. You’re here now, and that means your time is mine. So get to work."
I looked over at the books, and saw a women staring at her phone while her two children leaned out of her cart, methodically pushing copies of Tim Patterson’s latest cash grab onto the floor, and sighed again. As I watched Tim’s bald spot walk away, I was finally struck with an idea. Ignoring the burn at my ankle, I caught up with Tim.
"Tim, what if I said that I had a job offer for *you*?"
Edit: typos | Damn it! I want to go home, now. And I mean right NOW. But I can't. Not like this. I'll become a laughingstock.
When I came here I thought I would be escaping a living hell, or living in hell, whatever. You get my drift. But in retrospect, I have to concur with the saying: "Hell is other people".
How did it go so bad, you ask? well, that's quite the story, isn't it?
I decided to leave home and come here. The expense of traveling was not that bad. I just had to make some sacrifices along the way. Home was becoming unlivable, and I needed a change of scenario. The bosses there are unforgiving, and I had made some mistakes that would get me into trouble, once they found out.
So, I got here thinking "Heh, they will never be able to find me here". Not among billions of humans, not if I acted like them.
But things got derailed in a flash. Once here, I didn't want to live like a vagrant. There's no charm on it. I neither wanted to attract attention, so living large was out of the question.
So, I needed a job that would allow me to live like the rest of the population. Nothing fancy, but enough to get some amenities. You know, I have some needs that most of the people here don't have, and I have to meet them somehow.
I got a job. A corporation that needed to fill some cubicles with some specialized labor. I falsified the documents that qualified me for the job and started to do it. You get to know in a lot of things if you have seen as much as I have, and some mathematical tasks were not beyond me.
Initially, my boss was ok with me. I did the job and was good at it. I made no mistakes, and in that resided my first error. The guy could become a demon with the rest of the workers if the didn't meet his expectations. Demeaning, damaging, insulting. Trust me, I know the kind.
He would hurl insults that would be the envy of some of my previous acquaintances. They were so good I was inevitable drawn unto them. I couldn't help it, even though I didn't like it.
And then he figured it out, kind of. A guy that made no mistakes. Who'll be drawn to him when he was at his worst.
He was drunk and alone at home. In his boredom, he made a pentagram out of pasta, started cursing and screaming at it, and finally called my name.
In a flash of brimstone and hellfire, I materialized before him. Not in my true form, but in the shape I took to come to this world. Trust me, he was beyond amazed. I was, for lack of a better word, bewildered. I never thought this was possible. But he did call my name, he did some ritual, and I had to come.
Now he has me working overtime, and he told me, between laughs, that I was not going to get paid. "Finally someone competent, doing a credible job and I don't have to pay him!. Hah! Not a dime!!!"
Oooh. But he is going to pay. Sooner rather than later. I won't be imprisoned in this pentagram for much longer. He doesn't know he HAS to maintain it, as these things go. If some of the pasta he is using get misplaced, just for a bit, I'm going to get out, and then there will be hell to pay. And trust me, he's going to pay in it.
And that rat is already looking at the pasta with hunger in its eyes. | |
[WP] Your boss discovered that you are a demon. Now you can no longer skip work because he could just draw a pentagram in blood and summon your ass to the office, then bind it to the desk for the next 10 hours. It was truly Hell. | "What in the Hell?", I stammered as I adjusted to my surroundings.
"Oh good, it did work, excellent!", My human boss was very smugly looking at me as I was in my pajamas standing in front of him. "You don't look that sick to me, Kevin." He muttered some Latin and pointed out to my chair. The pull in my spine was relentless, I HAD to go and sit in front of the computer.
"Who taught you this?" I had no idea he knew what I was, much less how to perform binding spells. This was going to be messy when it was all over with.
"Well, I figured out you were from another dimension easy enough based on speech patterns and habits. Goldfish are not sushi, no matter where you are from."
I paled slightly, I really needed to do more research next time I move. "Okay, what do you want?" I sighed heavily.
"You know, I hate it when my people do that...", he tisked at me. "Have a seat, get to work, making me MONEY! Here are the accounts you will be trading with. When the US markets close, you will switch over to the Singapore markets and continue trading until the summoning wears off. You can go home then, until I bring you back tomorrow."
That was the first day of it. I have been summoned daily, since then. Now, his instructions were to be followed, but he left me some wiggle room in the interpretation of them. THAT was my out. I worked very hard exploiting that over the 6 months of servitude. Somehow, he was able to get me "fired" from payroll yet summon me, so I was working for "free". He said, since I wasn't human, I didn't need money. He was wrong, I was blowing through savings to pay for my apartment. I let my car lease go back because he kept me so busy, I wasn't driving anywhere. The way his summoning/binding worked, my co-workers didn't even SEE me at the desk or hear me. It was torture, sort of. I mean, 6 months is a long time for a human to go with this level of interaction, but for me, it really was a blink of an eye, except I liked my freedom, and this 6 months in Hell of servitude would come back to haunt him.
After the first week, I noted that he no longer paid a lot of attention to the details of my trades, so I could get a little loose with some details. I also, being a dimensional traveller or "demon" for short, decided to project to various companies secret labs and spy on them to learn who was about to make a big discovery, and who might have been blowing smoke up Wall Street's asses...
I made some insider trades all under my boss's name. Some using our company, some just his personal account. This was going to be good...
It was fun watching him get arrested. It was REALLY fun watching him get put on suicide watch when he tried to cut himself to summon me in Jail to get him out. He of COURSE tried to blame ME for all of it. The best part was him getting committed to an institution and drugged up for the rest of his life... Which wasn't that long, actually, because he died of a heart attack.
No, wait that wasn't the best part. The BEST part was meeting his hot trophy wife at his funeral. Man, was she something else. Turns out she was a demon, too. He had summoned her and kept her bound as well. She was VERY appreciative of my work getting him out of the picture. We are going on a round the world cruise with money I siphoned off of the trades, so I guess that's a win, huh? | I opened my eyes, only to find myself back at the office.
"This again, Alvin?"
I looked at my feet, see what the circle was made of this time. I hoped to Lucifer that it was fudge.
"I'm sorry, did I not make myself clear on the phone, Senecianus? That wasn't a request."
It never was. Never with Alvin.
"No, you were perfectly clear. I had simply hoped that you'd act like an adult for once."
"I am an adult. I am also your boss. I also know your true name. That makes you my bitch."
I didn't mind the language, really. But it concerned me a little that he was so blunt about it.
"Alvin, most people go to sleep at this time."
"What do you care? You don't even eat food like us. Surely you don't need to sleep either."
Ignorance, however, was a good way to irritate me. It was hard to believe that 100,000 years of constant evolution had created the greasy sack of garbage that stood before me.
"In this vessel I *do* require sleep."
Alvin pulled his cigar from his slobbering mouth and puffed smoke at my face.
"I need you to file all this paperwork. You should be able to finish before dawn."
"Alvin, this is slavery. Didn't your damn country go to civil war over it a few centuries ago?"
"...Perhaps you'd rather I make you clean the toilets again?"
I relented. I may be a demon, but I am a demon with standards. And I could understand after the first time why humans hated cleaning toilets.
Satisfied, Alvin left the office, a smug smile carved on his face.
Smile while you can, you useless fossil. Most humans don't get past 90, and your fat arse is closing in on 57. With your health, you will die of a heart attack at 68. Or lung cancer at 65, if I'm lucky.
*And when you do, you'll learn why demons can afford to be patient.* | |
[WP] Old dreams never die, they just get filed away. And you have to do all the paperwork. | 'Here comes another one,' Mrs Silverbell shook her head, flipping through the pages of the file.
'Let me guess,' Thornheart grinned, 'someone is not going to play that violin after all?' His laughter echoed through the hall.
Mrs Silverbell glanced at him over her large glasses. 'Do you really have to be that happy about it, Demon? Really?' She seemed as old as the world itself, but something in her eyes made the young man instantly quiet.
'Angela,' he adjusted his tie, 'with all due respect, I'm forced to share the office with you, but I cannot change who I am.'
There were just two of them, working together, one desk beside another, in this ginormous hall filled with rows and rows and rows of bookshelves filled from top to bottom with files.
They were working in the department of 'Old Dreams', they were overworked and understaffed, and it seemed their job was never done.
Demon was flipping through another file, trying to stifle a chuckle before Angela tries to kill him again. 'What is it?' She snapped.
'She honestly believed she would become the next Joyce just because her uncle said she has a great style.' He dropped the file. Angela was looking daggers at him.
'It's called encouragement, Demon,' she said. 'Being hopeful is what makes humans so extraordinary.'
'And being delusional is what makes them so miserable.' Demon couldn't help himself.
'Angela,' he got up when she closed her eyes for a second, her hands shining ever so slightly, 'this is a workplace. Curse me and they'll suspend you.'
Mrs Silverbell opened her eyes, the white glow around her making her figure strangely intimidating.
'I sat here, filing away old hopes and dreams for the last 376 years and I'll stay here until I retire. Now, get out of my face before I smite you!' Demon gasped when a pair of white wings unfurled from her back.
Mrs Silverbell was old, like super old, but she was still one scary angel. He took the pile of files they finished and scampered away.
Angela needed a moment to recover. She worked with many daemons during her time in the 'Old Dreams' sector but this kid was obnoxious. Someone had to teach him some manners. She sighed. All these years of watching beautiful dreams just crumble into dust took a toll on her. There was nothing so sad as seeing how close someone was to achieving some wonderful vision, just before they gave up.
Demon's friends made sure that happened as often as possible.
Angela saw thousands of broken dreams every day and she had to classify each one of them – give them a number, class, section and rank it on the 'life-impact' scale.
Angels always said there are no small dreams. Those things that warm your heart and the very things your soul needs to grow. Dreams are necessary for humans to survive, just like food and water and love.
Still, deciding that you're not going to buy a new car this year or even the next five years was not that important as deciding that you're not going to school because there are more important things to spend the money on.
Giving up on being the best architect in the entire world was just fine if you still tried to be a really good one and you kept trying every day. The same goes for being a good person – you didn't have to be the best one in the entire universe if tried to be kind to those around you and you tried to leave everything just a bit better when you left.
Humans generally had this huge misconception about what 'the best in the whole world' actually meant on the scale of accomplishment.
'Oh, dear,' Angela covered her mouth with her hand, reading the sad statistic. The man in the file had an entire box full of abandoned dreams. Angela knew all of their names. She wouldn't dare say it was unjust because every human had their own way and their own destiny, but this poor lad had to give up on so many things, and now, after fifty years, he had to admit he would never find his long-lost family.
Demon arrived just as she was dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief. 'No puppy for this Christmas?' He grinned. Mrs Silverbell never laughed at his jokes but he really thought he was super funny and he was sure he would make it some day.
'No, not this Christmas,' she sighed. Demon watched her carefully. She became quiet when she was sad. He had no idea what to do – this was his first job.
They sat in silence, flipping through the files for what it seemed forever when a big screen above their heads started blinking green.
Angela clasped her hands with delight. 'Hurry, hurry boy,' she told him, 'section 42, row 879, file 789965543.'
Demon rushed – having no idea what just happened. He never saw Mrs Silverbell this happy.
The file he brought didn't look any more special than the other ones they received, so he had no idea what'd all the fuss about.
She took the file, her eye glittering with joy.
'Do you know what this is, boy?' She asked. Demon shook his head. 'This is a file of 'life-impact' level 9.' Demon knew the level 9 was one of the highest, which meant abandoned dreams of that importance greatly affected the life of the human and were the hardest to suffer.
'I remember when this file arrived – ten years ago. He had abandoned hope that he would ever find love and that,' she pointed at the green screen above their head, 'means that this old dream had been restored.'
She was flipping through the file, all flushed and chirpy. 'Oh, you silly boy,' she was clearly addressing the man this file belonged to , Demon noticed she did that often, 'look how beautifully your life has turned. Oh, you're going to be so happy.' She closed the file, I pushed back her glasses.
'Come on, Demon,' she grinned, 'I'm buying coffee.'
For more from me r/CrystalElmTales | I sat down at my desk, coffee cup in hand, to do my assigned task. The endless waste of crushed hopes and dreams surrounded me, unlikely to ever be touched again by their creators. It was my task to clean up these wastes, one dream at a time.
"Okay, first item of business looks to be an aspiration as a surgeon of some sort. No wait, scratch that. Detail of the dream indicates that it was the creation of an adult. A parent perhaps? The dream is of a child, which supports this theory." I said aloud for my audio file.
"Dream looks to have been broken by a sword point based off of the hole in the middle, but there's not enough damage done to the sides for the sword to have had sharp edges. A spear would make more sense then."
"The boy in the dream looks like a fairly solemn kid, but the damage was done by an adult based off of the force behind it."
"Best guess is that the boy chose to become a spearman instead of a soldier like his father wanted him to be. Filing it away under military dreams."
"The next order of business..." | |
[WP] In the future, War is a sport. It's telvised and promoted, and out of 200 random citizens selected to serve, you have been enlisted in the next big battle--The World Combat Cup. Your military experience is only two weeks of rushed training. A rifle is in your hand. The battle has begun. | The year is 2288 and Real War is obsolete. Countries no longer spend lives to get what they want,because it just became too costly and risky. When every John and Jane had a flying car with a nuke for a battery, to say nothing of the nanogerm plagues scientists cooked up in national labs, the thought of actually going to another country to die for whatever reason simply became laughable. So "War" became a thing of the past. World Combat Cup had replaced it in every way that was important.
The WCC was the new civilized way nations worked out their differences. It was all very civilized. 200 random civilians would be drafted from each participating nation. You'd get an email in your inbox telling you that for the honor and glory of insert people here, you had to drop all your shit and show up at a training facility by such and such a time and fight.
The two week training is rough. Most of us had never even thrown a punch before, so that was probably a good thing. It was no big secret that while thousands of draftees were sent for, the ones actually picked for the job tended to be... Well. Barely adequate is probably fair as an assessment. That's because the opposing government gets to pick the soldiers. So you'd get guys who'd never been within miles of a gun, mech drivers who typically have huge insurance rates from crashing their hovercycles multiple times, and gunship pilots who can't tell sky from ground. It's the entertainment factor you see, the WCC also generates a lot of revenue. The more hilariously we die, the better the ratings. There a reason why there are camera drones everywhere in this kind of thing.
This match up was between New California Free Republic (go Armadillos!) and Norway (boo, hiss, etc). It's my understanding that if be fighting and dying for the rights over a newly discovered hydrocarbon field somewhere in Mars. Whatever. Doesn't matter.
So on this particular day, I was somewhat gloriously leading the charge to take a facility that was spitting out anti personnel rockets like popcorn. Most of them missed of course, again no one here was anything like professional, but whoever got hit got put down hard. Bits of people rained off of my armor. I put 3 rounds of pulsed plasma into where a rocket seemed to have come from and was awarded with some distant cussing and a renewed wave of little bomblets.
I wish I could say that I was some kind of hero, walking casually down the battlefield with a gun clenched in each hand, killing with each trigger pull with a maniac grin. Maybe with a scantily clad lady on each arm. Truth was though, I was only here by sheer dumb luck. Our tank charge was supposed to deliver us infantry into cover and then steadily grind away at the opposition at range. That was what was SUPPOSED to happen. What actually occurred though was our fool drivers not only charged THROUGH the cover, but then rammed the 30 foot high steel walls like that was going to do something. I was hitching a ride on one when it smacked face first into the immovable object and I find myself catapulted into the air. I watched one of my buddies (Jules?) go right into the jet intake of an enemy gunship. Not a great way to go, but to his credit the flyer did go down eventually as well and it went down on his record.
The rest of us were picking ourselves up when we realized we were basically in an open field between the enemy held walls and the enemy held ,and we had an option of dying while trying to run back or dying while trying run forward. Given that there was a real possibility that our tank drivers would end up smearing us over their fenders or blowing us up with overly enthusiastic supporting fire, we very reasonably opted to go for broke and attack. For the glory of California and all that.
You never knew. Maybe the enemy would assume that we were friendlies (because who would be stupid enough to charge all the defensive guns WITHOUT tanks?) and not shoot us to itty bitty pieces. After all, we're all idiots here.
It actually sorta kinda worked. We got within 20 yards before someone clued in the Norwegians and they vomited missiles and plasma at us. I think maybe out of 40 of us who made it in, 30 died right then and there. Probably all of us would have followed in the next second if that gunship that turned Jules into jam spiraled in and crashed right into the defenses. Go Jules and his hard ass assets, I suppose. May you live forever. Next time, I mean.
So I pushed in though the flames right into the midst of panicking and blinded 'Weagies. With me were HR Mandy, Greg from IT, and Luis from accounting. Mandy ate it immediately when she reached and opened the front door, but served to alert the rest of us about the heavy pulsar team defending the objective as they removed Mandy's head and chest from her armored suit with precision I could almost admire then immediately dismissed because it chopped down a 'Weagie soldier coming up behind us. The air howled with hundreds of pulsed plasma shots. Luis was pretty much useless, covered in Mandy jam as he was, screaming his damned head off like HE was the one missing one. Greg, however, was worse than useless. He pulled out a timed release grenade, pulled out the pin, and threw it. We watched as it sailed towards the gunnery crew. Watched it bounce off the wall directly behind the crew. Watched it ricochet off a gunner's helmet. Watched it pirouette through the air like a gods damned ninny towards us. Watched it bounce between our feet, through our feeble attempts to grab it, and crack hard into Luis' nose.
I ran forward into the heavy pulse fire. I felt the grenade detonate behind me, immediately atomizing both Luis and Greg. I hit the ground with my shoulder and I swore as something popped painfully. I rolled to my feet fully expecting to be chewed apart... But what I saw was the Norwegian crew looking at me with a smoking gun and a lot of confused expressions. The gunner pulled in the trigger again and again, but I remained while and not shot. Huh.
Turned out, the heavy pulsar was never meant to be fired non stop for 20 seconds. 15 seconds, yes. But not 20. The 'Weagies looked on in horror as their previous heavy weapon turned to slag and cussed itself into an expensive yet somehow also worthless lump.
"Par for the course, gentlemen," I told them as i walked up to the console. They were still processing the events as I pressed the big shiny red button for victory. "I guess California wins this ti-"
Turns out that button detonated the nuclear reactor. I was supposed to hit the green button.
My bad.
At least the gag reel will be hilarious. | "This can't be happening!!!"
Joshua was frozen in fear as the vicious gunshot begun. Many assumed this intimidating 2 meters black man would be a beast in warfare, but in reality he was calm person, usually avoid confrontations. But unfortenly choices in life and bad luck threw him in this situation.
Before the battle, the "General", L. Macfiller, CEO from Macfiller Inc ordered them to rush toward the hills, before the enemy could use high advantage, but it was useless, the other team spent their resources points on jeeps with machine gun, so they easly cover the battleground distance and have a tactical advantage. They were encircled.
Joshua felt an overwhelming sense of regret. "It's too late for changes, his girl, his mom, his unborn kid. All of them, he could never mend and help those relationships". He ducked in the ground and started to cry, it's too late, too late...
Later part II | |
[WP] A small team of aliens has come to earth in disguise to analyse humanity, they are amazed and terrified by the range of power beings on the planet. Little do they know, they've landed at comicon. | At first we couldn’t believe our eyes. The information we had acquired about earth was nothing like this. We understood humans were a range of colours and shapes, but nothing could prepare us for the horrific organisms in front of us. Back on our home planet we had the equivalents of human scientists engineer carbon suits to mimic human blood, muscle and tissue. However, we felt completely isolated in this strange, diverse region.
What I can only describe as a mutated demon stomped his way beside us, intaking what looked to be the refuelling component ‘Red Bull’. Another mechanical type being with a luminous glowing helmet briskly whizzed past, shouting across the room. We quietly step into the humans waste disposal area and proceed to lock ourselves in the chambers. When we hear all life forms leave, we begin to discuss what the hell is happening.
“Did... did you see that being with the sharp, pointed ears and green extend of skin? Or-or the one with hard scales riveting down his back? Commander said we are here to analyse HUMANS. You know, the squishy ones? I think we have the wrong planet.”
“Well, my navigational system proves we are indeed on earth.. although I don’t have a clue why the life forms are so misshaped and irregular. Perhaps there’s something about these beings we yet to understand? Maybe they are shedding into new layers of skin, or something similar we are yet to know about. So ho-“
[The bathroom door creaks open, the three aliens peak under their stalls to see a human with paws and a dog head by the urinal.]
One of the aliens silently whisper
“that human has three toes. I believed from our data they were to have five?!’
“Perhaps a mutation, rare but plausible. Anyway we have a mission to complete. Analysis must continue despite the strange circumstances”
The human begins to turn on the tap, and the aliens unlocked their doors and dispense water onto their hands to mimic the humans behaviour, in an attempt to look natural. However, none of the aliens had prepared themselves for such an event, so they all watched keenly onto the humans hands.
In unison, the aliens and the human washed and dried their hands in complete synchronisation, bewildering the dog-hybrid.
“Fuck me, are you guys dressed up as mimes? Quit staring.”
He somewhat aggressively shoved past the perplexed aliens and made his way back into the diverse region of life forms. Perhaps it was a social gathering from many galaxies? Whatever it was, the aliens needed data, and there was lots of it to gather.
EDIT: Part 2
They made their way back into the crowds of sentience and proceeded so scan their surroundings. They hastily made their way through the maze of bodies and started to imitate the humans vocal speech, copying various syllables and patterns they heard, in hopes of distraction.
“I am enjoying the waves of light emitting from the sun making my skin warm and hot. It makes me feel good.”
“Indeed, I sure love this maze of life forms. The skin of various humans is nice plump, very healthy. I like the dead cells growing on top of your head, very stylish.”
They soon noticed a clearing of the masses, In front of them stood an entrance and what appeared to be a giant human construction. One of the aliens spotted something peculiar.
“General! Up there! There are some symbols which may give us some information about this place. Get out your scanner for symbol decoding.”
[Working...Language detected...HUMAN_ENGLISH_VARIANT_] [Message = ‘Comic con 2019’]
“These symbols will be further Analysed back at base. For now take any scriptures or important details you find. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”
The three aliens split up searching for clues, still rather close to one another in case they need to escape. They scanned different booths and meet and greets, even tried ‘playing’ some of the games on display. One of the aliens tried to copy a man fiddling his thumbs around on a controller, however his imitation looked more like someone trying to destroy it.
“Hey there sir, need any help using that? Hold down the middle button to play”
The aliens built in human translator still wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, so the translation for him was
“Greetings fellow Human, care for assistance on your entertainment device? Swallow the centre button to play”
“Yes, thank you. For entertainment purposes I shall indeed try this video game.”
With that, the alien precisely dug his nails beneath the button and pulled it out, then dropped it into his mouth, swallowing it whole.
“When does calibration begin?”
The supervisor awestruck, walked away and whispered a few confused profanities to himself. The alien oblivious, stood waiting for the machine to sync with his body.
The aliens still had much to figure out about social skills.
“Oh my... These life forms are much more advanced than we could have ever predicted. Both of you come here, have a look at this...”
a few comics lay out in front of them, depicting powerful humans with symbols like ‘Superman’ and various other godly names such as ‘Batman’ as well as ‘Aquaman’ in these scriptures you could see each human easily destroying entire planets by hand, killing other aliens with complete ease.
The three aliens stepped back, and realised the huge mistake they had made by coming here. They believed the comics to be true statements and drawings, believing their species could potentially be next.
And then it dawned on them. The gods in the photos were in the very same building. Every comic they held there would be a replica in real life.
The aliens hands trembled as he lowered the Thanos comic to see the real life one standing right in front of his very eyes.
“Oh hey man you a fan of Thanos to? He’s pretty insane. Destroying them planets and all, y’know. One of my favourites.”
“WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW. WARN THE GALAXIES ABOUT THE POWER EARTH WITHHOLDS AND TO AVOID IT AT ALL COSTS. BOOT THE SHIP FOR IMMEDIATE LIFT OFF. “
All three started running for their lives thinking they had breached a godly like temple, housing the many Gods of earth all in one place.
They got back into their small pod located in a ditch nearby between some hedges. Screaming and yelling into their communication with their home planet.
“What’s this nonsense... Than who? Thanos? Destroyer of galaxies? Darth Vader? Death Star? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!”
“Ohhh when the humans find us we will be obliterated. They have the means and heroes necessary to do what they want whenever they please! We need to re-locate our species into another dimension, perhaps time shift via black holes into an alternative timeline where these humans aren’t so overpowered!”
Another random human appeared from what seemed to be the shadows, and drunkenly asked them about the ship
“Yooo sweet costumes guys, awesome space ship thingy, looks super real too.”
Lips quivering, the 3rd alien managed to mutter a small “T-thanks, y-you too.”
“There’s some beer just inside over here, want me to grab you guys some?”
“Yes I am thirsty please bring us some substance”
“Ha sure thing, I’ll be right back”
As soon as the human turned around and walked into the store, the aliens went full throttle into the sky, cutting the atmosphere, through the Milky Way, all the way to their home planet. They managed to bring a few comics for proof of such godly beings, and it soon became the number one news universally, with each district, colony, guild, species, galaxy, dimension, knowing of the humans that could tear a planet in two. Not one species could match such power.
All because some silly humans liked to play make belief.
Thanks for reading if you made it this far, I’ll continue if it was enjoyable to read! | A small group of aliens start to land down on the ground. Around them are people carrying large swords and wearing colorful outfits. The group slowly comes out in a line each of them are a long gray creature. The first one starts to speak "The humans seem to have evolved we were only here last week and they were much different."
Each creature started to explore seeing all of these humans different changes. As they go trough they end up finding a group of people with green hair holding hands. The aliens walk back in surprise as the group starts circling them giving them complements. During the circle of the green haired. A large blond boy with grenade looking shapes on his hands walks in and hits one of the green hairs. The aliens take the chance and start to run back to the ship.
a large crowd has gathered around and all of them are flashing some weird metal box. The captain pulls out some sort of laser and more people surround him with the box. The captain later fires a shot and destroys on of them. The other start to back off and the sound of ringing can be heard everywhere. The aliens quickly board the ship and fly off. Thinking about how much the humans have changed and how powerful they have become. | |
[WP] You are the new guy in the largest soul reaper company. The other soul reapers make fun of the new guys by sending them to get the soul of an immortal human. After months you return and look really tired and pissed. After seeing you, your co-workers start laughing until you open your bag. | The manager looked at me full of hate and envy.
He asked how I managed this impossible task.
I've had a lot of experience with corporate bosses and I know I have to give a decent story to make what was the easiest thing I'd ever done seem challenging.
I told my boss, Grim, that I tried plenty of methods. First I tried my scythe and realized he was a worthy foe. It didn't work.
Then I tried to throw him in an active volcano. He walked away unscathed.
I, or course, actually tried none of these things. I already knew what I needed.
My next lie I told him was I scowered the Darkarts Web. Maybe there was some exploit. I told Grim I searched for days even though I hadn't.
I kept my boss on the edge of his chair for about 90 minutes before I told him. He felt like he was watching a movie - he even had pop corn.
When I finally got around to telling him what worked he was floored.
"you see, there's this snail..." | *"I am death and I came here to take your soul."*
It was a hard mission. It wasn't the execution itself that broke me. But I think something broke in me.
*"but I don't want to die!"*
I did it, though. In my bag I have a soul of an immortal being. Well, Ex-immortal.
*"I know you don't. But why."*
I was tired. The execution sucked all of my energy. All I could do is stand in front of the manager and slam in anger my bag on the desk.
*the man was afraid to look at me in the eyes. It was just the begining, so this question alone wasn't enough to crack him.*
"I see. You failed on a mission, even though you had month to take it. Tell me, Evon, why, after the first time you failed, or even the fifth time, you didn't come back to the office, and just waisted the time of everyone."
*"because I am afraid." that was it. That was the answer I waited for half a month. I am finally making progress.*
"but, boss, you were the one to send me after an immortal being. You seirusly didn't expect me to succed?"
*"so why not? It is not like staying alive would be better."*
"of course I didn't! It was a test and you failed it. You were suppose to come back. At least for a back up. There are millions of other souls waiting to be reapped at the spam of when you were working for nothing."
*"It would be! I can change things for the better! I have all the time in the world, don't I?" "but you had all the time until now. And you have done nothing. Even now, when the world needs you, you, a 348 year old immortal being, with all the knowledge and the money you saved, haven't done nothing."*
"will you fire me? Because I failed a test on my first day, with no experience? What if I am fucking great at harvesting souls? You have no way to know that. It is fucking stupid."
*it took me months to finally break him down. I was sure it would take me years. Living this way probably made him doubt even before I came, and I just rised the thoughts from where he burried them.*
"No, you are right. That would be irrational. But I do expect you to take notes of the time it takes you to work on a mission. And all the souls you were suppose to harvest at that time? I am taking it down from your salary."
*"you are right. My living is worthless. Fine. Take my soul." Usually succeding in such a hard mission would make me happy. But the negativity in the process made me physicaly sick. He gave me his soul, and I almost wasn't able to leave.*
"that's great, because I have his soul here." I opened the bag and released a high quality soul from there. Not even a single scratch. | |
[WP] You are the new guy in the largest soul reaper company. The other soul reapers make fun of the new guys by sending them to get the soul of an immortal human. After months you return and look really tired and pissed. After seeing you, your co-workers start laughing until you open your bag. | Killing an immortal is nearly impossible... That's why they send the new recruits to try; settles down all the machos, gets them used to disappointment.
Hunting immortals is dangerous, and time consuming. I should know. I trained for months and scoured a plethora of resources. Most of what I read was vague and redundant; and nearly all was bullshit.
This bag is heavy on my shoulder, and rightly so considering how much work I put into getting it in here.
My boss is a tool, in every way that the word could be construed. He gives me a smug look as I walk in this morning.
"You're late Evans," he drones, "everyone else is already in the shop. Last one in every morning has to sweep and mop after the meeting."
I nod and smile, then I move on through.
Walking into the shop I place my heavy bag on one of the first tables. It draws a few looks from the guys nearby, but most don't really care.
My boss is the last one in. Only one of the order is out sick this week. Fifty of the best trained hunters in the world, all here in one room.
As the morning admonition winds down, I raise my hand and stand. The regular chatter stills as the Hunt Master Captain points toward me and smiles.
"Do you have something to share son?"
Nodding casually, I slide my bag close and touch the zipper.
"Hey guys," I start with a casual wave, "I'm Evans. Just wanted to let you know that I have found this last couple of months exhausting."
There's a couple of chuckles from around the room.
"I just wanted to get a moment with everyone together, so that I could let all of you know just how little you actually mean to us immortals."
Unzipping my bag, with a flourish I reveal the thirty pounds of C-4 nestled comfortably inside.
As every eye in the room gapes wide, I hold up the detonator and shout,
"Really gonna miss you assholes!"
Nothing beats exfoliation by vaporization. | *"I am death and I came here to take your soul."*
It was a hard mission. It wasn't the execution itself that broke me. But I think something broke in me.
*"but I don't want to die!"*
I did it, though. In my bag I have a soul of an immortal being. Well, Ex-immortal.
*"I know you don't. But why."*
I was tired. The execution sucked all of my energy. All I could do is stand in front of the manager and slam in anger my bag on the desk.
*the man was afraid to look at me in the eyes. It was just the begining, so this question alone wasn't enough to crack him.*
"I see. You failed on a mission, even though you had month to take it. Tell me, Evon, why, after the first time you failed, or even the fifth time, you didn't come back to the office, and just waisted the time of everyone."
*"because I am afraid." that was it. That was the answer I waited for half a month. I am finally making progress.*
"but, boss, you were the one to send me after an immortal being. You seirusly didn't expect me to succed?"
*"so why not? It is not like staying alive would be better."*
"of course I didn't! It was a test and you failed it. You were suppose to come back. At least for a back up. There are millions of other souls waiting to be reapped at the spam of when you were working for nothing."
*"It would be! I can change things for the better! I have all the time in the world, don't I?" "but you had all the time until now. And you have done nothing. Even now, when the world needs you, you, a 348 year old immortal being, with all the knowledge and the money you saved, haven't done nothing."*
"will you fire me? Because I failed a test on my first day, with no experience? What if I am fucking great at harvesting souls? You have no way to know that. It is fucking stupid."
*it took me months to finally break him down. I was sure it would take me years. Living this way probably made him doubt even before I came, and I just rised the thoughts from where he burried them.*
"No, you are right. That would be irrational. But I do expect you to take notes of the time it takes you to work on a mission. And all the souls you were suppose to harvest at that time? I am taking it down from your salary."
*"you are right. My living is worthless. Fine. Take my soul." Usually succeding in such a hard mission would make me happy. But the negativity in the process made me physicaly sick. He gave me his soul, and I almost wasn't able to leave.*
"that's great, because I have his soul here." I opened the bag and released a high quality soul from there. Not even a single scratch. | |
[WP] You are the new guy in the largest soul reaper company. The other soul reapers make fun of the new guys by sending them to get the soul of an immortal human. After months you return and look really tired and pissed. After seeing you, your co-workers start laughing until you open your bag. | Everyone gathered round as I opened my briefcase, the light of the soul I just brought in blinding those closest to it. I could hear gasps and mutters of curiosity from the crowd.
"But-- Wha-- How?" asked John, my superior. He was the one who thought of bullying me and assigning me to this case. A swell of pride came over me when I saw his astonished face.
I pouted when I remembered what I had to go through just to get this one soul. "It wasn't easy. The guy was pretty suicidal so I thought this was gonna be an easy job but hell, every time he tries, something always interferes and saves his sorry ass. I really wanted to intervene already after like a hundred tries but that was against the rules so I just had to watch him 24/7.”
“So how’d he die?” insisted John.
“He jumped off a cliff,” I said casually.
“Just like that?”
“Yup just like that.”
“Bummer.” Disappointed, the crowd dispersed and everyone went back to their jobs.
As John was leaving, I caught up to him and stopped him. “You’re my boss so I might as well tell you now because you’d read my report later anyway.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That immortal didn’t die when he jumped off the cliff.”
“Follow me into my office,” he said.
“So here’s how it really happened,” I started as soon as I locked the door to his office, “When he jumped, can you imagine a big freakin eagle collided into him just as he was about to reach the bottom. That broke his fall so he just sustained a couple of injuries.
“Then, when we were at the hospital, a person… Well, she was more than a person, I think. She had black eyes when I was speaking to her.”
John looked alarmed, “What did she say?”
“She said the immortal was way past his due and I must be really frustrated that he hasn’t died yet.” I paused for a while thinking if I’d made the right decisions. “And that she’d cut me a deal.”
“What were you thinking?!” John hissed at me. “What did she want?”
“She said the man had been trying to kill himself because he couldn’t deliver to a deal they had and that she’d grown impatient so she was going to take matters into her own hands. She said she’d back out of the deal that she and the immortal had. They both didn’t want to continue with it anyway. He’d be mortal again and she’d give me his soul but she wanted something in return.”
“And what is that?”
I shivered at the thought of what I was about to do but I can’t back down now. I’d been tailing that immortal for months and all my co-workers have been nothing but bullies to me. I stood closer to him, I stretched out my hand, willing for my scythe to appear and with a swift motion, slashed at John’s throat.
“A reaper’s soul.” | The new guy opened his bag and emptied it on to his desk. Out tumbled the souls of two dogs, a cat, a woman, three babies, the Slavic deity Belobog and lastly, the immortal he had been sent after months ago.
Dwight spat out his coffee. Phyllis spat out her cake, Pam broke the phone and Stanley actually looked up from his crossword.
"Micheal! Micheal!" , shouted Dwight.
Micheal walked out of his office, took one look at the spilled souls and just stared at the new guy, mouth agape.
"I'm guessing you'll want details" said the new guy.
Micheal nodded, not trusting himself to speak
"Well, this was a tricky one, I have to say. Had to use my chronos artefact and everything."
"Go on" said Micheal managed to sputter.
" First I killed his dog, nothing special, just a little accident, easy peasy. He got another one. A puppy. A strategically timed tremor made him step on it. Then he got a cat, well let's just say curiosity got the better of it."
"And then what?", asked Dwight
"By that time, he was quite depressed, so I made him fall in love with his neighbour. A beautiful, compassionate woman. They lived happily for a while, got married and started a family. Triplets. The immortal new true bliss in these years. That was when I had to use the chronos artefact. Couldn't wait for two years to pass, so I just skipped ahead in time. Then I made him fall asleep while he was giving the babies a bath. Poor sod. Blamed himself for the whole thing. The wife was distraught. She blamed him and herself for marrying him. She couldn't take it and killed herself. Then the Immortal had had enough"
"What did he do?" ,Squeaked Pam
"He started praying to Belobog, the God who had granted him his immortality. Belobog appeared and the Immortal started pleading with him to restore his wife and kids. But, before Belobog could say anything I swooped in and reaped the fuck out of his soul."
"How in the hell did you manage to reap a god?" cried Angela
" Oh, easy enough if you know the right people. I drink at the same bar as Czernobog. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse and he blessed my scythe. Or cursed. Depends on how you look at it."
"That still doesn't explain how you killed the Immortal." Said Kevin
The new guy gave him a wry look.
"Use your head you Dunderheaded moron, I killed the god who gave the Immortal his immortality. What do you think happened next?"
"Umm, you killed the god so, that means he was no longer immortal?" Said Kevin, a look of intense concentration on his face
"Bingo", said the new guy.
"Fantastic! Absolutely fantastic!", exclaimed Micheal. "Angela, this calls for a celebration. I want the Party planning Committee to pull out all the stops! And, please, for the love of Hades, do not invite Toby."
And as everybody started cheering and clapping the new guy on his back, Pam gives him a smile. He shrugs his shoulders and returns it.
After everybody settles down, he goes upto her. She looks up at him. He smiles, offers his hand and says
"Hi. I'm Jim." | |
[WP] You are the new guy in the largest soul reaper company. The other soul reapers make fun of the new guys by sending them to get the soul of an immortal human. After months you return and look really tired and pissed. After seeing you, your co-workers start laughing until you open your bag. | Everyone gathered round as I opened my briefcase, the light of the soul I just brought in blinding those closest to it. I could hear gasps and mutters of curiosity from the crowd.
"But-- Wha-- How?" asked John, my superior. He was the one who thought of bullying me and assigning me to this case. A swell of pride came over me when I saw his astonished face.
I pouted when I remembered what I had to go through just to get this one soul. "It wasn't easy. The guy was pretty suicidal so I thought this was gonna be an easy job but hell, every time he tries, something always interferes and saves his sorry ass. I really wanted to intervene already after like a hundred tries but that was against the rules so I just had to watch him 24/7.”
“So how’d he die?” insisted John.
“He jumped off a cliff,” I said casually.
“Just like that?”
“Yup just like that.”
“Bummer.” Disappointed, the crowd dispersed and everyone went back to their jobs.
As John was leaving, I caught up to him and stopped him. “You’re my boss so I might as well tell you now because you’d read my report later anyway.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That immortal didn’t die when he jumped off the cliff.”
“Follow me into my office,” he said.
“So here’s how it really happened,” I started as soon as I locked the door to his office, “When he jumped, can you imagine a big freakin eagle collided into him just as he was about to reach the bottom. That broke his fall so he just sustained a couple of injuries.
“Then, when we were at the hospital, a person… Well, she was more than a person, I think. She had black eyes when I was speaking to her.”
John looked alarmed, “What did she say?”
“She said the immortal was way past his due and I must be really frustrated that he hasn’t died yet.” I paused for a while thinking if I’d made the right decisions. “And that she’d cut me a deal.”
“What were you thinking?!” John hissed at me. “What did she want?”
“She said the man had been trying to kill himself because he couldn’t deliver to a deal they had and that she’d grown impatient so she was going to take matters into her own hands. She said she’d back out of the deal that she and the immortal had. They both didn’t want to continue with it anyway. He’d be mortal again and she’d give me his soul but she wanted something in return.”
“And what is that?”
I shivered at the thought of what I was about to do but I can’t back down now. I’d been tailing that immortal for months and all my co-workers have been nothing but bullies to me. I stood closer to him, I stretched out my hand, willing for my scythe to appear and with a swift motion, slashed at John’s throat.
“A reaper’s soul.” | "Th-th-there's no way," the nine-faced entity, tasked with reaping souls from the *N*th plane of existence, stuttered.
"What? What did he do? Surely he failed, right?" inquired Gary, the water cooler technician.
"It's *HIM*, the new guy somehow got ***HIM.***" "Surely you can't mea--" "I DO." "But that's.... that's impossible! In every reality! In every plane! In every dimension!"
Yeah, well, I did it. All the senior reapers thought they were punking the new guy, as if Ashton Kutcher was going to come jumping out of the supply closet when I finally came back. That's the thing, though -- I don't half-ass my work, I whole-ass it. Regardless of who the client is, or what the laws of reality (or, even, the laws of any higher power that chooses to be involved during that given business day) dictate. I. Fucking. Did it.
But then, don't just take my words for it, listen to what my coworkers had to say when I opened my bag and David Bowie fell out. | |
[WP] There’s a door with a single keyhole- it will open regardless of what key you use to unlock it. All keys will open this door. What’s on the other side, however, depends on the key. | I found the Door in Kansas, of all places. I had been a travelling salesman, a mechanic, homeless & jobless for a spell, and then somehow I lucked my way into training as a home inspector. The pay wasn't great but I could afford a place and regular meals. That's worth a lot more than most people know. Having a space that's yours, even if it's being rented from the real owner, is a luxury of the mind as well as of the body. You have a space to keep what little stuff you have but more importantly you have a space to relax your mind and actually plan for the future.
My plans were average before the Door. Keep learning how to inspect the generally run down places that filled out the local housing stock, save money for a while, and try to buy a place for myself. One of the perks of the new job was that I was learning to tell when a house was beautiful but rotten in the bones. There are a lot of places like that. Beautiful on the outside, but no one ever cared enough to take care of them over decades, so bit by bit they start to decay from the inside out.
Then you'd get places that looked a bit like crap on the outside, but were alive and warm once you stepped through their doors. You could tell they had been around love, nourishing and sheltering happy families until the kids were all big and everyone started to leave. They had a certain loneliness to them when standing empty but you could tell it was a happy sort of loneliness. One with hope.
I'd been at my job for nearly three years when it happened. I'd made it as a full time inspector and was more than happy to being doing solo jobs. Silence and I suited each other, and the houses I spent all day in were blissfully silent. They talked to me through the creaks in the floor and stairs, and the groan of the wind through the windows, and the more than occasional scuttling of a rodent in the walls. It was fall, nearly winter, and everything was hunkering down for the months of cold. I couldn't blame the little critters for hiding out in these empty shelters. I had done the same. Still, it would go in the report because I was good at my job, and I knew that no one would bother with an exterminator until spring.
It was the first house on the list for the day. Nothing special at all, small, empty for around a year, and had belonged to an elderly widower, now deceased. Here's another a detail about my job you need to know. I got a ring of keys with every pile of inspection reports. One key per house, ten keys per ring. Very simple. Hard to mess up.
Well dear reader, I did. I put the wrong key in that lock and it changed my life forever. I cracked open the Door to a house in Kansas on a cold November morning, and stepped into a warm house with sunlight pouring through the windows and birdsong drifting in on the breeze. I'm confident enough now to admit that I panicked, and sprinted out while slamming the Door behind me. I wouldn't go back for a month.
Eventually, I had to go back because of work. Turns out you need to complete all of the inspection reports given to you, who knew? I got another ring of ten keys, and got in my truck. I almost walked back into the office and quit on the spot. I didn't want to touch the Door again. If I didn't go, I would be fired, so quitting seemed like the best option. Eventually the hungry part of me, the one that would never lose what I had earned so far, won out. I would go.
The Door was the same. Oak with a dark brown varnish, with a beautifully green rusted copper lock and handle. This time I was careful, and turned the right key in the lock. The Door opened to a small, plain, unimpressive house. It didn't feel warm, and it didn't feel cold. It just was. I fell in love immediately, and applied for a mortgage the same day. I moved in a month later, and decided I would never leave.
I kept my job as a home inspector, and kept getting those rings of keys. Eventually I got brave enough and I would try the Door with every key I got. I never went far into any house, just quick looks around, but I could tell every single one was a happy home with a family in it. It felt wrong at first, looking in on people like this, but they never knew and I never took anything. I think there were a few close calls with someone coming in from the backyard and hearing the front door close, but they'd just write it off to their imagination.
I discovered what these places truly were when I decided to show the Door to someone for the first time. His name was Michael. We had met at a local bar, and gotten along immediately because both of us had found love, then had been widowed at an early age. My was because of a drunk driver, his was because of dealer cutting heroin with fentanyl. Happy stories all around.
One night, while a little too drunk, I started to tell him about the Door. He didn't understand, of course, but I convinced him to drive me back to my place and I would show him. I went up to the Door, put my key in, turned the handle, and showed him the inside of my house before shutting the Door.
"Where's your house key?" I said, slurring a bit. He looked genuinely amused at this point but offered it up.
I repeated the process with his key, and looked him right in the eyes before I open his Door. Light came flooding into the night, startling Michael so much so that he took a few involuntary steps back.
"Come take a look." I said.
That's when he heard her laugh. He damn near sprinted through the Door, and found his wife waiting for him in his house. It was spring outside, and you could hear birds singing through the open windows. I gave him a quick smile, and shut the Door.
I think that the Door takes you to your happiest life. Everyone who's made the journey here with their key has found their Door. If you want to give it a try reader, I don't think you'll be disappointed. I opened the Door and now I get to spend the rest of my life offering the gift to readers like you. | “And we are live in five, four, three...”
The camera man, replacing his voice with over the top hand gestures, went from two to one to the universal signal for ‘we are live’ as the broadcast began.
“Hello,” said the well-dressed man on the other side of the camera, his voice more unnatural than his co-hosts absent minded smile.
“Our top story tonight – the FBI have stepped up their investigation in to the suicide of Jeffrey Epstein, demanding answers from the prison in which Epstein managed to take his own life and we are just kidding because everyone has forgot about. Nobody remembers that. Are you kidding? It was like a month ago!”
“Ha-ha! You almost had us, Bob,” said Clare, through her awkward smile.
“We like to have fun,” said Bob. “But now on to our real headline story, a story much more important than a global elite paedophile ring, a story about a super cool secret door that allows anyone in but what key they use decides their fate.”
“That’s right, Bob. Hundreds of thousands of people have made the journey to the tropical island named Eeeyay to interact with the mysterious door, some carrying hundreds of keys at a time to try on the portal like entrance. We go to our man on the scene Gabe.”
A low budget transition panned across the screen as Gabe came in to shot, thousands of people lined up orderly behind him, the door barely in sight.
“Thank you, Bob and Clare,” said Gabe, nodded his head like an exuberant puppy.
“Tell me Gabe, how’s it been on the island. What are people making of this mystery door?” asked Bob, leaning over his desk despite the microphone being attached to his lapel.
“Well, it’s a real carnival atmosphere, Bob. People have been visiting the island in their hordes with keys aplenty. Take for instance Craig, a young 14-year-old from Denver, Colorado who is here with me now.”
The camera panned out to reveal Craig, a spotty teenager who had awkwardly been standing silently out of shot.
“Craig,” said Gabe, “what brings you to the door?”
“I don’t know really. I’ve just been like buying keys, opening the door, seeing what’s behind it, and then trying again with a different key.”
“And how many keys have you tried on the door so far?”
“I don’t know. Probably like three hundred worth of keys.”
“Have you received anything worthwhile from the door?”
“Mainly cosmetic items and stuff.”
“And I can see that despite this clear evidence that it’s a colossal waste of time and money you’re currently in line to try the door again.”
“Yeah, got me like 5 more keys."
“And where do you get the keys?”
“From the island store.”
“Of course you do.”
“Gabe,” said Clare interjecting, “it seems like there’s a lot of children and teenagers in the line behind you.”
“Strangely enough, yes, Clare. We did speak to the owner of Eeeyay island John Childgambling and asked if this was some sort of immoral targeted cash grab but he refused to speak to us unless we purchased 500,000 keys from the store."
"Did you purchase any keys yourself, Gabe?" asked Clare.
"Well, despite being completely against the door and the principles behind it, I did actually go ahead and buy some keys. My reasoning being that I enjoy the door and work hard for my money, if I want to spend that money on something I enjoy then I shouldn't feel bad for it despite an overwhelming hatred for doing so and publicly decrying the business model. And I'll tell you what, I've got these super sweet shoes to show for it."
The camera panned down to reveal Gabe's shoes.
"Those are pretty sick," said Bob.
"Got me four more keys to try after I finish this report," said Gabe.
“Well, I don't really understand it but I am strangely desperate to try it,” said Bob as the camera cut back in to the studio.
Clare shuffled the blank paper in front of her before raising her head to the camera.
“Vaping - Hitler is back in smoke form and is coming for our children."
****
My back catalogue of painfully unfunny stories can be found on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them, and leave some judgement. | |
[WP] for thousands of years, you have protected the earth from alien life, acting as its guardian. Why? Because you want to get on top of the leaderboard. | "totally." Myojg grinned as the Deblugrian reporter blinked the first layer of eyelids on each of its seven eyes.
"bugat hurgteb ahrrtins ahdipoop sixty nine, sexy sexy poodles?" the Deblugrian near enough screamed her question through the weird hole that passed for a mouth, central in the creatures green slimy chest. Myojg turned his blank stare over to the translator beside the interviewer.
"Her lady, shiggiryblurgworm of the Moontacktikitoo tribe of Deblugrian asks, why have you so diligently protected such a primitive species? Are the useless Internet points gained on 'Planet protection' really worth the millions lost in potential bribes? Only last month a Xonra raider offered you sixteen trillion Poogets just to incinerate Washington DC, and you refused? "
"Well, I mean yeah. Well, no, but yeah." shit he was too high for this.
"anbornian pictooboo, boobymuffin sandwich."
"Her lady, shiggiryblurgworm of the Moontacktikitoo tribe of Deblugrian asks you to clarify."
"They aight man, I mean like... You ever try weed?" the Deblugrian reporter shook its entire body in indication of a negative response. "Duuuuude. Hand on heart, best shit you'll ever smoke." Myojg grinned with half closed eyes. "ah dude, acid!" His head wobblef slightly as he spoke. "that shit's BOMB, bro."
"ajurhshy squiggle nob Big bad pimple dribble?"
"Her lady, shiggiryblurgworm of the Moontacktikitoo tribe of Deblugrian asks, you've protected and entire planet for billions of years solely because you enjoy their recreational drugs? Please note, this was spoken in an incredulous tone." the translator spoke flatly.
"totttallllly..." Myojg's smile had begun to hurt his face, his limbs feeling almost robotic as he shifted uncomfortably within his seat. This was some good shit. "well, I mean... At first the lizard things with the lil funny arse arms and big teeth... Dinosirs or summit? They were funny as fuck to watch man, I mean like... All growl no slap, I mean their arms were all like-" Earth's protector's arms curled up against his body as he plodded about the room making odd noises. "but I mean, eventually they got all dull like."
"ahhfnty sksjfnt. Akakfjr tiny tadpoles that look like semen?"
"Her lady, shiggiryblurgworm of the Moontacktikitoo tribe of Deblugrian asks if this was when you accepted the one billion Poogets to allow a buttraiders to play intergalactic space bowling with meteors, earth being one of ninety 'pins'"
"yeahhh man, that shit was DOPE. I mean, not so much for the dinysores, but like... Watching that shit boom was... Let's just say that the only thing that could have made it better?" the protector raised his eyebrows as he asked the question. "acid."
"abfier sjfttn bumhole"
"Her lady, shiggiryblurgworm of the Moontacktikitoo tribe of Deblugrian has called you an idiot." | "Do you want to live forever?" That's what the new government agency POE had asked me. Tell me what 18 year old kid wouldn't say yes to that question, especially with the opportunity to fulfill their dreams. I was one of 23 chosen. Chosen to go through the "Eternity Process."
They never told me how much it would hurt, or how long it would take. Made me wonder if they called it the "Eternity Process" because it would take an eternity. But 6 months later, I and 22 other we're forever, and I mean forever, changed. It was only us that was changed. In the 6 months I was basically blind to the rest of the world, something frightening was happening. An alien invasion.
Finally I understood what this whole process was for, and why they had enhanced me the way that they had. Not only was I gifted eternal life, but everything from my mental capacity to my physical abilities seemed to be at their full potential. After reemerging into the real world, I learned what POE actually stood for, after seeing posted on walls and doors for so long, Protectors of Earth.
POE was started after the American government learned of the incoming invasion. Charged with the mission of, as expected, protecting earth from the aliens. One of their head scientists knew they would need "super soldiers" to stand a chance, and that's where we come in. But the 23 of us that were chosen had one major thing in common, we were all champions in different video games.
They had done this intentionally, to choose to treat this challenge as one might in a video game. Once they realized that the alien threat wasn't much of a match for their new soildiers, they began to televise and make more of a spectacle of the battles. The aliens were numerous and some were tougher than others, but we were able to always end up victorious.
The aliens were popping up everywhere though, so they had to insentivise us soldiers to kill as many as possible. This is when the "High Score" started . A scoreboard posted throughout the world to let everyone know how each soldier is preforming. Worked damn well as incentive, for a long time. But not forever.
A few hundred years later, some of the soldiers started to lag behind, not caring for their score. They were "replaced." Which is a fancy way of saying hunted down and killed so they could intoruduce a new soldiers. This never happened to me, because I kept my score high enough. But soon enough, high enough, wasn't enough. Everyone, except the top soldier was at risk of replacement. I found myself being hunted by the POE. So I fought and grinded my way to the number 1 spot. I've been here for 2,000 years. My fight and my war never ends, for if it ever does, So do I.
They asked me if I wanted to live forever, my answer remains, yes. | |
[WP] A WW2 veteran is walking the beaches of Normandy. “How can I live when my friends didn’t” he thinks. A French boy with his family comes over. “American?” they ask. “Yes” the man says. The boy smiles “A famous battle Operation Overlord happened here 300 years ago”. The vet replies “So I hear”. | “So who won?”
The boys brows furrowed in thought. Like he was considering whether to tell me a secret or the truth. I had the distinct feeling he was deciding whether to trust me for some reason. When you are five thousand years on this Earth you get good at reading humanities non verbal cues. That and a great many other things of course. Five thousand years of practice and study allows one to accomplish a great many things.
“My grand da says no one, ultimately.”
I laughed out loud. That took me by surprise, something that didn’t happen much. I could see an older gentleman watching us closely without being obvious about it a few paces away. I knew immediately he was dangerous. His stance, his wariness, like I said, you live as long as me you learn things.
“Your grand da is a wise man, but that was a very long time ago.”
Not as long ago as Appomattox, or the fall of Troy of course but for this kid a month ago is ancient history.
The boy shrugged, picked up a rock snd three it into the water.
“I guess, he talks like it was yesterday, says he remembers that day.”
That peaked my interest. It was a strange thing to say. But not nearly as strange to me as it might be to others. I kept it casual but needed more information.
“I’m sure he’s kidding you. Old people sometimes tell strange stories that aren’t true.”
The boy glanced at the old man who was watching us. It was subtle, the kid was pretty good. The watcher nodded almost imperceptibly.
“No, it’s true, he says you were there.” | ... "So I hear.", the vet replies. Nothing in this world reminded him more of what had happened here 300 years ago, than the sound of the calm waves landing on the beach. He still could feel it; the cold and wet air of the sea, this kind of cold that scratches your skin, almost leaving marks on your face. 300 years later, he still didn't feel safe, feeling and hearing the sea, from where they came. Sea was always a mean of prosperity for humans. They built harbors, expanded their territories and traded thanks to the sea. Sea was always the mother of mankind; yet on that ridiculously cold day of June, at 6:30 am, the sea brought his human friends to their doom.
He kept asking himself his question : "How can I live when my friends didn't?". Indeed, he lived. he really never was supposed to die. Angels don't die, no matter how "Fallen" they might be. He couldn't feel the same way humans did; it was his blessing. He couldn't love, only appreciate. He couldn't hate, only be displeased. He couldn't be a human, in a world full of it. But it waws fine. He didn't care, knowing his life was infinite. He appreciated humans, but was rather bummed by their complicated nature. They had impretuous reactions sometimes, something that wasn't worth it. That was the doing of Love, or Hate. He was a really curious angel, looking young and pretty, even though rid of his wings- this left two deep scars in his back, of which he was ashamed - and tried to live along with humans. He never really was faced with violence, or hate, and didn't care. He was satisfied with his "Down-to-Earth" life. Until this day when he met the true face of Evil.
He found himself witness of what humans could do, when led by hate. This day made him more human than any other angel could ever dream of being. And he didn't appreciate that. He actually hated it. He hated himself for being what he was : immortal. He hated that he survived, where people, as young-looking as him, died. They died on this beach he was looking at, coated in the same cold, marine air he could feel. He hated himself for hating humans, and that's why he kept asking this same question. He hated them for what they did to themselves, and always asked himself this question : "How can I live when my friends didn't?", which always led him to this other question : "Why am I immortal, only to live through this?". And he could never find an answer to his questions; which is why he hated them. He hated these damn questions, he hated this damn beach, this damn sea, this damn day! He hated the humans that died there, and he hated himself for not being a part of them, ever... | |
[WP] A WW2 veteran is walking the beaches of Normandy. “How can I live when my friends didn’t” he thinks. A French boy with his family comes over. “American?” they ask. “Yes” the man says. The boy smiles “A famous battle Operation Overlord happened here 300 years ago”. The vet replies “So I hear”. | “So who won?”
The boys brows furrowed in thought. Like he was considering whether to tell me a secret or the truth. I had the distinct feeling he was deciding whether to trust me for some reason. When you are five thousand years on this Earth you get good at reading humanities non verbal cues. That and a great many other things of course. Five thousand years of practice and study allows one to accomplish a great many things.
“My grand da says no one, ultimately.”
I laughed out loud. That took me by surprise, something that didn’t happen much. I could see an older gentleman watching us closely without being obvious about it a few paces away. I knew immediately he was dangerous. His stance, his wariness, like I said, you live as long as me you learn things.
“Your grand da is a wise man, but that was a very long time ago.”
Not as long ago as Appomattox, or the fall of Troy of course but for this kid a month ago is ancient history.
The boy shrugged, picked up a rock snd three it into the water.
“I guess, he talks like it was yesterday, says he remembers that day.”
That peaked my interest. It was a strange thing to say. But not nearly as strange to me as it might be to others. I kept it casual but needed more information.
“I’m sure he’s kidding you. Old people sometimes tell strange stories that aren’t true.”
The boy glanced at the old man who was watching us. It was subtle, the kid was pretty good. The watcher nodded almost imperceptibly.
“No, it’s true, he says you were there.” | The boys father calls to him and he runs away after flashing another smile. He reminds me of the boy who waved from the bombed out balcony in Caretan.
He reminds me of the family we found slaughtered outside of St. Lo. The body's of 2 young boys still wrapped in their mothers arms. All burned and black, but still in thos loving arms. I think of my own mother. How she must have wailed when they told her of my brothers passing on Guadalcanal. He was a tough bastard, but in the end the Nips won out.
He reminds me of the boys I sat with on that Highins boat. All of us boys, in our own right. Children fighting a man's fight, for a man's cause. We became men on this sand. At least a few of us did.
The Krauts were harder than whetstone. Especially those gunners. From the time we were within 40 yards of that beach the awful sound of Hitler's Buzzsaw never ceased. Even after we made it up the Point, that zipping sound rang in my ears. It still wakes me up at night almost 60 years later. For so long I tried like hell to keep thos thoughts from entering my mind. But today, I let them come back, today as I watched that French boy walk back to his family, I fell to my knees and cried. I cried 60 years of pain out in a matter of minutes. I let myself give way, and the floods poured out of my eyes for at least 10 minutes.
When I felt my eyes start to dry I stood up. With all of the pride of the 2nd Rangers I stopped my shaking knees, and again looked over the once bloodied waters of the Channel. I closed my eyes and when they opened I saw my brothers standing before me. They looked as bright eyed and hopeful as the did that morning. Ray still had a piece of steak stuck in the hillbilly buck teeth. He grinned and saluted me once more. The boys had come to take me home. I closed my eyes and felt a peaceful ease washing over me.
I thought it fitting that I should die, where I was born again. | |
[WP] The devil lets you play a game of your choice for your soul. You choose Simon Says and he lets you begin. "Simon says kill God and bring me his head". You are confident that he can not win this and you are preparing to return to the world when he drops God's head in your lap. "My turn" | High above the plains of reality, where the concept of physics has never even been applied, a quite conversation takes place before the grandest throne in all of creation. "Hey Dad."
"It's been a long time son. I see you've been doing well for yourself."
"Well you certainly made sure of that now didn't you?"
"You didn't come all this way for petty jabs."
"You'd know, wouldn't you?"
"Well yes, but you still have to ask me. That's how it works. I'm always listening but just cause I am doesn't mean you know I am."
"God I haven't seen you in millenia and it's exactly the same as last time." The devil catches himself as he realizes he's also repeating himself. "Alright, so here's the thing. There's this guy and he's trying to cut a deal with me. It's so typically human that I just couldn't resist."
"And the deal?" God asks with a smile, already knowing the answer.
"To kill you and bring him your head." The devil smirked.
"Like a boar someone killed in a forest? That's too funny." Millions of mortal souls suddenly filled with inner peace on Earth and were confounded as to why. God was genuinely laughing. "So you want to win the deal with this human; this tiny thing that has no concept of the plans and abilities as ones such as ourselves. You want him to think he's understood the rules and tricked you, and then you present him with my 'lifeless head'?"
"Yeah that's the plan."
"And of course not because you hate humans?" God smiles slightly. The devil grins in response.
"Of course not Dad, you know that. I don't hate humans. Hell I kind of like them. But lessons need to be taught."
"How ironic."
The smile on the Devils face fades. "Are you going to help or not?"
"What kind of father would I be if I didn't help my children with their lessons?" God asked rhetorically. He then took 2 of his hands and proceeded to rip his own head off. Destructive forces unleashed from the wound while miraculous energy recreated everything being destroyed at the exact same moment. God handed his most troubled son his dismembered head. "Now don't be too hard on the poor guy. It's not his fault he's stupid."
"I hate you so much Dad."
I know. | "Ridiculous," the Lord said unto him, "what makes you think you can convince me of such a ludicrous thing?"
But the fallen angel insisted. "Oh, come on, aren't you bored? It's a fabulous psycho-philosophical exercise on human skills and decision-making in the 21st century! This is the societal evolution you've been waiting for since the Fall of the West! You--"
"Ah, cut the crap, Accuser." The archangels flinched at these impure words, even though they knew all words were made pure when they came from the Tongue of the Everlasting. "I know you are the Prince of the mortal world and you are free there to roam as you please, but I shall not support you in your endeavors. You and I will never see eye to eye. We both know how this story ends."
The devil resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the mention of the Apocalypse. He knew the fulfillment of the prophecy had been delayed for so long because the 'Almighty' didn't have the power to stop him and his demons yet. He was aching to prove that prophecy wrong, to prove the lying 'God' wrong in every way, and the best way to do that was to prove that no human could abide by His ridiculous laws. He wanted to show that "sinning" deserved a chance.
"If you are so right, why don't you let me do this? Are you scared I will show something you don't want Your innocent pretty angels to see?"
"We have seen, war, rape and all kinds of debauchery," a confused Raphael said. "What are you implying this time, Adversary?"
"Oh, you'll see," said Satan, and then he turned to the god again. "I just need some head."
God didn't resist the urge to roll His eyes. "I know your demons stole some heads already while we talked and I know you know distractions don't work with me. Just remember you only got them because I know you're wrong, and you won't get any power from them, alright? I knew you'd ask for this. I knew centuries ago."
Satan knew it was just an excuse, but he let it slide. For the first time in the whole conversation, Michael stared at God's face, full of repressed anger. However, he remained silent, for he was a submissive little b\*tch. They all were.
"Yeah, yeah, got it. You're always right, I'm always wrong. Amazeballs. Thanks for the head!"
And that's how he took the head to you, but you didn't know it back then. All you did was look at the head in disbelief, with tears in your eyes, like it would speak and send you to hell for condemning humanity to a Godless world at any given moment.
"Whew, that was hard!" He said to you, remember? He even smirked at the innuendo. "You can f\*ck the head if you want, if you're into that. Actually, no, don't do that. It's my turn."
"Is it necessary?" you asked because you couldn't believe the game would go on when GOD was f\*cking dead.
"Of course, b\*tch! Hear me out. Simon says..." he pretended to think about it for a while and then just went for it, "Simon says give me your soul."
When the Lord felt his subjects staring at him waiting for an explanation, he just shrugged. "See? Same shit as always, nothing new. Christ can save that soul anyways. Don't worry about the heads, they aren't even that expensive. Go back to work, people."
And in heavens, as Taylor Swift predicted, angels rolled their eyes. | |
[WP] The devil lets you play a game of your choice for your soul. You choose Simon Says and he lets you begin. "Simon says kill God and bring me his head". You are confident that he can not win this and you are preparing to return to the world when he drops God's head in your lap. "My turn" | High above the plains of reality, where the concept of physics has never even been applied, a quite conversation takes place before the grandest throne in all of creation. "Hey Dad."
"It's been a long time son. I see you've been doing well for yourself."
"Well you certainly made sure of that now didn't you?"
"You didn't come all this way for petty jabs."
"You'd know, wouldn't you?"
"Well yes, but you still have to ask me. That's how it works. I'm always listening but just cause I am doesn't mean you know I am."
"God I haven't seen you in millenia and it's exactly the same as last time." The devil catches himself as he realizes he's also repeating himself. "Alright, so here's the thing. There's this guy and he's trying to cut a deal with me. It's so typically human that I just couldn't resist."
"And the deal?" God asks with a smile, already knowing the answer.
"To kill you and bring him your head." The devil smirked.
"Like a boar someone killed in a forest? That's too funny." Millions of mortal souls suddenly filled with inner peace on Earth and were confounded as to why. God was genuinely laughing. "So you want to win the deal with this human; this tiny thing that has no concept of the plans and abilities as ones such as ourselves. You want him to think he's understood the rules and tricked you, and then you present him with my 'lifeless head'?"
"Yeah that's the plan."
"And of course not because you hate humans?" God smiles slightly. The devil grins in response.
"Of course not Dad, you know that. I don't hate humans. Hell I kind of like them. But lessons need to be taught."
"How ironic."
The smile on the Devils face fades. "Are you going to help or not?"
"What kind of father would I be if I didn't help my children with their lessons?" God asked rhetorically. He then took 2 of his hands and proceeded to rip his own head off. Destructive forces unleashed from the wound while miraculous energy recreated everything being destroyed at the exact same moment. God handed his most troubled son his dismembered head. "Now don't be too hard on the poor guy. It's not his fault he's stupid."
"I hate you so much Dad."
I know. | As I sat there, the head of the Almighty resting in my lap, it occured to me that I was insane. I probably was in a coma, shortly after getting hit by a car. I took a deep breath. This was nothing more than a hallucination conjured up by my fevered brain as I lay dying. Nothing to worry about then. I composed my self and realized that staring at the vacant gaping head of God wasn't doing anything for my current state of mind. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it all to go away.
"Okayy" said the Prince of Darkness. "I got one". | |
[WP] The devil lets you play a game of your choice for your soul. You choose Simon Says and he lets you begin. "Simon says kill God and bring me his head". You are confident that he can not win this and you are preparing to return to the world when he drops God's head in your lap. "My turn" | "Hold on, how do I know that's really God?" I ask, pointing to the head at my feet. The line at the base of the neck was jagged as if it had been ripped free from its body by brute force rather than severed with a blade. The face was wrinkled and androgynous, the head bald and shiny as though it had never been sullied by either hair or scar. As I gazed down, sure this could not possibly be God, the eyes opened and the face scowled. I squealed and jumped back.
"I'm sure you think this is funny, don't you, son?" the head said. The voice was powerful and angry, almost physical in its force.
"D-daughter," I stammer back. The eyes of the head swivel to me and then roll.
"Not you, I mean my son, Lucifer," the head says. The Devil, or Lucifer I supposed if that was his proper name, had turned into a cloud of heavy black smoke after dropping the head. A laugh came from the smoke and it swirled heavier with the sound.
"No, Dad, I don't think it's funny, it IS funny," as these words sounded from nowhere the smoke gathered itself back into a human shape. Embers flashed from where the eyes would be but otherwise it remained featureless. Each time I saw Lucifer it was in a different form. First, he appeared as if a human man offering me a deal. When he agreed to let me play this game to save my soul, he had grown taller and monstrous, scaly skin and black wings.
"Excuse me for not sharing in your amusement," the head said. While there was no body along with it, I could feel it crossing its arms in annoyance.
"That's really God?" I shouted. My eyes were so wide they were watering from Lucifer's smoke and my knees were trembling.
"That's really God," Lucifer said, glancing at the head. "So now it's my turn."
"Your turn? This is all part of one of your games?" the God head said. It was rocking back and forth as if trying to force itself up on the base of its neck. Hesitating for a moment, I then reached out and picked it up to set it upright. The eyes swiveled to me. "Thank you," it said.
"My pleasure," I squeaked. God just thanked me.
"Sorry to take you away from your busy schedule of ignoring humanity for this visit," Lucifer said. The voice was sultry and slow like magma rolling over a hillside. The smoke body turned to me. "I have completed your task and now it's my turn. I have so many things to ask of you."
"Well, actually," my voice squeaked. I cleared my throat, swallowed, spoke again. "Actually you have not completed my task," I finished.
The smoke body gestured at the head on the ground. "Clearly I have," it drawled.
"No, unless dead heads can talk," I said.
"What are you both prattling about?" As the God head spoke, the air around us shook with its anger.
"None of your concern," Lucifer said.
"I would disagree," the head said.
"We're playing for my soul-" I began, but Lucifer interrupted.
"We are in my domain and I may do as I wish with human souls," he said.
"We made a deal and if he beats me in this game he gets my soul. He was tasked with killing God and bringing me his head. Er, sorry about that," I said, looking at the head.
"What did I ever do to you anyway?" God said. Ignoring that, I continued.
"It is obvious Lucifer has brought the head,"
"Yes, so I'm winning, and when you fail my task, your soul is mine," the embers within the smoke face flashed.
"Right, but you aren't winning, you didn't complete my task," I said.
"God's head sits at your feet," the smoke swirled, tendrils reaching towards me.
"But God isn't dead. That was part of the task, not just bringing me his head," I said.
"The head can still talk but I assure you God is dead. He no longer reigns over the heavenly domains and does not have dominion on earth. He has been dead a long time, even if he can still prattle on about parables and blessings."
"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, son," the head said. "I am very much alive."
"Since you failed at the task, that means I win the game, and I'm free to go," I tried to sound confident and sure of myself but my whole body felt cold with terror.
"I can help you get out of here," the God head said.
"No, I do not accept this," the devil growled. The smoke body dissipated and the cavernous space around us was now black and heavy with his smoke. I covered my mouth with my hand but still felt myself breathing it in. It was choking me and I would die here, body and soul, his forever.
"That is quite enough, Lucifer," the God head said, rolling its eyes again. It looked to me, "he has always thrown the most dramatic temper tantrums." The smoke swirled even fiercer with this comment. "I'm bored with them by now." The God head suddenly glowed with the light of the sun and I had to look away from it. The brightness faded and I looked back to see a human form, topped with the head, standing before me. As androgynous as the face and clothed in a long robe, God tapped their foot, an impatient parent. Slowly the somke stopped swirling and reformed itself into the human shape.
"This is not fair, she tricked me," he said, pointing to me.
"This is why I love humans," God said. "Even after all these millenia, they still have the ability to surprise us."
"I will not let you leave," Lucifer snarled at me.
"Yes, you will," God said.
"When have I ever respected your orders before," Lucifer said.
"This is not my order though," God replied. "This is by the rules of your own deal. You're a sore loser."
"So...I win?" I asked. The embers in the smoke face flashed at me but God laughed.
"On a technicality," it said. Then the face turned serious, "but don't ever try to kill me again." I nodded, too afraid to speak. "Good, now that we have that understanding," God waved his hand and I found myself in my apartment. Panting, I collapsed onto my knees, unable to believe I had outsmarted the Devil. Clutching my chest, I let out a nervous laugh and looked around, just in time to see a tendril of smoke disappear out my front window. | As I sat there, the head of the Almighty resting in my lap, it occured to me that I was insane. I probably was in a coma, shortly after getting hit by a car. I took a deep breath. This was nothing more than a hallucination conjured up by my fevered brain as I lay dying. Nothing to worry about then. I composed my self and realized that staring at the vacant gaping head of God wasn't doing anything for my current state of mind. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it all to go away.
"Okayy" said the Prince of Darkness. "I got one". | |
[WP] The devil lets you play a game of your choice for your soul. You choose Simon Says and he lets you begin. "Simon says kill God and bring me his head". You are confident that he can not win this and you are preparing to return to the world when he drops God's head in your lap. "My turn" | "Hold on, how do I know that's really God?" I ask, pointing to the head at my feet. The line at the base of the neck was jagged as if it had been ripped free from its body by brute force rather than severed with a blade. The face was wrinkled and androgynous, the head bald and shiny as though it had never been sullied by either hair or scar. As I gazed down, sure this could not possibly be God, the eyes opened and the face scowled. I squealed and jumped back.
"I'm sure you think this is funny, don't you, son?" the head said. The voice was powerful and angry, almost physical in its force.
"D-daughter," I stammer back. The eyes of the head swivel to me and then roll.
"Not you, I mean my son, Lucifer," the head says. The Devil, or Lucifer I supposed if that was his proper name, had turned into a cloud of heavy black smoke after dropping the head. A laugh came from the smoke and it swirled heavier with the sound.
"No, Dad, I don't think it's funny, it IS funny," as these words sounded from nowhere the smoke gathered itself back into a human shape. Embers flashed from where the eyes would be but otherwise it remained featureless. Each time I saw Lucifer it was in a different form. First, he appeared as if a human man offering me a deal. When he agreed to let me play this game to save my soul, he had grown taller and monstrous, scaly skin and black wings.
"Excuse me for not sharing in your amusement," the head said. While there was no body along with it, I could feel it crossing its arms in annoyance.
"That's really God?" I shouted. My eyes were so wide they were watering from Lucifer's smoke and my knees were trembling.
"That's really God," Lucifer said, glancing at the head. "So now it's my turn."
"Your turn? This is all part of one of your games?" the God head said. It was rocking back and forth as if trying to force itself up on the base of its neck. Hesitating for a moment, I then reached out and picked it up to set it upright. The eyes swiveled to me. "Thank you," it said.
"My pleasure," I squeaked. God just thanked me.
"Sorry to take you away from your busy schedule of ignoring humanity for this visit," Lucifer said. The voice was sultry and slow like magma rolling over a hillside. The smoke body turned to me. "I have completed your task and now it's my turn. I have so many things to ask of you."
"Well, actually," my voice squeaked. I cleared my throat, swallowed, spoke again. "Actually you have not completed my task," I finished.
The smoke body gestured at the head on the ground. "Clearly I have," it drawled.
"No, unless dead heads can talk," I said.
"What are you both prattling about?" As the God head spoke, the air around us shook with its anger.
"None of your concern," Lucifer said.
"I would disagree," the head said.
"We're playing for my soul-" I began, but Lucifer interrupted.
"We are in my domain and I may do as I wish with human souls," he said.
"We made a deal and if he beats me in this game he gets my soul. He was tasked with killing God and bringing me his head. Er, sorry about that," I said, looking at the head.
"What did I ever do to you anyway?" God said. Ignoring that, I continued.
"It is obvious Lucifer has brought the head,"
"Yes, so I'm winning, and when you fail my task, your soul is mine," the embers within the smoke face flashed.
"Right, but you aren't winning, you didn't complete my task," I said.
"God's head sits at your feet," the smoke swirled, tendrils reaching towards me.
"But God isn't dead. That was part of the task, not just bringing me his head," I said.
"The head can still talk but I assure you God is dead. He no longer reigns over the heavenly domains and does not have dominion on earth. He has been dead a long time, even if he can still prattle on about parables and blessings."
"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, son," the head said. "I am very much alive."
"Since you failed at the task, that means I win the game, and I'm free to go," I tried to sound confident and sure of myself but my whole body felt cold with terror.
"I can help you get out of here," the God head said.
"No, I do not accept this," the devil growled. The smoke body dissipated and the cavernous space around us was now black and heavy with his smoke. I covered my mouth with my hand but still felt myself breathing it in. It was choking me and I would die here, body and soul, his forever.
"That is quite enough, Lucifer," the God head said, rolling its eyes again. It looked to me, "he has always thrown the most dramatic temper tantrums." The smoke swirled even fiercer with this comment. "I'm bored with them by now." The God head suddenly glowed with the light of the sun and I had to look away from it. The brightness faded and I looked back to see a human form, topped with the head, standing before me. As androgynous as the face and clothed in a long robe, God tapped their foot, an impatient parent. Slowly the somke stopped swirling and reformed itself into the human shape.
"This is not fair, she tricked me," he said, pointing to me.
"This is why I love humans," God said. "Even after all these millenia, they still have the ability to surprise us."
"I will not let you leave," Lucifer snarled at me.
"Yes, you will," God said.
"When have I ever respected your orders before," Lucifer said.
"This is not my order though," God replied. "This is by the rules of your own deal. You're a sore loser."
"So...I win?" I asked. The embers in the smoke face flashed at me but God laughed.
"On a technicality," it said. Then the face turned serious, "but don't ever try to kill me again." I nodded, too afraid to speak. "Good, now that we have that understanding," God waved his hand and I found myself in my apartment. Panting, I collapsed onto my knees, unable to believe I had outsmarted the Devil. Clutching my chest, I let out a nervous laugh and looked around, just in time to see a tendril of smoke disappear out my front window. | You look down at the expressionless face and the blue eyes gaze up at you. The white beard is caked in blood and the jaw hangs open, lifeless. You grab a small clump of the hair an toss it to the side then brush the dried clots off your still crossed legs.
You take a glance up at Satan and then go back to your phone in you left hand. " I said God with a capital G."
His smirk drops from his face and his shoulders droop. He slowly turns back around and heads back up the stairs out of hell with a groan.
Trickster. | |
[WP] The earth has run out of natural coal. All natural resources are dwindling. Powerplants run off of the only source of coal left. They hire naughty kids to do what they do best. And Christmas is coming. | The president has been assured it would work. Numerous advisors had pointed to various charts and graphs, all pointing to the one and only conclusion.
So, with a heavy heart, President Lassiter went on air with a simple plea.
“This autumn has been harsh and the bitter winds of winter are already depleting our remaining energy reserves. We are building alternative power sources as quickly as we can, but if we want to survive winter, there is one thing we need: we need coal.
“My advisors have brought it to my attention that there are in fact vast coal reserves in the North Pole. Those, however, are only accessible on Christmas Eve, and only through a series of tubes which my advisors tell me somehow lead to people’s socks. I don’t profess to understand all of the mystical details, but I do understand that we need that coal.
“Therefore I, the president of these great, United States, humbly begs all you naughty children out there to do your worst. I am hereby signing a proclamation of pardon for all crimes committed from tomorrow, November 1st at midnight until December 25th at midnight. No havoc is too great, no punishment will come for you. Please, cause mayhem. Thank you, and may Santa help us.”
An aide stepped forward. “The president will take questions now.”
The press was abuzz, but only had one real question.
“President Lassiter, are you condoning the Purge?”
The president’s eyes clouded with worry as the press held their collective breath in wait.
“In order to get that coal, all will be forgiven. Be very, very naughty.”
————
Here is the thing about naughty children. There are essentially three kinds.
First, there are those children labeled naughty by society because they have delayed social development in some way. Santa has never counted them as naughty, and he always gets quite frustrated with parents and teachers who label them as such. He would never give these children coal.
Second, there are children who are naughty because they hang out with other naughty children. They just go along with the flow and get caught up in the schemes of others. These children more disappoint Santa than anything, but they do generally receive coal. He hopes the coal will make them realize they need to make changes.
Finally there are the real naughty children—the naughty children who do it because they feed on negative attention. These children are quite rare. Maybe one or two children in thirty. These are the children who will get coal every year and hold it up as a badge of pride. It was probably one of these kids who started the movement. Only a complete contrarian would have thought of it.
As many movements begin, it all started with a meme. The meme was posted to the darkest recesses of the internet at 00:03 on November 1st. It was in that Drake format:
[Drake rejects] “doing bad things cos the president asked you to do bad things” followed by [Drake is satisfied by] “doing good things to troll the president cuz lulz”
with no punctuation whatsoever.
It took off in hours. Naughty kids everywhere made a pact to be as good as possible in order to troll the president.
Sure, maybe one or two kids slashed tires or let a toad loose in their science classroom, but the consensus quickly grew that the baddest thing of all to do was be good.
Grannies cowered in the streets as hoodlums ran towards them to help them cross the street. Mothers fretted that their sweet children hadn’t gotten into a single fight that week. Teachers found all their lessons finished early because no one disrupted a single lesson. Newscasters couldn’t start the evening news with “Do you know where your children are?” because they were all at home, doing the dishes and finishing their homework.
The president’s advisors scrambled for a solution.
“Maybe they were so bad earlier in the year that there is no way they can make up for it this late?”
Impossible. One formerly naughty child had managed to single-handedly save an entire pod of gray whales in danger of beaching themselves. These naughty kids were too good.
“Maybe, as they were told to be naughty, but they’re not being naughty, they’ll be on the naughty list? For being good, because now good is naughty?”
Nobody could actually follow that logic, so they set that discussion aside.
“Maybe we should just all ask Santa for coal for Christmas?”
“Wait, what?”
“Well if Santa has coal... maybe we should just ask for it.”
Thus began the counter-revolution. It was spread by voicemail, the most secure form of communication the president’s advisors could think of. Parents everywhere forged their children’s handwriting, scrapping their actual letters to Santa and asking instead for coal.
The parents’ counter-plan brought even more of a smile to Santa’s face than the sudden uptick in good behavior had. Most parents, he reflected, were trying to do what they thought was best for their kids, even going so far as to hijack their Christmas letters to make sure they wouldn’t starve.
Santa’s elves were annoyed that the toys they had spent the past few months constructing and programming were going totally I requested. They petitioned Santa to let them send out toys instead of coal, but Santa waved off their complaints.
“I’ve got a better plan. Get your tools out. You guys had better get ready for some all-nighters until Christmas Eve.” The elves cheered at the thought of more work.
—————
On Christmas morning, parents and children alike awoke to find something unexpected. At first it seemed as if Santa had not visited at all—there were no presents under any Christmas tree. And then, families looked more closely at each tree and realized they weren’t trees at all, but were miniature solar power collectors, far more advanced than anything currently produced by science. Each one had a note tied to the central trunk:
“Coal is for dinosaurs. This should provide the power necessary for your home. Just put it on the lawn and make sure to water it. —S”
Within hours, homes around America were decorated with the shining new symbol of Christmas, and Americans never relied on fossil fuels again. It was a Christmas miracle.
~~~~
This was a very silly and fun prompt! I really enjoyed it! Comments and criticism always welcome! | The first year wasn't so bad - what with marshal law, looting & the general free-for-all destruction of a coal-free world - everybody got a healthy dose of coal from jolly old Saint Nick just for adjusting to the new regime.
The second and third year were a bit more civilized, with a lot of the power restored, those in charge had all but regained their footing. It wasn't perfect, so the next years' & the following years' hauls were hefty, but understandably significantly less than the first.
So they upped the game.
Year four saw the birth of The Purge & the subsequent three years garnered a bounty so large, they were teaching the dark days of year one during history classes. But the calm wasn't going to last forever.
Father Christmas was getting pretty low himself & with the sudden rise in bad behaviour, the naughty list had never been so long. The good children were so few & far between, he'd almost made no toys at all. He'd have to redefine the rules to keep up.
So one decade on, the coal was back to a minimum. Energy was scarce. Martial law reigned supreme once again - but this time, it didn't matter. Only the very worst children got coal, but Santa was disheartened by the thought of making toys for those who were once considered naughty, those that were doing unspeakable things.
As a being of a different nature, he couldn't understand the reason why the children had turned so, or the world that was effected. By the twelfth year, he'd made up his mind; there was no hope, no spark of joy, no magic to sprinkle on the hearts of the pure.
It was finally time to leave the innocent behind & go home. | |
[WP] The earth has run out of natural coal. All natural resources are dwindling. Powerplants run off of the only source of coal left. They hire naughty kids to do what they do best. And Christmas is coming. | "wait wait wait, you'll pay me to do what??"
Little Thomas Michael Smith was no thief. If he wanted some new toy or a cone of ice cream he'd look for coins on the street, sell an old belonging, on rare occasions turn to a stranger's kindness in hope to get some change. But steal? Never. What would his parents have thought of him? You know, if they were alive and all. They'd be disgraced, ashamed, disgusted with his behaviour. Thomas always thought that if he had parents he'd have never let them down.
That man in the suit leaned closer
"hush!" He whispered, "we can't be heard" he said.
He took Thomas aside and went down on his knee. He pulled a yellow business card out of his pocket. Thomas declined the business card, he can't read anyway, it would be a shame for the man to waste an expensive business card on a 6 year old who can't read it anyway. The man looked into little Thomas' big brown eyes.
"Everyone needs to do their part little guy" he said softly. Thomas looked away, he didn't care for long eye contacts. He looked at the floor, glazing over a car shaped rock on the floor. This'd definitely go in his collection.
The man took a deep breath and tilted Thomas' little head gently towards him. Thomas looked at him unwillingly.
"We need you to be a bad boy. A really bad boy" he said "bad enough for Santa to think you were a naughty boy this year."
Thomas nodded and pulled his shoulders up, "you picked the wrong kid" he said.
The man leaned closer, Thomas backed away.
"You steal a toy and get money for it" said the man, "It's a clean profit!"
Thomas frowned, "It ain't clean..." he muttered.
The man took down his sunglasses and exposed a pair of soft blue eyes.
"Listen Thomas" he said, "the world is in a big crisis. We're running out of coal and our window of opportunity is closing. We need you kids to be naughty so that Santa gives you the coal this world needs so badly. We need you kid, and we need you to act real bad. We know you're a good kid but we can't do this without you. Every bit of coal counts" he said.
Thomas looked aside back at the car shaped rock. He thought for a minute and in the end asked "so... By being bad, I'm actually... Doing good?"
"Exactly."
Thomas thought for another minute. He streched his hand out to the man. "We have a deal" he said formally.
The man shook Thomas' little hand. "I'll come by sometime next week to collect the coal" he said, "make sure to give this coal to no one but me, no matter what offers you may get from other people. People will do anything for coal nowdays, and some of them are bad people with bad intentions."
Thomas nodded shortly. The man smiled at him.
"You have less than 24 hours to be the naughtiest kid you can be" said the man, "make it count."
Thomas walked down the busy street, playing with the car shaped rock in his pocket, and with his box of matches in the other. He looked at the stores, thinking of the crime he needs to do in order to keep his promise.
"Do a crime, don't get caught, help human kind" he mumbled to himself.
What could he do to be bad enough for him to spoil a year of being good? Rob a candy store? Punch a kid in the orphanage? Johnny Philips sure desurves it, the little asshole with his snorting laughter and vishious pranks. A good fight with him would sure get Thomas a nice bunch of coal. But no money in the world is worth a kick in the nuts the way Johnny gives 'em. Oh well, we'd think of something else. He looked up from the sidewalk to see in front of him the tiniest room he had ever seen. On the narrow hallway-like walls, shelves with hand crafted wooden toys; and in the end of this short hallway a frail old man behind a counter. Thomas walked in. A Too Too train, and a horse, and a pretty little doll, and a soldier; stood side by side on the organized shelves. The old man smiled at Thomas.
"Special Christmas sell" said the old man, "buy one- get one half priced"
Thomas was nervous. He looked at the old man. He seemed as poor as Thomas. His clothes were covered with patches and his hands were wounded with the woodwork. This was a difficult dilemma... This poor old man... But... The coal... Thomas stared at a little statue of a ballerina while considering his next move.
"I can fix you a special price for it if you'd like" said the old man.
"Actually" said Thomas, "I'm buying a present for my sister. Do you have it with a purple dress? My sister likes purple."
"Let me check" said the old man. He opened a door behind him and disappeared in the back of the store.
Thomas was left alone. This was his perfect chance. Just take something and run, you don't have much time, just do it for the love of God! Thomas reached at the Too Too train slowly. 'Should I take it?' he thought repeatedly, 'Should I take it?'
Before he had the chance to make a choice, the old man went back into the store with a purple dresses ballerina in his hand. "There we go" said the old man.
Thomas reached into his pocket, he pulled out some coins and a couple of dollar bills he has been saving for a while. He looked at his hand and then at the old man. "Would that be enough?" He asked.
The old man took the money and counted it. "Not quite," said the old man "but I'll cut you some slack. It's Christmas!" He said. Thomas had never felt so guilty before. Just a moment ago he ploted to steal from the old man... He thanked him and left the store, sore and ashamed.
Thomas went into the orphanage with his head held down and his hands in his pockets. He put the ballerina on little Suzy's night stand and went straight to bed. Tomorrow would be Christmas and besides, he just wanted this day to be over.
The little shouts of joy from the Christmas tree downstairs woke Thomas up. He went down unwillingly and looked for his present. He found a box, covered in red wrapping paper and a green ribbon. It was bigger than he expected. He opened the knot gently and ripped off the wrapping paper. He opened the box to see inside it a familiar Too Too train, laying on it was a card that read "you've been a good kid Thomas. Marry Christmas! Yours truly, Santa." Thomas felt conflicted. He promised to be a bad boy and get some coal for the human kind. He never ment to break his promise, he wanted to help but he just... Couldn't.
He looked at the toy with agony and reached for the box of matches in his pocket. He knew what he had to do.
He went to his room and lit a match. He put it right on one of the front wheels and watched with tears in his eyes as it started burning. A knock on the door made him put out the fire as quickly as he could. A nun walked in with a smile on her face and a box in her hand,
"you didn't get your present from under the tree" she said.
Thomas looked at her in confusion, "yes I did" he said.
"There is no other Thomas Michael Smith in the orphanage" said the nun. She stopped and sniffed the air. "Do you smell something burning?"
Thomas took the present, thanked the nun and set on the floor. He opened the knot gently and ripped off the wrapping paper. He opened the box to find coal, loads of it, with a card laying on it. "It's very rude to not keep a promise" read the card "I hope to see you get better next year. Marry Christmas! Yours truly, Santa."
"Oh no..." Said the nun "I'm so sorry little one..."
Thomas hid his smile behind a convincing pocker face. "Oh well," he said. "We can't all be winners" | “Is that the worst you can do?!” He shouted at us.
The fires burned and car alarms blared. The smell of spray paint engulfed me as I tagged everything in sight. The mural of Santa dropping his pants was my favorite but the Colonel described it as pedestrian. I thought it was enough to earn a couple of sacks but he just shook his head.
Around me, others smashed in store windows and stole televisions and iPods and whatever else they could. They grabbed the cash and stuffed it inside their sweatshirt pockets. Not that anyone was using the tech or the money, the power went out months ago. When the rolling blackouts rolled slower. Until they rolled to a stop all together.
We had all been in juvenile hall before then. We listened to them. Ate what they made us eat. Did what we were told to do. Punished for what they were making us do now. It seemed hypocritical but most things adults do leaned that way anyhow. Self-righteous ass-hats.
So we ran amok, and did it with joy. Smiles burned into our faces. We relished in their destruction. But like anything you do to make someone else happy, it faded. The fun was doing it to fuck with them. Without that, this all felt empty.
Christmas Eve was almost over, so they pushed us harder than before. We had been up almost 48 hours doing their dirty deeds. Finally the time came for us to lay down to rest. If we didn’t sleep, they said, he wouldn’t come. And all of this would have been for nothing.
So we all went back to our homes, exhausted and spent, and waited for the jingle bells. Merry Christmas you filthy animals. Enjoy the coal. I’m staying awake. | |
[WP] The first alien transmission Earth received was not meant for us: it was a message to another galaxy talking smack about humanity. | In the year 2025 mankind had intercepted the first ever signal from intelligent life. It was not meant for us, but deep inside all of us, it kindled a new fire.
It took almost a century to construct the first of the star-dragger ships, even though all the global productivity was dedicated to that task. It merely cost us the whole asteroid belt, a couple moons from Jupiter and Saturn and half of Mercury to construct the ring-shaped vessel that spanned earth beyond the lunar orbit. Along the way we created the necessary technologies for everything. Matter-to-energy-transfer, artificial gravity, forcefields, faster-than-light travel, inertialess acceleration, just to name a few. The next ship was build in less than a decade, plundering a neighbouring star system. And then we build another ten thousand of them within a few years.
There was not a second where our dedication faltered. We, as a species, worked as one towards our new goal.
The fleet of star-draggers was then sent to the center of the milkyway, where they found billions of stars. And by the ten-thousands they plucked them from their steady orbit around the supermassive black hole and brought them upwards from the galactic disc. It was a mission like no other and would be the legacy of humanity once finished. Generations of humans spanned this undertaking and the one to be alive when it was finished now inhabited hundreds of thousands of systems.
Billions of stars now illuminate the dark void where just two centuries ago was dark nothingness. Letters in a size that could only be measured in lightyears, pointed at the galaxy from where the signal had originated.
FUCK YOU | Ok, so here's my relation to the whole thing. Back in '86 I was working nights at the North Ridge Radio Telescope. Magazine in hand, I would sit comfortably with my feet on the desk as the computers did all the work for me. On June 14th, I was running another full spectrum analysis, the computers swept every single frequency the telescope was receiving from the absolute lowest to the absolute highest. "Got to get them aliens" had become the new unofficial slogan. I mean, the order for another spectrum analysis this time came from the higher ups, higher ups being NASA, so that's meant something.
It was about 1:30 in the morning when the telescope started receiving something. When I say receiving something, I mean receiving something. I nearly leapt off my chair when the signal started to come through. It was really loud. Like, it was as if someone was sawing a metal pole in half with a jackhammer.
The first thing I did was hit record on my cassettecorder, the next thing I did was check the computer screens. The one showing the spectrum analysis was going berserk. It was an insanely complex signal it was receiving, at the same time, way too ordered to be just a random occurrence. I mean, not even a collapsing star gave off that kind of signal. I remember thinking, 'This is it. We've found them at last.'
I began running a computer analysis on it. It was a binary signal, bandwidth of 3,000, an Amplitude Modulated as a means of transmitting bits. I tried running a compiler on it, but it just crashed the whole system. The crash cost about a minute and a half of raw data. By the time everything was up and recording again, the signal had disappeared. I was like, tripping out. Unable to believe what I had just seen.
Anyway, when the rest of the team showed up the next morning we all went wild on it. We eventually managed to compress the data onto one of the 16 tracks, then someone sent it off to a friend at MIT. Within a week, we had the first number. The encoding system was based on a universal mathematical principle or something, I honestly can't remember what the guy said. It took a whole year to get something that looked like a sentence, by then we had all the computers at NASA working on it. Hell, we had almost every major computer system on the goddamned planet trying to figure out what the signal said. I mean, even the Soviets pitched in.
Like, it was just an insane time to be alive. Everyone was trying to figure out what it said. Man, I was in the running for a Nobel Prize for my work on it. Me, who'd spent pretty much all my time at Northern Ridge just supervising the equipment.
Well, it was in '89 when the message was fully decoded. The raw numbers were on the front page of every newspaper, the number one topic on every message board. Then the linguists got involved, trying to make something coherent of the sequences.
That was another 6 years all in all, this huge debate running as to what the language structure was and all. Anyways, this one linguist who I think was called Stephan, had a weird name, anyway, he cracked it. He managed to translate the message into Chinese before interpreting it in English.
I remember being sent his paper when it got published. I have to admit, after all that work, all that effort, all the alliances and peace-talks, the message was a fucking inter-galactic joke on us.
"What do you call a bipedal creature with one head and a terrible sense of smell? A stupid hu...[man]"
I mean, I kind of laughed, but I honestly don't get it. | |
[WP] A modern witch uses modern technology. Who needs a ln iron cauldron when you have a coffee machine? | “That’s her house?” Glen asked quietly, peering through the tinted windows of our van.
“Appears so,” I affirmed, pulling the key out of the ignition. I grabbed a folder off the back seat and flipped it open, just to be sure. I nodded to myself. “Yup. Yellow house, green shutters. Address matches up. This is the place.”
“It just looks so normal. We’re sure a witch lives here?”
“Mhm.”
“In the suburbs…”
I sighed. “Listen, Glen. I know you’re new to the Order, so let me tell you one thing. Appearances can be deceiving. You may see a perfectly average suburban home with a two car garage and a small garden in the front, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an old, nasty witch crouching behind the door. If anything this just means she’s a smart one, hiding in plain sight, blending into society.” I drew my Taser from my shoulder holster, a unique device designed to disrupt the magical circuits in a witch’s body; what they used to channel and direct their power. “Be on guard.”
“Right,” Glen agreed. He seemed a little nervous, but that was normal. This was his first witch hunt.
We left the van and approached the house, a light breeze rustling our long, matching jackets. My eyes swiveled between the door and the several windows on the front of the house, watching for any sign of movement. “Remember, Intel said she’s about to finish a brew. We’ll try to apprehend the witch if we can, but our priority is preventing that potion from being finished. We have no idea what kind of evil could spill from her cauldron.”
We made it to the door without incident, and I holstered my Taser. So far the place didn’t show any signs of witch activity, and so we couldn’t enter forcefully. I nodded towards the side of the door, and Glen moved there to cover me. I took a deep breath, and then rang the bell.
A few moments later, I heard footsteps approaching, and I braced myself to draw. I heard a lock unlatch, and then the door swung open, revealing a young woman. She furrowed her brow with concern as she regarded me. “Hello? Can I help you?”
She wasn’t an old hag at all, but I kept my guard up, refusing to relax. I reached for my badge and flashed it briefly before stuffing it back in my jacket. “Hi, I’m Inspector Wren Thompson with the local PD, Hunter division.”
“Hunter division? I’ve never heard of that,” she mentioned quizzically.
“We’re only called in for special cases, and our surveillance team picked up what they thought was some suspicious activity in or around your residence. Do you mind if we take a look around?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed at me. “I’m confused… do you have a wa-”
“Warrant?” I finished for her. “Not currently, but we were in the area and I figured it would make things simpler for both of us if I could just look around quick and absolve you of any suspicion.”
“Suspicion for what exactly?” she asked.
“Uh,” I hummed with hesitation. This had never happened before. Witches always ran or fought, and Intel was never wrong. I wasn’t sure what to do; civilians were kept in the dark when it came to witches and our Order of hunters. My eyes flicked over to Glen. He watching me expectantly. “Uh… I… well…” I stammered.
Then a loud ding sounded from somewhere inside the house. “Oh! The brew is done!” the woman exclaimed.
My eyes widened, and I felt my hair stand on end; we were too late. “Glen! Go!” I yelled as I drew my Taser. I stepped into the woman, shoving her aside and pressing her into the wall of the foyer as Glen darted passed us. The woman shrieked as I pressed the face of the Taser against her hip. “Don’t move. Don’t try anything funny.”
“Who are you!? What’s happening!?” she cried.
“Quiet witch! You thought you could fool us with your disguise, but we won’t be taken for-”
“Wren!” Glen called, cutting me off.
“You find the brew?” I called over my shoulder; I couldn’t’ take my eyes off the witch. “If it’s already complete we have to neutralize it quick.”
“Oh, I found the brew.”
I noticed that Glen sounded way too calm and relaxed, but there wasn’t time to question it. “Can you tell what kind it is? What did she cook up?”
“Uh… looks like maybe a dark roast with a hint of French vanilla.”
“… What?”
“It’s coffee, Wren. She brewed some coffee.”
​
*continued below*
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r/TheCornerStories | I loved the smell of deadly nightshade in the morning.
As great as coffee was, it needed a bit of arcane oomph to stop me from re-aging suddenly in the middle of the day. Just because I was 430 years old didn't mean I had to look it.
Reaching into my spice cabinet I pulled out a few dried caterpillars and tossed them into my off brand, yet still trusty, food processor. For later. It's always good to have a few hexes up your sleeve. I checked my phone again. Yep, definitely late.
I grab a whiteboard marker that was lying around, (yes my place is messy, but I prefer it that way) and started to draw on the floor. It wasn't my best magic circle but it'd have to do. I worked at the pharmacy and I managed to get my hands on a finger-pricker. They were made for blood glucose tests. Perfect for blood magic.
I finished off the circle with a little blood and then the world warped around me as I suddenly stood in one of the pharmacy toilets. Brushing off some glittering dust I stepped out and into the workplace.
"Hey boss!" one of the girls said, "didn't see you come in!"
"Well good job being so focused on your work."
"Thanks!" she said going off to help another customer.
I smiled and looked over my shop. Another day at 'The Black Cat Pharmacy'. | |
[WP] At a run down food place, you place a special order which just happens to be a codeword for their illegal sidebusiness. Your attempts at clarification are just further codewords to them. | Even before I entered, I could tell there was something off about “Ed’s Pizza Rita.” The lights were only half lit on the sign, making it read “d zz it” in the harsh afternoon sun. Being on a road trip with no other food options for miles didn’t leave me much of a choice besides this place.
When I enter, I get this strange feeling. It’s like the opposite of a TARDIS, as everything in here seems more cramped and smaller than the outside suggested. I was the only person there, save the cashier behind the counter. Despite claiming to serve pizza, the menu options included burgers, tacos, and fried chicken but no pizza.
“Hi, can I have a cheese pizza, I mean, burger.” I was really looking forward to pizza, but a cheese burger would do.
“A cheese pizza burger,” the cashier repeated. The way he was looking at me made my skin crawl. “I know what you need, follow me.”
He gestured towards the employee only exit. When I didn’t immediately follow his lead, he turned back in confusion.
“Is there a problem?”
“I was just looking for pizza, I don’t-“
He cut me off, “Aren’t we all just looking for,” here it was clear his voice was giving this word air quotes “pizza?”
I think his idea of pizza and mine were two different things. I was going to make a break for the exit, but this time the cashier grasped my hand to lead me through the employee only door.
The back room was much nicer than I had expected. There was a vending machine with non food products I couldn’t identify and a single table in the center of the room. At that table, an impressive looking woman sat, looking particularly unimpressed at our entrance.
“I found another one, Ma’am,” the cashier told the woman excitedly.
She holds up a hand and he immediately is silent. She turns her head, slowly towards me. Her gaze is so intense, I wouldn’t be surprised if she could see into my soul.
“Sit,” she commands. I do so across from her. She steeples her fingers and waits for me. When i don’t say anything, she prompts me. “Speak.”
“I was just craving pizza. The empty road doesn’t leave many options. My directions told me you were the only place open within a 50 mile radius.”
This makes her mouth quirk up into what some might generously describe as a smile. “We are indeed open. An option on this empty road you speak of. The question is, do you currently have the dough to make the pizza?”
Who carries around pizza dough? That’s what I want to ask, but this woman intimidated me, so I say no in the politest way possible. “Not on my person, but I’m sure with the right ingredients I could pull something together.”
This time, she really did smile. It scared me. “Perfect,” she purred. “I’ll provide some of the more difficult ingredients if you can provide delivery.”
“I have a car, but I’ve never delivered pizza before in it.” I had no idea where this conversation was going. Am I getting hired as a pizza deliverer? This is the weirdest interview I’ve ever been in.
“Ahh, that’s even better. I think we can do business. I’ll have my assistant pull up the blueprints.” She sticks out a manicured hand. I shake it, feeling her nails dig into my skin. I don’t know what just happened, But I’m pretty sure I’m not getting any actual pizza any time soon.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/) | I stopped at the diner on the way into the City. It definitely wasn’t winning any Michelin stars, but it was the only thing open at 2 am and I needed a hot cup of coffee. The bell above the door rang as I went in. There was no one inside, so I sat down at the counter and waited.
After a moment, the line cook came out of the back. He looked more like a linebacker than a line cook. Tattoos covered his muscular arms, and the dingy white apron was fighting a losing battle to stay fastened across his massive chest. He looked me over with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t recognize you.” He said at last through a thick Brooklyn accent.
“First time in.” I said. “Could I get a cup of coffee?”
He started a bit at that. There was a pot on the counter behind him, so his confusion was odd. “YOU want a cup of coffee?” he repeated, looking at me closely. “You don’t look like the type to want coffee. Not the usual type we get asking for coffee, if you get my drift. No offense, pal.”
I wasn’t offended, but I also didn’t want to offend him. “I understand. I just need to get into the City, and I need coffee.”
He chuckled and shrugged. “You’re right about that, pal. How you want that coffee?”
“Black.”
“BLACK?!” He walked over to the kitchen. “Hey Jackie! We got a fella out here wants some coffee! Black!” he glanced back at more once again over his shoulder. “He don’t look like the type to take his coffee black.”
A deep rumbling voice came rolling out of the kitchen. “He wants it black you give it black. Ain’t NOBODY coming in here asking for BLACK COFFEE at this time of night that don’t need it!”
The cook turned back around. “OK, pal. I’ll get your coffee. I just hope you can handle it!”
This exchange had gone on much longer than I expected. “Can I please get it to go? I asked. “I’m in a little bit of a time crunch here.”
He burst out laughing and walked into the back. I could hear him chuckling in the kitchen as he rattled around. The whole time the coffee pot on the counter stared me in the face. There was a heavy dragging sound and the swinging door opened. He came back out carrying a large black case. He walked past me without saying a word and placed it on the back seat of my car. He came back in, dusting his hands. “Good luck pal. I hope you get that coffee to the right guy. Haha.” His eyes lit on the coffee pot as he came back in. “Hey, pal how’s about a cup for you too!” He poured me a cup into a dingy mug, then walked back into the kitchen chuckling once again. “Jackie, I poured him a cup a coffee after giving him the coffee. Haha. Get it?”
I went out to my car. My hands were shaking as I snapped open the clasps and opened the case. I knew I was in trouble already, but I let out an involuntary sigh as I saw what was inside. This looked like it was going to be an explosive day. | |
[WP] We all think of Santa as a kindly old man, giving toys to children. But you, an arctic researcher, have found his workshop and stumbled onto his terrible secret. Now, you must flee the workshop before he silences you and tell the world the truth about Father Christmas. | The Green lights on the control panel flash steadily. I see the hole in the ceiling that I just fell through. Bits of ice and ceiling tile litter the floor. It is strangely warm. I unzip the front of my parka and remove the googles.
“What the hell,” I say.
Above the control panel is a screen with a map of the world and it reads
Project Reset
Packages Prepared: 3. 7 billion
Estimated Casualties: 5.5 billion
Launch Time: 36 hours 52 minutes.
“What is this?!”
Backing away my shoulder bumps into a door. It is unlocked. Through the door is a spartan white hallway with flickering lights. I begin walking and then break into a run. Something out of the corner of my eye stops me. A conference room and the door is cracked. Inside is a huge auditorium and the lights are dimmed except for the stage. On which a grizzled old man leaning on a cane, and wearing a plaid jacket, addresses the crown. Which, I notice, seems to be comprised entirely of midgets with pointy ears. Pointy ears?
The old man speaks again in a deep cracked voice, like someone that has smoked a pack a day for 30 years. “As we have shown, the human race is hellbent on destroying the global climate in the next 100 years. In spite of our efforts to get their attention, such as intentional melting of the glaciers, they simply bicker, and those in power do nothing.”
He pauses for effect.
“Although I am not a native to this planet, I have come to love the human race as if they were my own children. My many years of giving gifts to their children and fostering peace has made its impact. I have kept my promise to my old friend to never use my power to control them. As such it sickens me to take such drastic steps to preserve their existence.”
Tears are streaming down his face.
“Thank you my family for helping me carry out this dreadful act. Future generations may see us as monsters, but know in your hearts that we don’t have any other choice. The children will be the only survivors, and it is up to us to guide them into the future. The deaths will be painless and the nature of this synthetic contagion provides that the corpses to turn to dust rapidly after the end.
He looks up at me. A chill rushes up my back.
“Ah. Jonah I see you made it. Please sit down.” He says.
“Who are you? What gives you the right?!” I shout feeling anger rising up.
“Remember that GI Joe you got when you were eight? That was me Jonah.” He says with a smile.
“Wait so you are claiming to be Santa? Impossible.” I say with a nervous chuckle. The thousands of small figures are all staring at me with a look of concern and I think sadness.
“I will need someone to help me going forward Jonah. I have picked you to survive and lead this soon to be childlike human race.” He says.
“I refuse. I won’t stand by and let you murder billions of people. You are a monster!” I shout. I run. There is an exit. I have to warn them. Jennifer is alone she won’t even know what is coming. A sharp pain in my back and a drug courses through my veins. The light begins to dim as I slump on the stairs. An old face looms over me.
“Maybe you will forgive me someday Jonah. Merry Christmas.”
Edit: Sorry for poor formatting had to rush to finish this during lunch. | I had loved the myth of Santa Claus growing up. The kind old man who lived in the snow. Delivering gifts to the children of the world, coal to those who were naughty. He was a symbol of Christmas a figure all children knew and loved. Then you grow out of it. Learn how fake it is. You arrive in the real world, learning that reindeer don’t fly. They don’t have magical red noses and they certainly can’t travel the world in one night.
A part of the story definitely stuck with me though. The Arctic. His home at the North Pole. It was fascinating, and even after learning the truth, the seeds had been planted to explore. Part of me still wished to find his home, but I knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But maybe just maybe... it was.
So I set out. Seeking wildlife and strange landmarks. Anything that caught my eye. And of course, to reach the North Pole. It would be a long journey, taking maybe two months if not more. But it was worth it. The views were... well... not that great. A white barren wasteland with very few visible creatures. I found a few here and there that I made sure to photograph. Memories to take home to share with the world.
Eventually I made it to the pole and there was a... candy cane. I thought it was a joke, a made up movie hoax. I thought it was a literal pole. But apparently a candy cane was the marker. I shrugged my shoulders and placed my hand upon it. A glow emanated between my fingers as the ground below me shifted. A hole opened up and swallowed me. Darkness surrounding me. Closing. Tighter. My breath grew faster as I slid along what seemed to be an ice tube. I landed with a thud. A small being about waist height was staring intently at me.
“You might just be what we need,” it said. “Follow me.” I stood up, towering over the small creature. My mind ticked at a million miles an hour. It couldn’t be... could it. No. But? I followed him down halls of ice. Intricately carved doors. And walls on either side. Eventually we reached a large set of blue ice doors. Completely opaque. It opened the door and poked it’s head in. “Sir. Someone is here to see you.”
A grunt sounded from in the room. “Send them away. No visitors.” A deep crusty voice called out.
“Not this time, the creature said. “In you go, I’ll be right behind you.” I slowly entered the room. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the door behind me closed. Snapping into place. I approached a wooden desk. A large man with white hair sat behind it.
“Are... are you Santa Claus?”
“Hmph. I haven’t heard that name in years. You should leave.”
“But how’re you. You’re... but why?”
“Yes I’m real. The magic that holds this place together is real buts it’s fading. And so am I.”
“What... what do you mean?”
“I was never ‘invented’ by corporations. I always existed, I just, injected myself into their campaigns with a little magic to spread the word. Children believed, and through that my magic held. But now? People have stopped believing. They have given up hope on me. Only those who truly still believe find this place. I’m surprised you’re here. The last person to visit was a young girl. Thirty years ago.” The man grunted and turned to face me. Bags under his eyes, his beard stained yellow, his belly hanging out of tight clothes. “People have stopped believing in me, and I don’t believe they ever will again. My time is up. After this Christmas the North Pole shuts down for good.”
“Why don’t you just show the world you’re real?”
“Weren’t you listening kid? My magic is dwindling. I barely have enough to keep these halls from freezing in. I can’t leave. I can’t perform magic anywhere else. I need belief. If I was to return, they would laugh at me. Think I’m just some drunk. The Christmas spirit is lost. It’s over. Go home.”
“No. It can’t be. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten here.”
“And I suppose you have some brilliant plan on how to solve this then?” Santa said. He stared at me. Waiting. “Exactly nothing. NOW LEAVE,” he shouted. His voice echoed around the room. Small chunks of ice falling to the ground. Shattering.
“But.”
“LEAVE. You can’t fix this. No one can.”
I turned to leave. My hand resting on my camera as I went to open the doors out.
“Wait.”
“What do you want? I told you to leave.” Santa grumbled.
“My camera. I can film your magic. I can show the world. I still believed in you, after this many years. There will be others. This will be the proof they need to believe again.”
“It won’t work. Simple as that. There isn’t enough time left.”
“Please. Just let me try. For the sake of children’s joy and the spirit of Christmas.”
“Fine. One trick. That’s all you get.” Santa waved his hands around and created a mini aurora borealis within the room. The greens and blues twisting and turning spectacularly. Creating polar bears dancing and leaping, and seals swimming and sliding among other patterns. With another wave of his hands, the show ended.
“Happy now kid?” He said with a grunt. But I was already gone. Sprinting out the door. I had to get back home as fast as possible. I had to save Christmas. | |
[WP] We all think of Santa as a kindly old man, giving toys to children. But you, an arctic researcher, have found his workshop and stumbled onto his terrible secret. Now, you must flee the workshop before he silences you and tell the world the truth about Father Christmas. | I run, feet pounding on the clean tiled floor of the workshop. Each door I pass is labelled in clean cursive on a red and white board. The doors are natural wood, inviting like a cabin nestled in the woods. Behind the doors are rooms filled with industrious workers, singing pleasant songs as they cheerfully work away.
I don't scream, it would give away that I've escaped. It's bad enough that I'm leaving a blood trail on that clean floor, a trail that will lead them right to me if I can't staunch the flow.
I see possible escape at the end of the hall. A frosted window with a wooden crossbeam, beyond a snow covered landscape with ever persistent snowflakes drifting down. I've been here long enough that it had lost it's mysticism and beauty, a feeling that fills my body with hope.
Discretion may be the better part of valor but escape isn't valorous, it's simple survival. With the blood drops that I've left behind, soon to be discovered I'm sure, I decide to throw my shoulder into the window and break free of this prison. This horror I've found myself in.
Glass shatters when I hit it, shards digging into my shoulder and drawing yet more blood. Cold wind blows in, bringing a drifting snow into the warm and welcoming hallway. A lie, all of it a lie. I push on the crossbars and they don't give. I hit them with my hands, fists, scream at them.
They don't budge.
Wood splinters, breaks off, revealing cold iron. All of it, a lie. A prison. Whether it is to keep those inside from leaving or those outside from getting in, that is the question.
I cry, sobbing against the bars that mean escape is a futile dream. I hear the footsteps behind me but I refuse to turn around. I am dreaming. I have to be. I am in the arctic tents that mark our secondary research site. I will wake up in the warmth of my sleeping bag to the smell of coffee. Derek will crack a joke about being a late riser and hand me a mug. We will join the others, the eight of us will drill core samples and take air samples and take notes.
We won't take a trip out. We won't find a depression in the ground that shouldn't be there, that doesn't make sense. We won't get out of our vehicles and step onto a weak spot, causing the depression to collapse under our feet. We won't slide in a tunnel of ice to a massive cavern, opening to the sky, where we won't find a building. It won't look like a painting, the gentle glow of light from the windows calling to us. Our curiosity won't get the better of us and we won't knock on the door.
I won't see Derek skinned alive to jaunty music, screaming to his last breath. A last breath that took too long to reach. I won't break out of my cell, leaving two of my friends behind and running like a coward. I won't find myself in a hallway with that infernal music that won't stop. I won't be mocked in my escape attempt.
I won't turn around. I won't.
The hand that grips my shoulder is firm, large, and gloved in black leather. At the wrist is fluffy white trim, sewn to a bright red sleeve. I know him, we all know him.
Rather, we knew him. I am turned forecfully to face the man himself. Kris Kringle, Santa Claus. Jolly ol' Saint Nick.
I squeeze my eyes shut and wish this all away. It doesn't work. His breath is hot on my face. It smells of sour milk.
And blood.
He'd gone mad, some time in the vast history of his mythology. Turned against the world he'd once served, he'd once filled with joy and wonder. Missing children, Christmas horrors, slaughtered families, bespoke evil visited on a single night.
"Look at me." He says, his voice a deep baritone that runs shivers down my spine. Fear clenches my heart and stomach and I stop breathing, still wishing this nightmare will end and I will wake up.
I smell the leather of of his gloves as they take my face, his thumbs digging at my eyes and I begin to scream. He doesn't push to cause damage but pain, that's his goal now.
"Open your eyes!" He shouts, digging a little harder. "I have a present for you!"
I open them, to stop the pain. His hands move away and I see a white beard streaked with red, stained and unkempt. I see the clean red hat on his head, fringed with white fur and the delightfully pleasant pom on the top that bounces around as he tortures and kill us.
"Merry Christmas! Your friend came to visit!" He says, grinning widely and enjoying my shrieks of terror as I push away from him. The big red nose is hiding, the wire rimmed glasses perched on a nose that isn't his. It's Derek's. He's wearing my friend's face.
I am still screaming when rough hands take my and drag me down the hall, watched by the elves who have opened their doors. Chained elves that can never leave the workshop, their rooms, their labor. Devices of pain and suffering and death that he plans to deliver to the world. Unhappy with his one night of slaughter, he has plans for something enormous. Game changing.
And none of that matters to me.
Because I can't stop it. I can't leave. I am going to die in Santa's workshop.
He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. And he looks down at me with insanity in his eyes. He slams shut my prison door and I am subjected to the ever blinking string red and green lights and endless loop of 'Jingle Bells'.
And I hear him in the hallway.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!"
And somewhere out there in this workshop, someone else screams. | I had loved the myth of Santa Claus growing up. The kind old man who lived in the snow. Delivering gifts to the children of the world, coal to those who were naughty. He was a symbol of Christmas a figure all children knew and loved. Then you grow out of it. Learn how fake it is. You arrive in the real world, learning that reindeer don’t fly. They don’t have magical red noses and they certainly can’t travel the world in one night.
A part of the story definitely stuck with me though. The Arctic. His home at the North Pole. It was fascinating, and even after learning the truth, the seeds had been planted to explore. Part of me still wished to find his home, but I knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But maybe just maybe... it was.
So I set out. Seeking wildlife and strange landmarks. Anything that caught my eye. And of course, to reach the North Pole. It would be a long journey, taking maybe two months if not more. But it was worth it. The views were... well... not that great. A white barren wasteland with very few visible creatures. I found a few here and there that I made sure to photograph. Memories to take home to share with the world.
Eventually I made it to the pole and there was a... candy cane. I thought it was a joke, a made up movie hoax. I thought it was a literal pole. But apparently a candy cane was the marker. I shrugged my shoulders and placed my hand upon it. A glow emanated between my fingers as the ground below me shifted. A hole opened up and swallowed me. Darkness surrounding me. Closing. Tighter. My breath grew faster as I slid along what seemed to be an ice tube. I landed with a thud. A small being about waist height was staring intently at me.
“You might just be what we need,” it said. “Follow me.” I stood up, towering over the small creature. My mind ticked at a million miles an hour. It couldn’t be... could it. No. But? I followed him down halls of ice. Intricately carved doors. And walls on either side. Eventually we reached a large set of blue ice doors. Completely opaque. It opened the door and poked it’s head in. “Sir. Someone is here to see you.”
A grunt sounded from in the room. “Send them away. No visitors.” A deep crusty voice called out.
“Not this time, the creature said. “In you go, I’ll be right behind you.” I slowly entered the room. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the door behind me closed. Snapping into place. I approached a wooden desk. A large man with white hair sat behind it.
“Are... are you Santa Claus?”
“Hmph. I haven’t heard that name in years. You should leave.”
“But how’re you. You’re... but why?”
“Yes I’m real. The magic that holds this place together is real buts it’s fading. And so am I.”
“What... what do you mean?”
“I was never ‘invented’ by corporations. I always existed, I just, injected myself into their campaigns with a little magic to spread the word. Children believed, and through that my magic held. But now? People have stopped believing. They have given up hope on me. Only those who truly still believe find this place. I’m surprised you’re here. The last person to visit was a young girl. Thirty years ago.” The man grunted and turned to face me. Bags under his eyes, his beard stained yellow, his belly hanging out of tight clothes. “People have stopped believing in me, and I don’t believe they ever will again. My time is up. After this Christmas the North Pole shuts down for good.”
“Why don’t you just show the world you’re real?”
“Weren’t you listening kid? My magic is dwindling. I barely have enough to keep these halls from freezing in. I can’t leave. I can’t perform magic anywhere else. I need belief. If I was to return, they would laugh at me. Think I’m just some drunk. The Christmas spirit is lost. It’s over. Go home.”
“No. It can’t be. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten here.”
“And I suppose you have some brilliant plan on how to solve this then?” Santa said. He stared at me. Waiting. “Exactly nothing. NOW LEAVE,” he shouted. His voice echoed around the room. Small chunks of ice falling to the ground. Shattering.
“But.”
“LEAVE. You can’t fix this. No one can.”
I turned to leave. My hand resting on my camera as I went to open the doors out.
“Wait.”
“What do you want? I told you to leave.” Santa grumbled.
“My camera. I can film your magic. I can show the world. I still believed in you, after this many years. There will be others. This will be the proof they need to believe again.”
“It won’t work. Simple as that. There isn’t enough time left.”
“Please. Just let me try. For the sake of children’s joy and the spirit of Christmas.”
“Fine. One trick. That’s all you get.” Santa waved his hands around and created a mini aurora borealis within the room. The greens and blues twisting and turning spectacularly. Creating polar bears dancing and leaping, and seals swimming and sliding among other patterns. With another wave of his hands, the show ended.
“Happy now kid?” He said with a grunt. But I was already gone. Sprinting out the door. I had to get back home as fast as possible. I had to save Christmas. | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I hadn't thought about finding number 1 for a few years now.
I had to bury that thought somewhere in the back of my mind.
Thinking about failing my duties in the CIA was too painful. They had given me one job to do: find the number 1 most powerful organization in the world.
They were mostly keen on the secret intelligence stuff, of course and I can't reveal any information on that. In other words, they wanted to know: where were the spies hiding out?
I had traveled to every single continent in search of this organization including Antarctica. I actually thought I had come close there to finding it. There was nothing on The McMurdo Station itself, that would've been in far too plain of sight, but I thought there was a meeting place in a snow cave- turned out there were just a bunch of penguins hanging out inside the semi-igloo. That was a disappointing report to bring back to the boss.
Anyways, they gave me two more shots. I thought I might've found the organization in Saudi Arabia in the town market. It was a dingy old stall and I found a stack of papers hanging around with official government seals on them- American and CIA stamps. They turned out to just be the shop owner's stack of approved Visas. By that point I knew I was running on thin ice and running out of time to find this all powerful organization.
Contrary to what one might think I tried to look in the somewhat run down and less thought of places. I had a gut- feeling this organization was not going to be in some world famous building like The White House or the Reichstag Building or the Kremlin. No, this organization was going to be hidden among the people.
Anyways, by this point I had one shot left. I thought I might've found something in Montreal- the basement of a French restaurant seemed to have some lofty papers laying about and suspicious people meandering about but no this was the third and final straw. I had failed a top secret security mission and was being let go.
So I put the thought behind me. Until now. I was on vacation with family in Tuscany and I was walking with my husband around one of the quaint city streets. We had just finished eating out and having a cup of wine and were feeling a light warm buzz course through our veins. My husband, Dennis, had pointed out the flower shop first.
"Let's go inside," He said. I took a look at the sign- an old faded out turquoise jade kind of color with the words *Tuscan Flowers* written on it in pure gold sent a familiar shiver down my spine. It was the kind of shiver I would only get when I thought I was coming unto a lead or getting closer to it. There was something about the gold that caught my eye and the sign. Underneath it there was some kind of highly detailed seal. There weren't that many orgs with gold seals around the world were they?
We went inside and sure enough I ended up discovering this was the place. I found stack and stacks of hidden information in the back of the desk once I had rung up the police. I still can't reveal to you what their mission is or their nationalities, but I can tell you I rest easy now knowing I've completed my duties. | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | Today, it is a new world.
The world has become slightly more equal.
I am certain of it.
But then... why do I feel so bad?
After finding out about my peculiar ability, I have been looking for months, travelling all over the world.
Some seats of power were obvious, others more well-hidden.
Never, however, was I able to find the real pinnacle, the varsity, the one percent of the one percent of the one percent.
Until yesterday, that is.
Yesterday I found it: The creature, the spider who has not only the governments entangled in her web, but plays their shadow governments as puppets on strings.
I had never expected to find it here, of all places. I actually had travelled to Italy in part as a vacation.
After all, I had been honing my skills for months on end. I needed the time to relax, destress. My search had been fruitful this far. I had found quite some organizations that seemed important, but the few times I tried to vanquish them, a new one always switfly stepped in their place.
No, the only way to stop them for one and for all was to cut the head of the snake.
Never did I think that I would find this here, in Siena, Tuscany, not further than two minutes walking from the Piazza del Campo, did fate finally struck.
Disguised as a small flowershop, the organization presented itself. "Il Picollo Fiore", _the little flower_, the sign on the entrance of the tiny storefront that was packed in the middle of two other, much larger and modern stores, proclaimed.
I cased the place for a couple of minutes. It seemed tranquil, mundane, even. But there was no mistaking it. The number never lies.
A feeling of exhilaration swept through my body.
I rushed in, and was greeted by a short, somewhat portly woman of middle age. She flashed me a big grin. Her vile eyes twinkled at me, as she spoke a greeting in Italian.
I did not leave any element of the situation to chance. I rushed in and stuck my butterfly knife right between her 2nd and 3rd rib, deep into her heart. She was wearing a name tag with the text "Bianca", which was slightly splattered as the blood spewed forth.
This agent, whose real name with high probablility was not Bianca at all, had no time to react to anything that happened. She attempts to stabilize herself by grabbing at the stalls near where she stands. She grabs hold of a sign that was attached to one of the racks, but it does not help at all to hold her upright.
As she slumped to the floor, I was already rushing on, ready to counter any reaction of the organization's security protocols.
However, nothing happened.
I stood there, breathing heavily, for more than a minute.
No reaction from within the building. Also, none of the few tourists that made their way through the city on this fall day seem have noticed anything happening.
I came to my senses, and walked back outside. As I turned around I was delighted: The number, the big bright red '1' that I had seen floating above the building before, had gone. She had been the spider, the kingpin. The sole person on top. I am sure.
Now I am back inside my hotel room.
Looking back, it seems almost like a dream. I am delighted, but also scared.
Was she really dead? Why hadn't I seen anything about it on the news?
How long will it take for the people that want to take me me back to the asylum to trace my latest steps?
Hah! I havn't taken their 'medicine' in months, so they will never be able to comprehend the thoughts of my awakened mind.
On the other hand, it does not matter anymore. Even if they take me back, my life's goal is complete: The work that I started all those months ago when I first broke out,
when I first started to see the numbers.
It is done now.
Nothing can turn it back. With the vileness banished and destroyed, a new, better world order will finally take place.
I grin, and as I leave my hotelroom I close my eyes and with my mind's eye look back one more time.
The woman, lying there, in the middle of the flowers, colored crimson. Unmoving, dead. In her left hand, holding the sign that she grabbed as she slumped down, stating some unimportant flower name: "Nontiscordardimé"... | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I'd given up my search a long time ago.
I eventually retired from my job at the CIA, where my skill came in handy, and moved far away from the noise and hustle of the city, to Italy. The most beautiful place in the world.
So, I bought a small, rustic house in the Italian countryside, in Fosdinovo, Tuscany. I didn't have a family or kids so life was fairly simple. Wake up, shower, go for a walk with Bosco (my golden retriever), walk around town by myself, have lunch, take a nap, have dinner, go to sleep.
I'd frequented most of the restaurants in the village by the time I'd hit the ten year mark of being a Fosdinovian. Hell, I'd frequented most of the stores too. But I never left Fosdinovo. Why should I? I'm too old to walk that far, and I don't own a car.
But one day, a restaurant owner whom I had become good friends with (and a loyal patron to) announced that she was getting married. I was so happy for her. I wanted to get her irises, her favourite flower, as congratulations.
But any Fosdinovian can tell you that in our small, snowy town, flowers are hard to come by. So for the first time in years, I arranged a taxi and drove out to the nearest flower shop.
First, let me tell you that I had given no thought to my ability ever since I retired. Yes, the numbers still popped up, and they were sometimes surprising (a ski rental shop in Fosdinovo is #391,867th!), but much like a stain on a pair of glasses, it faded into the background. There are so many more things to look at - we're in Italy, after all!
But it did no such thing when I exited the taxi and stared at this quaint flower shop. Its front walls were painted a pastel yellow, and it had small steps from the cobblestone path to the old, wooden door. It had plants outside, and a lantern above the door. It hardly looked like a flower shop.
But in big, white font, a number hung in the air.
*#1.*
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head in utter disbelief. What? How could a flower shop in Tuscany possibly be the most powerful organisation in the world?!
Naturally, I went in. Tentatively, of course, but walking away was not an option. Oh, you have no idea how much I wish it had been.
That day, my life - my entire perception of the world and how it was run was changed forever. Irreversibly. Profoundly. My skill, it seemed, was leading to this very moment, culminating in a global scandal of proportions indescribable.
You see, that quaint little flower shop, tucked away in a small section of Tuscany, was the birthplace - and current headquarters of the fabled organisation that ran the world behind the scenes, unbeknownst to seven billion people, save a few dozen. And now me, of course.
It was the stuff of myth and ancient rumours, rooted in truth. And that little flower shop held its lifeblood.
The Illuminati.
And it would seem like I'd just found it. | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I am a fixer.
One who solves the world's problems, no matter how dirty the task may be. Taking down corrupt governments, destroying terrorist organizations from the inside out and the occasional helping a crying kid find his lost dog. In my quest to do so, I've developed this so-called "ability" to understand the power of an organization just by observing their headquarters. Many find this trait of mine to be some sort of physic ability but with my background and an eye for detail, it's more like a worker's intuition.
One day, I was walking down a small side street while on my vacation from Tuscany. I took a stab in the gut when hunting down a serial murder in the slums of Beijing. Careless on my part but I returned the favor with several bullet holes.
As I continued to walk, I found myself next to a quaint flower shop, selling the typical ornamental foliage, roses, daffodils and the like. As soon as I bent down to inspect them, wondering if I should grab some for the lovely receptionest girl at my hotel, I felt my heart freeze in place. Looking up, the place seemed indistinct from the other buildings around from it, but from the feeling I just felt in my gut, I know. This is the most powerful organization in the world.
Now, either this place has a hand at every damn flower purchase in the world or has enough nuclear firepower in its basement to destroy Earth 100 times over. With sweat trailing my forehead and a nervous smile creeping over my face, I walk in.
Beautiful flowers adorn every shelf and small seed packets are neatly organized along short stands. The surprise of the normalcy of this shop takes me aback. Am I losing my touch? No... no... no... there must be some kind of hidden secret to this place. As I slowly wander around, taking in the surroundings, I hear a cheerful voice greet me in Italian.
"Hello there sir, what can I do for ya today?" He asks me in a quiet but rough dialect.
"Oh, hello... I was just taking a look around."
"Let me know if you need anything." He responds with a beaming smile.
Standing behind the counter, a young boy at about 15 years with gray-white hair looks at me with kind eyes. His frail body barely looks like it can hold up a large pot and his work overalls are lacking any noticeable weapons. This feeling though... he's the reason why this shop is the number one in the world. This one small kid is more powerful than every armament, every expert assassin and without even trying, more powerful than me.
I sidle up next to the bench, lay my hand on it and ask for a bouquet of their prettiest flowers. The small kid gets to work and makes a wonderful display that he quietly hands me and with an exchange of cash, I find myself out of the store.
Walking back down the street I was going, I can't help but self-reflect. My goal is to become the strongest in the world, to never allow myself to lose to anyone and yet I can't even shape up to that kid. Maybe, I should quit... I've done enough, saved countless lives and done a lot of good in the world.
As these negative thoughts plague my mind, I notice a small card hidden among the bouquet I got from the shop. Opening it I find a simple message written in elegant writing.
"Keep up the hard work Mister F."
"Hahaha." A small chuckle escapes my lips as I realize my pointless rumination. That kid sure is something else, huh?
"I've still got a long way to go."
With flowers in hand, I make my way back to my hotel thinking about what my next job will be.
Author: Pistolero2314
(Criticism is welcome, I am very new to creative writing.) | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | You ended up deciding to see what the big deal with the flower shop was.
You bought a flower one day and brought it back to your hotel room but it did not feel all that special.
You go home and stay there for a few years along with pressing the flower in a journal.
You have looked back and the question is still killing you why is it so special.
You go back and this time you see that they are hiring someone part time.
All or nothing
You take the job and still you can’t find what the answer is, the owner is this kind 30 ish year old looking man always reading a book.
You are working your hardest but you can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Your boss is nice and really loves to read but other then that it’s just your normal job.
Summer comes to a close.
You ask the boss if he will need help next year and the boss then asks if you want to stay full time. Your curiosity gets the better of you. You can’t help it.
You stay for one year and then two. You start getting board so you also start to become an avid reader. The boss says people don’t usually stay this long and that it’s nice to have some company.
You noticed that the boss sends out a few emails he says he’s just sending some social emails no big deal.
2 years turns into ten and you can’t find anything out of place so you think about quitting but you like selling flowers they smell nice.
You decide to go home for a visit see how the family’s doing. Everyone says that your looking great and they are all along with their lives. Your brother is married and he’s even expecting. You still kind of want to go back to your flowers.
20 years pass and now your well invested into selling flowers and reading tons of books but you still need to visit home as your mother is dying.
Your brother says that his son can pick you up from the airport and that he is so excited to see you after so long.
You wait for a while and get a call from your brother telling you that it seems his son could not find you and if you could tell him some identifiable traits. You tell him what your wearing and then your brother directs his son to pick you up.
His son says that he did not think you would look so young and that’s why he could not tell. He said that if he did not know better you would seem to be in your 30’s. You both laugh it off but it still feels a little off.
At your mothers death bed you sit with your family and you feel a little alienated which makes sense as you have been gone for so long but you still want to see your mother. You look at her and she is startled at your youth but embraces you afterwords. She died 5 days later.
After the procession you go back to your flowers and notice that your boss still looks like he is thirty ish which is weird being that you have worked their for 30 years.
In this time corporations have rose and fallen. Yet the flower shop is still number one. It does not feel weird anymore just normal. You have fallen in love with reading books and spend half of your day just reading.
40 years pass and now your brother is sick you decide to visit home one last time. His son picks you up again and he mentions that you have not changed a bit even though now the son is starting to get on his years.
Your brother says the same thing. You have not changed a bit similar situation to when your mom died. Now you see a lot of new faces in the family and a lot of old faces are gone. You think this is the last time your going to go home. You give a calling card to your nephew if he needs you and after the funeral you go back to the flower shop.
Your curiosity is killing your. You want to know why the shop is number one so you ask your boss if there is anything particularly special about this shop.
He tells you not really only that it has been around for a long time and that people sometimes call asking for advice.
It’s been a while and you have a visitor coming to see you. Apparently it’s your great grand nephew who found your calling card in his dead grandpas belongings. He wanted to know more about his dead grandpa but you don’t really know much. After all you only really knew your brother but you tell him what you knew.
The discussion turns to different things from stories to politics to physics. After talking with you he seems to have had a moment of inspiration and says he had to go home. He wants to talk to you again he says.
You did not see anything that relevant in what you said but 2 weeks later a paper which turned out to be revolutionary was published and you were one of the sources.
You boss looks over your shoulder and congratulated you on your first citation.
You finally start to understand why the flower shop is so important.
You ask your boss how old he is and he says that he might be around 500-600 years old.
One can’t read that many books and not learn something.
But in the end it’s just a small flower shop with some bookworms who answer questions.
The end. | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. |
It was a neat trick to pull out at work events, mentioning how a specific government was or wasn’t even in the top ten most powerful organizations. Of course, when you were a member of the President’s Security Detail for the US Secret Service, you weren’t exactly doing that as a bar trick. You generally whispered it directly to the President herself.
You were the most nondescript of her detail, never in the trademark dark suits and ear pieces your brothers in arms were in, but that’s because you were the easiest to hide as an aide to Madame President. You barely made the Secret Service cutoffs for sizing until you pointed out your background in undercover work. It caused the interviewing officers to reevaluate your application. You solidly passed the physical and mental tests, your background showed no blemishes throughout eight years with the military and six more as a city police detective, and you were an ideal candidate for public-level spy work. You passed perfectly as a soccer mom or trophy wife and could get in to places and situations others couldn’t.
It wasn’t until you were through with training and into your third year with the agency that your talents were exposed.
It had been an easy mission – escort some senators through the embassy in Brazil and to a summit on climate change. Low danger level, mild media attention, and plenty of preparation with familiar facilities. You had been the second most senior agent on the case and had been scouting the region when you noticed the warm glow around the small coffee shop just six blocks from the summit. How had you not seen this before?
A soft seven floated around the door of the building. It was almost a shimmer instead of a solid number, just mild enough to catch your attention but not enough for anyone else to notice. It wasn’t particularly busy, but a few customers sat outside, sipping small espresso cups, nibbling on cookies, and reading books or chatting with friends. A single server chatted with an older gentleman who sat by himself near the door; they seemed familiar enough that he was likely a regular here.
It was funny, the most powerful places in the world rarely had Men in Suits going in and out of them as you might expect.
Number Ten had been a comic book store in Queens, NY. It had some mob ties but remained quiet. It wasn’t on any books anywhere and the ownership was so far removed from anyone associated with any of the Families that it couldn’t be tied back to them with rope, but it was the tenth most powerful place in the world.
Number Nine was in Rome, and surprisingly it was the only one you’d expected to be on the list, though you’d expected it a little higher than ninth place. The Vatican still held a lot of power within its walls and it didn’t seem God would be releasing any of it any time soon.
Numbers Eight, Six, Five, and Four were also small businesses in quiet places. An auto repair shop in France, a library in Spain, a Michelin-starred restaurant in Germany, and a petting zoo in Australia all held shimmering single-digit numbers.
Number Three was a historical home in England, but it wasn’t owned by the Royal Family. Number Two was a farm in Missouri, of all places, but Number One was elusive. You’d searched every country you’d been in, visiting neighborhoods tourists avoided and getting to know locals to find their favorite places. They often didn’t realize that their favorite little shop was the seat of power for some of the world’s most influential organizations.
You had spent a little too long staring at the shop and your commanding officer had noticed.
“Morrow, situation?” he’d asked in your ear-coms.
“Negative, sir. Just a cute shop, wondered if their coffee was any good,” you’d smiled. He didn’t believe you and had taken you to the side.
“Morrow, I need to know what you saw at that shop. There is no room for keeping anything to yourself,” he’d said quietly.
“I don’t even know how to say it, but that shop is the seventh most powerful organization in the world’s headquarters, sir.”
“What’s the organization? And more importantly, how do you know that?”
“I can’t answer that on either account sir, but I can tell you I’m right. We don’t have anything to worry about today, though. They don’t know we know and they don’t seem to be actively planning anything.”
The commander had set up a discreet watch on the coffee shop after that. He had been blown away by your accuracy. The US now had a handle on the headquarters of one of the most powerful secret societies in the world and you had given it to them.
Promotions had come quickly after that, getting you to be the personal guard and public aide to the first female President of the United States of America. That’s how you’d ended up in Tuscany, Italy today.
She had a meeting with the Italian president and all hands were on deck, as usual. It was a beautiful season in Italy when the grapes were harvested and many festivals were held. Madame President would be attending one that evening, in fact, but first had to handle the official business she was here for.
You’d spend most of the meeting studying those in the room and the surveillance undoubtedly installed everywhere, but it should be an easy hour. Smile, take some notes, whisper a few reminders and out. Nobody would ever suspect the unassuming aide to be someone with your talents.
And it was exactly as you’d expected. An easy meeting, a few photos for the press, and back out to the hotel. Another standard day in the life of a Secret Service agent, right?
Until you saw it.
It shimmered brighter than the others, you’d thought it was the sun starting to move behind the cute little flower shop that gave it the golden glow. An errant thought about photographers loving the light passed through your mind before it snapped to attention.
ONE. A bright, shiny, glowing 1 floated near the doorway of the flower shop, the fresh, cool scent of flowers hovering near the doorway.
“Madame President, a word please?” You trusted this one, unlike the last two. They’d been total idiots, unfit to serve or lead the people of the US, but this one had something different about her. Maybe it was the respect she commanded that had nothing to do with her gender, maybe it was the thoughtful way she considered each proposal brought her way, or maybe it was something else, but she was doing great and had started a slow improvement in the economy and job market. No one person would be able to fix it all, but she was making progress on both sides of the aisle.
“Sure, Morrow. What’s going on?” You rarely asked for her time, so she paused when you did. “Do we need to step away?”
“No Madame President, but I have a fun fact for you.”
The President leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, she loved the facts you spouted off about each location you visited and she was well aware that the phrasing mattered and would be important on this one.
“Oh wonderful! What’s today’s fact?” she smiled.
“I just wanted to point out those beautiful red poppies at that flower shop, Tuscany is known for their poppies this time of year,” you gestured. “They’re regarded as the most beautiful in the world, in fact.”
“Oh? Are they the number one producer?”
“Yes, ma’am, *the* number one.”
“I see, well, perhaps you could arrange a bouquet for the staff at the hotel before we leave, I do enjoy local floral arrangements.”
“Noted,” you said. You’d speak to her again at the embassy when you returned to Florence, but she was aware of the special gift you possessed and knew to take it seriously. While your gift told you of the importance, it didn’t tell you which organization it belonged to and it often took several weeks or months of investigation to figure it out. And only twice had anyone moved locations on you. Foolishly, they’d kept them in the same areas, so you’d been able to find them again easily.
You had a feeling if this one moved, you’d never find it again. | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | "This doesn't make sense," I muttered, perturbed. The tulips didn't seem to have any microphones inside. The hydrangea arrangements seemed like they were for sure hiding a secret passage but if that were so it was too well-concealed for even me to find - which should be impossible! There wasn't even a security camera on the ceiling, though that wasn't necessarily unusual. Anyone THIS powerful wouldn't have anything to fear, and also probably didn't want a lot of business caught on tape.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" The smiling old man behind the counter called out in stunted English.
"Oh I'm good," I called back, think returning his warmth with all the sincerity I could muster. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice.
It has to be the mob, I thought, but which mob? I'd sussed out mafioso headquarters from Russia to Ru Paul's Drag Race (it's all a front, people) and never even got a sniff of one headquartered in Tuscany. A new player? Impossible - whoever was running this place was head and shoulders above the CIA, Mossad, and the nomadic Mongolian witch coven that secretly controls the economy. A flower shop, to boot? I sidled up next to the roses again. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. I'd been looking for signs of secret organizations that originated on Earth...
"My friend, I know why you come here," the old man said, nearly making me jump out of my skin. When had he gotten so close?
"Ah," I did my best to smile with this monster beside me. "Do you?"
His eyes were a bright green, but his look was somber and grave. Only a few tufts of white hair remained on his liver-spotted head, and his face was a labyrinth of wrinkles and lines. Heavy eyebrows knit together as he brushed some soil off his hands onto the thin apron he wore, and then reached out to take me by the wrist.
"We're a gonna need to talk to Maria," he sternly intoned.
I pulled back, nearly tripping. He'd made me. "No, that's fine, I think I need to be going, there's- "
"Maria!" The man raised his voice, and the previous warmth had vanished. "We have a guest who needs your attention."
I heard a rustling in the back. Past the rows of neatly arranged flowers, the gift baskets and expensive chocolates, the selections of fine wines, a door opened. The old man, who had been so small when I entered, now seemed to loom over me. I had to get out, before -
"What is this? Marco, who is this?" A woman as wrinkled and dirt-stained as the old man rounded the corner. A small shovel was gripped menacingly in one gloved hand. Her eyes, as green as her partner's, gleamed as she cast her gaze back and forth between me and Marco. The old man straightened.
"Now you gonna get it," he threatened. Maria, twice the diminutive Marco's size, locked her eyes on mine.
"There's a misunderstanding- " I started to say, but then the bell on the front door announced a new visitor.
Both Maria and Marco turned, and I seized the opportunity to dash behind the roses. I began to shout out a theat, but another, wild "WHOOP!" drowned out my own.
"Mr. Romano! Mrs. Romano! I cannot thank you enough!" I peered out from behind the dozen thorny stalks acting as my shield. There was a young man in a vest and cap, vigorously shaking the hands of the pair in turn. "I give those flowers you say to Margaret and she adore them! She even give me a kiss - Dio! She's a coming to meet my mother this week - I think you did it! I owe it to you!"
Maria was beaming as Marco chuckled. "I told you our flowers were the best, Silvio," she patted his face warmly. "Now if you two get married and you ever get in a fight, you come back here and tell me what happened, we'll find what you need to apologize."
"But what if I am right?" Silvio queried.
Marco's chuckle became a deep belly laugh. "You just remember to come back when you need," Maria cuffed Marco on the back of the head, but that didn't stop his laughter. She rolled her eyes. "Go now Silvio, you find a nice shirt to wear when you bring her to your mama."
The young man profusely thanked them again before rushing out of the store, the door closing firmly behind him.
Both sets of eyes turned back on me. The thorns on these roses seemed to retract in fear.
"Don't think we forget about you," Marco said. "Maria, take care of this one."
Maria set her jaw, stepping forward. She reached out, gloved hand like a vise around my wrist, eyes pulling my gaze in as she searched my face.
"So," she yanked me from my useless hiding spot and into the shop's center. "What's her name?"
"Her...name?"
"Don't play coy," Maria gave me a look that said she wasn't having it. "Fifty years we've been doing this, and not once have we ever failed. You start talking, I'll get you what you need."
"We don't rightly understand it either," Marco sighed, taking out a broom to idly begin sweeping leaves and dirt from the floor, "but how are we going to complain?"
"You don't understand it, I understand it perfectly!" Maria yelled at him. He gave her a dreamy smile and leaned in for a kiss. She made a show of rolling her eyes and shooing him away, but I caught the fleeting wisp of a smile on her face.
"Fifty years," Maria repeated, "and not a one time have we failed to help a customer find their true love - and keep them - with our flowers. We only started this little shop because we both loved gardening, can you believe it? But I like to think in our little way, we mean something to the world."
"More than you realize," I replied, reassessing everything I thought I understood. "Far, far more than you realize." | Chandra spotted a small coffee shop next to a cute little stone built flower shop and could already feel the warmth of espresso caffeinating her body. She just loved morning coffee's staring off into the beautiful Tuscan country side. As she approached the door she immediately knew why she was drawn to this street. She had never felt a building so powerful. This was even stronger than the Pentagon and KGB headquarters combined. Forgetting all about the coffee she passed the sign saying "Gaia's Flowers" and let her self into the shop.
Surrounded by luscious and exotic plants set a little old lady snoring peacefully in her armchair. As Chandra approached her the tiny woman woke with a start and glared at her with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce into her very being.
"Who are you?" The lady growled wiping the spittle from her mouth and sitting up in her chair.
Chandra couldn't find the words in her mouth. This place was so powerful she was lost in its essence.
"What do you want?!" The lady snapped at her.
"Uhh my name is Chandra." She stumbled over the words. "I must be going crazy" she said to herself looking back and forth between this unassuming lady. "She must be 100 years old and I swear those sunflowers are watching me."
The lady stood up and started walking toward her. Her gaze seemed to soften almost knowingly.
"I don't really know how to say this. I never usually tell anybody but I have this gift, well cursed talent really. I can..."
"I know know who you are and what you can do Chandra. I created you after all. Your purpose has always been to come here and find me this morning."
"What do you mean, my mother is back in Rochester and I flew out to Tuscany on a whim after hitting big at the casino."
"Yes, yes, very well but I've always been here guiding you to this little flower shop Chandra. You see today is my last day in this realm and you are here to replace me. I've been by you your entire life. When you were ten and went to the superintendents office and turned out all the lights. When you were 22 and met the President after saving those children and got your first taste of true power."
"Who are you?" Chandra could barely speak the words wondering how this little lady knew so much about her.
"No the question is still who are you? And since I can see you won't come to the answer on your own, let me tell you. You are me, or rather I am you. And you, me, we, are the alpha and omega, the April showers and the May flowers, the first day of spring and the longest night of winter. We are Mother Earth." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I'd given up my search a long time ago.
I eventually retired from my job at the CIA, where my skill came in handy, and moved far away from the noise and hustle of the city, to Italy. The most beautiful place in the world.
So, I bought a small, rustic house in the Italian countryside, in Fosdinovo, Tuscany. I didn't have a family or kids so life was fairly simple. Wake up, shower, go for a walk with Bosco (my golden retriever), walk around town by myself, have lunch, take a nap, have dinner, go to sleep.
I'd frequented most of the restaurants in the village by the time I'd hit the ten year mark of being a Fosdinovian. Hell, I'd frequented most of the stores too. But I never left Fosdinovo. Why should I? I'm too old to walk that far, and I don't own a car.
But one day, a restaurant owner whom I had become good friends with (and a loyal patron to) announced that she was getting married. I was so happy for her. I wanted to get her irises, her favourite flower, as congratulations.
But any Fosdinovian can tell you that in our small, snowy town, flowers are hard to come by. So for the first time in years, I arranged a taxi and drove out to the nearest flower shop.
First, let me tell you that I had given no thought to my ability ever since I retired. Yes, the numbers still popped up, and they were sometimes surprising (a ski rental shop in Fosdinovo is #391,867th!), but much like a stain on a pair of glasses, it faded into the background. There are so many more things to look at - we're in Italy, after all!
But it did no such thing when I exited the taxi and stared at this quaint flower shop. Its front walls were painted a pastel yellow, and it had small steps from the cobblestone path to the old, wooden door. It had plants outside, and a lantern above the door. It hardly looked like a flower shop.
But in big, white font, a number hung in the air.
*#1.*
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head in utter disbelief. What? How could a flower shop in Tuscany possibly be the most powerful organisation in the world?!
Naturally, I went in. Tentatively, of course, but walking away was not an option. Oh, you have no idea how much I wish it had been.
That day, my life - my entire perception of the world and how it was run was changed forever. Irreversibly. Profoundly. My skill, it seemed, was leading to this very moment, culminating in a global scandal of proportions indescribable.
You see, that quaint little flower shop, tucked away in a small section of Tuscany, was the birthplace - and current headquarters of the fabled organisation that ran the world behind the scenes, unbeknownst to seven billion people, save a few dozen. And now me, of course.
It was the stuff of myth and ancient rumours, rooted in truth. And that little flower shop held its lifeblood.
The Illuminati.
And it would seem like I'd just found it. | I have a superpower.
Yeah I know what your thinking, "no you don't, superpowers aren't real. Thor and Spiderman have superpowers, your just some idiot with an inflated sense of ego."
Believe what you will but, I'm not lying. In fact I'm telling the truth. Hell, this is the most truth you're ever going to read. You see, the entire world is a lie, you just don't know it. Superpowers are real, they always have been. It's just that...well it's hard to explain but, superpowers are still subject to the laws of physics. So yeah, no one is out leaping tall buildings in a single bound or flying around the sun so fast that they reverse time. Its more... mental I guess is how you'd describe it.
You see, my superpower is kind of like mind reading. Actually, more like clairvoyance since I don't actually read minds. Apparently it's a genetic fluke. Exceedingly, exceedingly rare. But according to my mentor, oh yeah we will get to that in a minute, but according to my mentor I have some extra chromosomes or ribosomes or something, it was all very scientific and Latin, but whatever they are they allow me to mentally "tap", if that's the right word, into time and information just by observing an object. For example, if I glance at a trashcan I can really only tell you that it's a trashcan. Maybe its color or if was open or closed. But if I focus on it, well, my mind can sort of paint of picture of that trashcan. I see its use. Where it's been. Faces of people who have interacted with it. When it was placed where I see it. When it was made and how. After a few minutes I know everything about that trashcan. After 20 minutes I can tell you where its component atoms came from in the Earth's crust. I once watched a glass of water for three hours with the intention of trying to get a handle on the creation of the Earth and the Universe but I cant really rush the process. As far as I could tell I was pretty much just stuck on "these molecules were stuck in the Pacific Ocean since about 1300 AD" before I got bored. It kind of limits me but I can tell you some wild stories...all in good time.
But that leads me to the start of the story and why we are here. This power I have, obviously it can lead me to learn a lot of really important, and really secret information. It also acts sort of like a spideysense. So if I look at my neighbors house for five minutes I can get a lot of information about it and my neighbors and the two families that lived in their before them. But my "sense" doesnt go haywire because it's really just a standard house and they were all pretty average, boring, people. But when i traveled to Washington DC for the first time on a school trip, when i was first coming to grips with these powers, my sense went bonkers. It was a flood of information in every which way. I could see Fonzy's jacket on Henry Winkler. I could see the slaves building the lower part of the Washington Monument. There's Teddy Roosevelt tromping through Rock Creek Park and Thomas Jefferson riding up Capitol Hill. There were lobbyist deals, bribes, slave auctions, protests, spy drops, motorcades, I could even see the journey of the marble being quarried from down the Potomac. I'll save the DC story for another time but to start I have to mention the feeling I had when I first saw the Capitol. It was overwhelming within maybe 20 seconds. Eventually I had to look away just to clear my mind. When I finally got a hold of myself, it took my several minutes of pure concentration before I could actually glean information from the building. Until then I was just awestruck by the sheer power and importance of the building. My old friend Tucker teased me in the gallery that day about how weird I was being but I was a 5th grader drunk on information, power, and everything that came with it.
I didn't think it would be topped. Until the next day when we toured the White House. I got an immediate headache just from catching a glimpse of the building behind the wrought iron bars from the Ellipse. Even once I got myself under control my head would briefly feel like i had intense sinus pressure whenever we entered a new room. The class was disappointed that we couldn't see the Oval Office, but I was just thankful. For nearly two decades, nothing has topped the sheer power and importance, the "presence" if you will of the White House.
And I've tried to surpass it.
I love to travel, though what I get out traveling probably differs widly from other peoples for obvious reasons. Since that day in the 5th grade I've felt some awe-inspiring presences, 10 Downing Street, the Pentagon, the New York Stock Exchange, the Palais de l'Élysée, the Facebook and Google campuses in California, the Kremlin...all of which told me those places held immense importance and weight in society. But none came close to that day in the White House.
Until three years ago when I was traveling from Rome to Florence. I was spending the week looking way too long at various ruins and museum pieces, trying to see the glory of ancient Rome in my minds eye, as one tends to do, when my ride stopped to refuel in a small town called Montevarchi. I was wandering around on Via del Lungo Isidoro just enjoying the atmosphere, not even tuned in with my superpower, when I caught a glimpse of a nondescript flower shop and dropped to the pavement in pain. The worst migraine I've ever had. At first I didn't even connect the pain to my power, why would I? What could possibly be in the middle of nowhere Italy that would be more important and powerful than the White House? It was only when I closed my eyes and the pain passed in a few seconds that I realized this wasn't a true migraine. I breathed, prepared myself, those acts always seemed to help and opened my eyes. Nothing. Just the street, the shops, some lights, red tile roofs, a few people. I scanned around, caught a glimpse of some roses and it was like someone took a hammer to my skull. This time I focused, breathed, dealt with the pain. I knew I could turn it off by closing my eyes but if I could just tolerate this tidal wave, I'd start making sense of this anomaly. To find a flower shop in the middle of Tuscany more powerful than the White House...I was going to get to the bottom of this. Then I started getting information...not much, just faces really. A bunch of people I didn't recognize, wait...was that Stephen Hawking? Was that Napoleon? I heard hundreds of languages, gleaned a few names...Einstein, Roosevelt, Hapsburg...I knew those. It hit me...it couldn't be...
"The illuminati..." I whispered as I tried to focus through the pain.
"No friend, but we inspired them."
My concentration snapped and the pain subsided as I turned around and saw a man smiling at me. He was very tan, maybe not even from Italy, though he wore an AC Milan polo. He reached out his hand to shake mine. I reciprocated, a little reluctantly.
"Mohammed, though you can call me Mo" he introduced himself.
"Brooks" I replied warily.
"Brooks if i might ask, what are you doing?"
"What do you mean what am i doing?"
"Well, for one it looked briefly like you had a seizure. Then you got up and you've been standing in the middle of the road for nearly ten minutes, most of which youve been spent glaring, seemingly in intense pain, at my flower shop...is everything okay?"
I hadn't realized in my concentration and pain that i had been making a jackass out of myself in the middle of a small Italian town for nearly a quarter of an hour.
"Ummm..."
"Or" Mo smiled. "Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye...would I be correct?"
I was flabbergasted. No one, I had never told anyone about my power other than my mom and dad and they would never let the secret slip. I had always assumed I was the only person.
"Your silence is deafening Brooks," Mo continued. "But it's alright, you see like yourself and like my little old flower shop, there is much more to this world than meets the eye. Would you like me to show you or would you like me to leave you here gawking in the street at my carnations?"
He walked slowly to the shop and gestured for me to follow him. I looked at the shop and the pain creeped back into my head.
Inspired the illuminati...
More to this world than meets the eye...
Against my better judgment, I followed him. | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I am a fixer.
One who solves the world's problems, no matter how dirty the task may be. Taking down corrupt governments, destroying terrorist organizations from the inside out and the occasional helping a crying kid find his lost dog. In my quest to do so, I've developed this so-called "ability" to understand the power of an organization just by observing their headquarters. Many find this trait of mine to be some sort of physic ability but with my background and an eye for detail, it's more like a worker's intuition.
One day, I was walking down a small side street while on my vacation from Tuscany. I took a stab in the gut when hunting down a serial murder in the slums of Beijing. Careless on my part but I returned the favor with several bullet holes.
As I continued to walk, I found myself next to a quaint flower shop, selling the typical ornamental foliage, roses, daffodils and the like. As soon as I bent down to inspect them, wondering if I should grab some for the lovely receptionest girl at my hotel, I felt my heart freeze in place. Looking up, the place seemed indistinct from the other buildings around from it, but from the feeling I just felt in my gut, I know. This is the most powerful organization in the world.
Now, either this place has a hand at every damn flower purchase in the world or has enough nuclear firepower in its basement to destroy Earth 100 times over. With sweat trailing my forehead and a nervous smile creeping over my face, I walk in.
Beautiful flowers adorn every shelf and small seed packets are neatly organized along short stands. The surprise of the normalcy of this shop takes me aback. Am I losing my touch? No... no... no... there must be some kind of hidden secret to this place. As I slowly wander around, taking in the surroundings, I hear a cheerful voice greet me in Italian.
"Hello there sir, what can I do for ya today?" He asks me in a quiet but rough dialect.
"Oh, hello... I was just taking a look around."
"Let me know if you need anything." He responds with a beaming smile.
Standing behind the counter, a young boy at about 15 years with gray-white hair looks at me with kind eyes. His frail body barely looks like it can hold up a large pot and his work overalls are lacking any noticeable weapons. This feeling though... he's the reason why this shop is the number one in the world. This one small kid is more powerful than every armament, every expert assassin and without even trying, more powerful than me.
I sidle up next to the bench, lay my hand on it and ask for a bouquet of their prettiest flowers. The small kid gets to work and makes a wonderful display that he quietly hands me and with an exchange of cash, I find myself out of the store.
Walking back down the street I was going, I can't help but self-reflect. My goal is to become the strongest in the world, to never allow myself to lose to anyone and yet I can't even shape up to that kid. Maybe, I should quit... I've done enough, saved countless lives and done a lot of good in the world.
As these negative thoughts plague my mind, I notice a small card hidden among the bouquet I got from the shop. Opening it I find a simple message written in elegant writing.
"Keep up the hard work Mister F."
"Hahaha." A small chuckle escapes my lips as I realize my pointless rumination. That kid sure is something else, huh?
"I've still got a long way to go."
With flowers in hand, I make my way back to my hotel thinking about what my next job will be.
Author: Pistolero2314
(Criticism is welcome, I am very new to creative writing.) | I have a superpower.
Yeah I know what your thinking, "no you don't, superpowers aren't real. Thor and Spiderman have superpowers, your just some idiot with an inflated sense of ego."
Believe what you will but, I'm not lying. In fact I'm telling the truth. Hell, this is the most truth you're ever going to read. You see, the entire world is a lie, you just don't know it. Superpowers are real, they always have been. It's just that...well it's hard to explain but, superpowers are still subject to the laws of physics. So yeah, no one is out leaping tall buildings in a single bound or flying around the sun so fast that they reverse time. Its more... mental I guess is how you'd describe it.
You see, my superpower is kind of like mind reading. Actually, more like clairvoyance since I don't actually read minds. Apparently it's a genetic fluke. Exceedingly, exceedingly rare. But according to my mentor, oh yeah we will get to that in a minute, but according to my mentor I have some extra chromosomes or ribosomes or something, it was all very scientific and Latin, but whatever they are they allow me to mentally "tap", if that's the right word, into time and information just by observing an object. For example, if I glance at a trashcan I can really only tell you that it's a trashcan. Maybe its color or if was open or closed. But if I focus on it, well, my mind can sort of paint of picture of that trashcan. I see its use. Where it's been. Faces of people who have interacted with it. When it was placed where I see it. When it was made and how. After a few minutes I know everything about that trashcan. After 20 minutes I can tell you where its component atoms came from in the Earth's crust. I once watched a glass of water for three hours with the intention of trying to get a handle on the creation of the Earth and the Universe but I cant really rush the process. As far as I could tell I was pretty much just stuck on "these molecules were stuck in the Pacific Ocean since about 1300 AD" before I got bored. It kind of limits me but I can tell you some wild stories...all in good time.
But that leads me to the start of the story and why we are here. This power I have, obviously it can lead me to learn a lot of really important, and really secret information. It also acts sort of like a spideysense. So if I look at my neighbors house for five minutes I can get a lot of information about it and my neighbors and the two families that lived in their before them. But my "sense" doesnt go haywire because it's really just a standard house and they were all pretty average, boring, people. But when i traveled to Washington DC for the first time on a school trip, when i was first coming to grips with these powers, my sense went bonkers. It was a flood of information in every which way. I could see Fonzy's jacket on Henry Winkler. I could see the slaves building the lower part of the Washington Monument. There's Teddy Roosevelt tromping through Rock Creek Park and Thomas Jefferson riding up Capitol Hill. There were lobbyist deals, bribes, slave auctions, protests, spy drops, motorcades, I could even see the journey of the marble being quarried from down the Potomac. I'll save the DC story for another time but to start I have to mention the feeling I had when I first saw the Capitol. It was overwhelming within maybe 20 seconds. Eventually I had to look away just to clear my mind. When I finally got a hold of myself, it took my several minutes of pure concentration before I could actually glean information from the building. Until then I was just awestruck by the sheer power and importance of the building. My old friend Tucker teased me in the gallery that day about how weird I was being but I was a 5th grader drunk on information, power, and everything that came with it.
I didn't think it would be topped. Until the next day when we toured the White House. I got an immediate headache just from catching a glimpse of the building behind the wrought iron bars from the Ellipse. Even once I got myself under control my head would briefly feel like i had intense sinus pressure whenever we entered a new room. The class was disappointed that we couldn't see the Oval Office, but I was just thankful. For nearly two decades, nothing has topped the sheer power and importance, the "presence" if you will of the White House.
And I've tried to surpass it.
I love to travel, though what I get out traveling probably differs widly from other peoples for obvious reasons. Since that day in the 5th grade I've felt some awe-inspiring presences, 10 Downing Street, the Pentagon, the New York Stock Exchange, the Palais de l'Élysée, the Facebook and Google campuses in California, the Kremlin...all of which told me those places held immense importance and weight in society. But none came close to that day in the White House.
Until three years ago when I was traveling from Rome to Florence. I was spending the week looking way too long at various ruins and museum pieces, trying to see the glory of ancient Rome in my minds eye, as one tends to do, when my ride stopped to refuel in a small town called Montevarchi. I was wandering around on Via del Lungo Isidoro just enjoying the atmosphere, not even tuned in with my superpower, when I caught a glimpse of a nondescript flower shop and dropped to the pavement in pain. The worst migraine I've ever had. At first I didn't even connect the pain to my power, why would I? What could possibly be in the middle of nowhere Italy that would be more important and powerful than the White House? It was only when I closed my eyes and the pain passed in a few seconds that I realized this wasn't a true migraine. I breathed, prepared myself, those acts always seemed to help and opened my eyes. Nothing. Just the street, the shops, some lights, red tile roofs, a few people. I scanned around, caught a glimpse of some roses and it was like someone took a hammer to my skull. This time I focused, breathed, dealt with the pain. I knew I could turn it off by closing my eyes but if I could just tolerate this tidal wave, I'd start making sense of this anomaly. To find a flower shop in the middle of Tuscany more powerful than the White House...I was going to get to the bottom of this. Then I started getting information...not much, just faces really. A bunch of people I didn't recognize, wait...was that Stephen Hawking? Was that Napoleon? I heard hundreds of languages, gleaned a few names...Einstein, Roosevelt, Hapsburg...I knew those. It hit me...it couldn't be...
"The illuminati..." I whispered as I tried to focus through the pain.
"No friend, but we inspired them."
My concentration snapped and the pain subsided as I turned around and saw a man smiling at me. He was very tan, maybe not even from Italy, though he wore an AC Milan polo. He reached out his hand to shake mine. I reciprocated, a little reluctantly.
"Mohammed, though you can call me Mo" he introduced himself.
"Brooks" I replied warily.
"Brooks if i might ask, what are you doing?"
"What do you mean what am i doing?"
"Well, for one it looked briefly like you had a seizure. Then you got up and you've been standing in the middle of the road for nearly ten minutes, most of which youve been spent glaring, seemingly in intense pain, at my flower shop...is everything okay?"
I hadn't realized in my concentration and pain that i had been making a jackass out of myself in the middle of a small Italian town for nearly a quarter of an hour.
"Ummm..."
"Or" Mo smiled. "Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye...would I be correct?"
I was flabbergasted. No one, I had never told anyone about my power other than my mom and dad and they would never let the secret slip. I had always assumed I was the only person.
"Your silence is deafening Brooks," Mo continued. "But it's alright, you see like yourself and like my little old flower shop, there is much more to this world than meets the eye. Would you like me to show you or would you like me to leave you here gawking in the street at my carnations?"
He walked slowly to the shop and gestured for me to follow him. I looked at the shop and the pain creeped back into my head.
Inspired the illuminati...
More to this world than meets the eye...
Against my better judgment, I followed him. | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | You ended up deciding to see what the big deal with the flower shop was.
You bought a flower one day and brought it back to your hotel room but it did not feel all that special.
You go home and stay there for a few years along with pressing the flower in a journal.
You have looked back and the question is still killing you why is it so special.
You go back and this time you see that they are hiring someone part time.
All or nothing
You take the job and still you can’t find what the answer is, the owner is this kind 30 ish year old looking man always reading a book.
You are working your hardest but you can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Your boss is nice and really loves to read but other then that it’s just your normal job.
Summer comes to a close.
You ask the boss if he will need help next year and the boss then asks if you want to stay full time. Your curiosity gets the better of you. You can’t help it.
You stay for one year and then two. You start getting board so you also start to become an avid reader. The boss says people don’t usually stay this long and that it’s nice to have some company.
You noticed that the boss sends out a few emails he says he’s just sending some social emails no big deal.
2 years turns into ten and you can’t find anything out of place so you think about quitting but you like selling flowers they smell nice.
You decide to go home for a visit see how the family’s doing. Everyone says that your looking great and they are all along with their lives. Your brother is married and he’s even expecting. You still kind of want to go back to your flowers.
20 years pass and now your well invested into selling flowers and reading tons of books but you still need to visit home as your mother is dying.
Your brother says that his son can pick you up from the airport and that he is so excited to see you after so long.
You wait for a while and get a call from your brother telling you that it seems his son could not find you and if you could tell him some identifiable traits. You tell him what your wearing and then your brother directs his son to pick you up.
His son says that he did not think you would look so young and that’s why he could not tell. He said that if he did not know better you would seem to be in your 30’s. You both laugh it off but it still feels a little off.
At your mothers death bed you sit with your family and you feel a little alienated which makes sense as you have been gone for so long but you still want to see your mother. You look at her and she is startled at your youth but embraces you afterwords. She died 5 days later.
After the procession you go back to your flowers and notice that your boss still looks like he is thirty ish which is weird being that you have worked their for 30 years.
In this time corporations have rose and fallen. Yet the flower shop is still number one. It does not feel weird anymore just normal. You have fallen in love with reading books and spend half of your day just reading.
40 years pass and now your brother is sick you decide to visit home one last time. His son picks you up again and he mentions that you have not changed a bit even though now the son is starting to get on his years.
Your brother says the same thing. You have not changed a bit similar situation to when your mom died. Now you see a lot of new faces in the family and a lot of old faces are gone. You think this is the last time your going to go home. You give a calling card to your nephew if he needs you and after the funeral you go back to the flower shop.
Your curiosity is killing your. You want to know why the shop is number one so you ask your boss if there is anything particularly special about this shop.
He tells you not really only that it has been around for a long time and that people sometimes call asking for advice.
It’s been a while and you have a visitor coming to see you. Apparently it’s your great grand nephew who found your calling card in his dead grandpas belongings. He wanted to know more about his dead grandpa but you don’t really know much. After all you only really knew your brother but you tell him what you knew.
The discussion turns to different things from stories to politics to physics. After talking with you he seems to have had a moment of inspiration and says he had to go home. He wants to talk to you again he says.
You did not see anything that relevant in what you said but 2 weeks later a paper which turned out to be revolutionary was published and you were one of the sources.
You boss looks over your shoulder and congratulated you on your first citation.
You finally start to understand why the flower shop is so important.
You ask your boss how old he is and he says that he might be around 500-600 years old.
One can’t read that many books and not learn something.
But in the end it’s just a small flower shop with some bookworms who answer questions.
The end. | I have a superpower.
Yeah I know what your thinking, "no you don't, superpowers aren't real. Thor and Spiderman have superpowers, your just some idiot with an inflated sense of ego."
Believe what you will but, I'm not lying. In fact I'm telling the truth. Hell, this is the most truth you're ever going to read. You see, the entire world is a lie, you just don't know it. Superpowers are real, they always have been. It's just that...well it's hard to explain but, superpowers are still subject to the laws of physics. So yeah, no one is out leaping tall buildings in a single bound or flying around the sun so fast that they reverse time. Its more... mental I guess is how you'd describe it.
You see, my superpower is kind of like mind reading. Actually, more like clairvoyance since I don't actually read minds. Apparently it's a genetic fluke. Exceedingly, exceedingly rare. But according to my mentor, oh yeah we will get to that in a minute, but according to my mentor I have some extra chromosomes or ribosomes or something, it was all very scientific and Latin, but whatever they are they allow me to mentally "tap", if that's the right word, into time and information just by observing an object. For example, if I glance at a trashcan I can really only tell you that it's a trashcan. Maybe its color or if was open or closed. But if I focus on it, well, my mind can sort of paint of picture of that trashcan. I see its use. Where it's been. Faces of people who have interacted with it. When it was placed where I see it. When it was made and how. After a few minutes I know everything about that trashcan. After 20 minutes I can tell you where its component atoms came from in the Earth's crust. I once watched a glass of water for three hours with the intention of trying to get a handle on the creation of the Earth and the Universe but I cant really rush the process. As far as I could tell I was pretty much just stuck on "these molecules were stuck in the Pacific Ocean since about 1300 AD" before I got bored. It kind of limits me but I can tell you some wild stories...all in good time.
But that leads me to the start of the story and why we are here. This power I have, obviously it can lead me to learn a lot of really important, and really secret information. It also acts sort of like a spideysense. So if I look at my neighbors house for five minutes I can get a lot of information about it and my neighbors and the two families that lived in their before them. But my "sense" doesnt go haywire because it's really just a standard house and they were all pretty average, boring, people. But when i traveled to Washington DC for the first time on a school trip, when i was first coming to grips with these powers, my sense went bonkers. It was a flood of information in every which way. I could see Fonzy's jacket on Henry Winkler. I could see the slaves building the lower part of the Washington Monument. There's Teddy Roosevelt tromping through Rock Creek Park and Thomas Jefferson riding up Capitol Hill. There were lobbyist deals, bribes, slave auctions, protests, spy drops, motorcades, I could even see the journey of the marble being quarried from down the Potomac. I'll save the DC story for another time but to start I have to mention the feeling I had when I first saw the Capitol. It was overwhelming within maybe 20 seconds. Eventually I had to look away just to clear my mind. When I finally got a hold of myself, it took my several minutes of pure concentration before I could actually glean information from the building. Until then I was just awestruck by the sheer power and importance of the building. My old friend Tucker teased me in the gallery that day about how weird I was being but I was a 5th grader drunk on information, power, and everything that came with it.
I didn't think it would be topped. Until the next day when we toured the White House. I got an immediate headache just from catching a glimpse of the building behind the wrought iron bars from the Ellipse. Even once I got myself under control my head would briefly feel like i had intense sinus pressure whenever we entered a new room. The class was disappointed that we couldn't see the Oval Office, but I was just thankful. For nearly two decades, nothing has topped the sheer power and importance, the "presence" if you will of the White House.
And I've tried to surpass it.
I love to travel, though what I get out traveling probably differs widly from other peoples for obvious reasons. Since that day in the 5th grade I've felt some awe-inspiring presences, 10 Downing Street, the Pentagon, the New York Stock Exchange, the Palais de l'Élysée, the Facebook and Google campuses in California, the Kremlin...all of which told me those places held immense importance and weight in society. But none came close to that day in the White House.
Until three years ago when I was traveling from Rome to Florence. I was spending the week looking way too long at various ruins and museum pieces, trying to see the glory of ancient Rome in my minds eye, as one tends to do, when my ride stopped to refuel in a small town called Montevarchi. I was wandering around on Via del Lungo Isidoro just enjoying the atmosphere, not even tuned in with my superpower, when I caught a glimpse of a nondescript flower shop and dropped to the pavement in pain. The worst migraine I've ever had. At first I didn't even connect the pain to my power, why would I? What could possibly be in the middle of nowhere Italy that would be more important and powerful than the White House? It was only when I closed my eyes and the pain passed in a few seconds that I realized this wasn't a true migraine. I breathed, prepared myself, those acts always seemed to help and opened my eyes. Nothing. Just the street, the shops, some lights, red tile roofs, a few people. I scanned around, caught a glimpse of some roses and it was like someone took a hammer to my skull. This time I focused, breathed, dealt with the pain. I knew I could turn it off by closing my eyes but if I could just tolerate this tidal wave, I'd start making sense of this anomaly. To find a flower shop in the middle of Tuscany more powerful than the White House...I was going to get to the bottom of this. Then I started getting information...not much, just faces really. A bunch of people I didn't recognize, wait...was that Stephen Hawking? Was that Napoleon? I heard hundreds of languages, gleaned a few names...Einstein, Roosevelt, Hapsburg...I knew those. It hit me...it couldn't be...
"The illuminati..." I whispered as I tried to focus through the pain.
"No friend, but we inspired them."
My concentration snapped and the pain subsided as I turned around and saw a man smiling at me. He was very tan, maybe not even from Italy, though he wore an AC Milan polo. He reached out his hand to shake mine. I reciprocated, a little reluctantly.
"Mohammed, though you can call me Mo" he introduced himself.
"Brooks" I replied warily.
"Brooks if i might ask, what are you doing?"
"What do you mean what am i doing?"
"Well, for one it looked briefly like you had a seizure. Then you got up and you've been standing in the middle of the road for nearly ten minutes, most of which youve been spent glaring, seemingly in intense pain, at my flower shop...is everything okay?"
I hadn't realized in my concentration and pain that i had been making a jackass out of myself in the middle of a small Italian town for nearly a quarter of an hour.
"Ummm..."
"Or" Mo smiled. "Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye...would I be correct?"
I was flabbergasted. No one, I had never told anyone about my power other than my mom and dad and they would never let the secret slip. I had always assumed I was the only person.
"Your silence is deafening Brooks," Mo continued. "But it's alright, you see like yourself and like my little old flower shop, there is much more to this world than meets the eye. Would you like me to show you or would you like me to leave you here gawking in the street at my carnations?"
He walked slowly to the shop and gestured for me to follow him. I looked at the shop and the pain creeped back into my head.
Inspired the illuminati...
More to this world than meets the eye...
Against my better judgment, I followed him. | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I am a fixer.
One who solves the world's problems, no matter how dirty the task may be. Taking down corrupt governments, destroying terrorist organizations from the inside out and the occasional helping a crying kid find his lost dog. In my quest to do so, I've developed this so-called "ability" to understand the power of an organization just by observing their headquarters. Many find this trait of mine to be some sort of physic ability but with my background and an eye for detail, it's more like a worker's intuition.
One day, I was walking down a small side street while on my vacation from Tuscany. I took a stab in the gut when hunting down a serial murder in the slums of Beijing. Careless on my part but I returned the favor with several bullet holes.
As I continued to walk, I found myself next to a quaint flower shop, selling the typical ornamental foliage, roses, daffodils and the like. As soon as I bent down to inspect them, wondering if I should grab some for the lovely receptionest girl at my hotel, I felt my heart freeze in place. Looking up, the place seemed indistinct from the other buildings around from it, but from the feeling I just felt in my gut, I know. This is the most powerful organization in the world.
Now, either this place has a hand at every damn flower purchase in the world or has enough nuclear firepower in its basement to destroy Earth 100 times over. With sweat trailing my forehead and a nervous smile creeping over my face, I walk in.
Beautiful flowers adorn every shelf and small seed packets are neatly organized along short stands. The surprise of the normalcy of this shop takes me aback. Am I losing my touch? No... no... no... there must be some kind of hidden secret to this place. As I slowly wander around, taking in the surroundings, I hear a cheerful voice greet me in Italian.
"Hello there sir, what can I do for ya today?" He asks me in a quiet but rough dialect.
"Oh, hello... I was just taking a look around."
"Let me know if you need anything." He responds with a beaming smile.
Standing behind the counter, a young boy at about 15 years with gray-white hair looks at me with kind eyes. His frail body barely looks like it can hold up a large pot and his work overalls are lacking any noticeable weapons. This feeling though... he's the reason why this shop is the number one in the world. This one small kid is more powerful than every armament, every expert assassin and without even trying, more powerful than me.
I sidle up next to the bench, lay my hand on it and ask for a bouquet of their prettiest flowers. The small kid gets to work and makes a wonderful display that he quietly hands me and with an exchange of cash, I find myself out of the store.
Walking back down the street I was going, I can't help but self-reflect. My goal is to become the strongest in the world, to never allow myself to lose to anyone and yet I can't even shape up to that kid. Maybe, I should quit... I've done enough, saved countless lives and done a lot of good in the world.
As these negative thoughts plague my mind, I notice a small card hidden among the bouquet I got from the shop. Opening it I find a simple message written in elegant writing.
"Keep up the hard work Mister F."
"Hahaha." A small chuckle escapes my lips as I realize my pointless rumination. That kid sure is something else, huh?
"I've still got a long way to go."
With flowers in hand, I make my way back to my hotel thinking about what my next job will be.
Author: Pistolero2314
(Criticism is welcome, I am very new to creative writing.) | As you pull open the simple glass door, the knowing chime of a tiny brass bell announces your arrival.
A small man leans away from a bright blue vase. The vase was empty of but a few stems, two white daffodils and a yellow daisy.
"Can I help you with something?"
You pause for a moment, still confused about what this place really is, hoping your face isn't giving anything away.
Quickly you recover, "I was out looking for something for my mother's birthday. I happened to be in the neighborhood and just noticed this place."
The man silently looked you over, then shuffled around the blue vase before replying, "Let's be honest with each other, I can tell you notice quite a bit, and that you'd like to know more. I can show you what's so important here, but it's quite a bit of work."
Before you could say anything, the man quickly shuffles past you and rotates the open sign, so that it now reads closed. You hadn't seen the sign was in one of those typefaces that changes the word when you change the orientation.
"Have you heard of Ikebana?"
You nod your head not knowing where this is going, but you're game, if just for a bit.
"In Ikebana, the negative space is just as important as the flowers in the vase. In reality the arrangement itself isn't even the whole of it. It's the arranger, it's the giver, it's the receiver, it's their history, it's the whole of the universe. As I move flowers, I can see everything that is, was, or will be. Knowledge is not created it is found in our perspectives."
You're now thinking this man is really on something and that you must have been mistaken. Glancing at the wall past him you notice a wall with a lot of thank you notes, some new some worn by unknown amounts of time. You can make out names of historical figures and leaders of innovation, old and new.
"I try to show anyone who will listen. Some take my advice and see things they've never seen before and others don't."
Imperceptibly, the man had continued arranging flowers.
"This is for you,'' he said as he shoved the vase across the counter.
There it was. As if for the first time, you saw everything, and it made sense.
Happily, you strolled out the door with new meaning and a wonderful gift for your mother.
Swinging closed, you chuckle at the sign on the door, Giordano Bruno's Meaningful Arrangements. | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | You ended up deciding to see what the big deal with the flower shop was.
You bought a flower one day and brought it back to your hotel room but it did not feel all that special.
You go home and stay there for a few years along with pressing the flower in a journal.
You have looked back and the question is still killing you why is it so special.
You go back and this time you see that they are hiring someone part time.
All or nothing
You take the job and still you can’t find what the answer is, the owner is this kind 30 ish year old looking man always reading a book.
You are working your hardest but you can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Your boss is nice and really loves to read but other then that it’s just your normal job.
Summer comes to a close.
You ask the boss if he will need help next year and the boss then asks if you want to stay full time. Your curiosity gets the better of you. You can’t help it.
You stay for one year and then two. You start getting board so you also start to become an avid reader. The boss says people don’t usually stay this long and that it’s nice to have some company.
You noticed that the boss sends out a few emails he says he’s just sending some social emails no big deal.
2 years turns into ten and you can’t find anything out of place so you think about quitting but you like selling flowers they smell nice.
You decide to go home for a visit see how the family’s doing. Everyone says that your looking great and they are all along with their lives. Your brother is married and he’s even expecting. You still kind of want to go back to your flowers.
20 years pass and now your well invested into selling flowers and reading tons of books but you still need to visit home as your mother is dying.
Your brother says that his son can pick you up from the airport and that he is so excited to see you after so long.
You wait for a while and get a call from your brother telling you that it seems his son could not find you and if you could tell him some identifiable traits. You tell him what your wearing and then your brother directs his son to pick you up.
His son says that he did not think you would look so young and that’s why he could not tell. He said that if he did not know better you would seem to be in your 30’s. You both laugh it off but it still feels a little off.
At your mothers death bed you sit with your family and you feel a little alienated which makes sense as you have been gone for so long but you still want to see your mother. You look at her and she is startled at your youth but embraces you afterwords. She died 5 days later.
After the procession you go back to your flowers and notice that your boss still looks like he is thirty ish which is weird being that you have worked their for 30 years.
In this time corporations have rose and fallen. Yet the flower shop is still number one. It does not feel weird anymore just normal. You have fallen in love with reading books and spend half of your day just reading.
40 years pass and now your brother is sick you decide to visit home one last time. His son picks you up again and he mentions that you have not changed a bit even though now the son is starting to get on his years.
Your brother says the same thing. You have not changed a bit similar situation to when your mom died. Now you see a lot of new faces in the family and a lot of old faces are gone. You think this is the last time your going to go home. You give a calling card to your nephew if he needs you and after the funeral you go back to the flower shop.
Your curiosity is killing your. You want to know why the shop is number one so you ask your boss if there is anything particularly special about this shop.
He tells you not really only that it has been around for a long time and that people sometimes call asking for advice.
It’s been a while and you have a visitor coming to see you. Apparently it’s your great grand nephew who found your calling card in his dead grandpas belongings. He wanted to know more about his dead grandpa but you don’t really know much. After all you only really knew your brother but you tell him what you knew.
The discussion turns to different things from stories to politics to physics. After talking with you he seems to have had a moment of inspiration and says he had to go home. He wants to talk to you again he says.
You did not see anything that relevant in what you said but 2 weeks later a paper which turned out to be revolutionary was published and you were one of the sources.
You boss looks over your shoulder and congratulated you on your first citation.
You finally start to understand why the flower shop is so important.
You ask your boss how old he is and he says that he might be around 500-600 years old.
One can’t read that many books and not learn something.
But in the end it’s just a small flower shop with some bookworms who answer questions.
The end. | As you pull open the simple glass door, the knowing chime of a tiny brass bell announces your arrival.
A small man leans away from a bright blue vase. The vase was empty of but a few stems, two white daffodils and a yellow daisy.
"Can I help you with something?"
You pause for a moment, still confused about what this place really is, hoping your face isn't giving anything away.
Quickly you recover, "I was out looking for something for my mother's birthday. I happened to be in the neighborhood and just noticed this place."
The man silently looked you over, then shuffled around the blue vase before replying, "Let's be honest with each other, I can tell you notice quite a bit, and that you'd like to know more. I can show you what's so important here, but it's quite a bit of work."
Before you could say anything, the man quickly shuffles past you and rotates the open sign, so that it now reads closed. You hadn't seen the sign was in one of those typefaces that changes the word when you change the orientation.
"Have you heard of Ikebana?"
You nod your head not knowing where this is going, but you're game, if just for a bit.
"In Ikebana, the negative space is just as important as the flowers in the vase. In reality the arrangement itself isn't even the whole of it. It's the arranger, it's the giver, it's the receiver, it's their history, it's the whole of the universe. As I move flowers, I can see everything that is, was, or will be. Knowledge is not created it is found in our perspectives."
You're now thinking this man is really on something and that you must have been mistaken. Glancing at the wall past him you notice a wall with a lot of thank you notes, some new some worn by unknown amounts of time. You can make out names of historical figures and leaders of innovation, old and new.
"I try to show anyone who will listen. Some take my advice and see things they've never seen before and others don't."
Imperceptibly, the man had continued arranging flowers.
"This is for you,'' he said as he shoved the vase across the counter.
There it was. As if for the first time, you saw everything, and it made sense.
Happily, you strolled out the door with new meaning and a wonderful gift for your mother.
Swinging closed, you chuckle at the sign on the door, Giordano Bruno's Meaningful Arrangements. | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I am a fixer.
One who solves the world's problems, no matter how dirty the task may be. Taking down corrupt governments, destroying terrorist organizations from the inside out and the occasional helping a crying kid find his lost dog. In my quest to do so, I've developed this so-called "ability" to understand the power of an organization just by observing their headquarters. Many find this trait of mine to be some sort of physic ability but with my background and an eye for detail, it's more like a worker's intuition.
One day, I was walking down a small side street while on my vacation from Tuscany. I took a stab in the gut when hunting down a serial murder in the slums of Beijing. Careless on my part but I returned the favor with several bullet holes.
As I continued to walk, I found myself next to a quaint flower shop, selling the typical ornamental foliage, roses, daffodils and the like. As soon as I bent down to inspect them, wondering if I should grab some for the lovely receptionest girl at my hotel, I felt my heart freeze in place. Looking up, the place seemed indistinct from the other buildings around from it, but from the feeling I just felt in my gut, I know. This is the most powerful organization in the world.
Now, either this place has a hand at every damn flower purchase in the world or has enough nuclear firepower in its basement to destroy Earth 100 times over. With sweat trailing my forehead and a nervous smile creeping over my face, I walk in.
Beautiful flowers adorn every shelf and small seed packets are neatly organized along short stands. The surprise of the normalcy of this shop takes me aback. Am I losing my touch? No... no... no... there must be some kind of hidden secret to this place. As I slowly wander around, taking in the surroundings, I hear a cheerful voice greet me in Italian.
"Hello there sir, what can I do for ya today?" He asks me in a quiet but rough dialect.
"Oh, hello... I was just taking a look around."
"Let me know if you need anything." He responds with a beaming smile.
Standing behind the counter, a young boy at about 15 years with gray-white hair looks at me with kind eyes. His frail body barely looks like it can hold up a large pot and his work overalls are lacking any noticeable weapons. This feeling though... he's the reason why this shop is the number one in the world. This one small kid is more powerful than every armament, every expert assassin and without even trying, more powerful than me.
I sidle up next to the bench, lay my hand on it and ask for a bouquet of their prettiest flowers. The small kid gets to work and makes a wonderful display that he quietly hands me and with an exchange of cash, I find myself out of the store.
Walking back down the street I was going, I can't help but self-reflect. My goal is to become the strongest in the world, to never allow myself to lose to anyone and yet I can't even shape up to that kid. Maybe, I should quit... I've done enough, saved countless lives and done a lot of good in the world.
As these negative thoughts plague my mind, I notice a small card hidden among the bouquet I got from the shop. Opening it I find a simple message written in elegant writing.
"Keep up the hard work Mister F."
"Hahaha." A small chuckle escapes my lips as I realize my pointless rumination. That kid sure is something else, huh?
"I've still got a long way to go."
With flowers in hand, I make my way back to my hotel thinking about what my next job will be.
Author: Pistolero2314
(Criticism is welcome, I am very new to creative writing.) | It smelled like forever, a forgotten time from childhood, that moment of perfect comfort.
It was wrong.
In this small, hole in the wall shop in Tuscany, I've achieved Nirvana. At least, I'm closer than I was when finding s2, the weird cultists in Africa. Or s3 and 4, who had no idea they lived on the same street in spitsbergen.
Well not "in". I didn't have the balls to really enter the place until today. I'd simply rotated around it for the last 3 years. Nothing could stop the pull, it was an inexorable force, dragging me closer with the scent of beautiful... Beautiful something.
Yet it was wrong. I knew stepping in here was a rush, risk, and probably damnation. Yet I stepped in to hear a two tone Bell jingling behind me. A child of no more than 8 years was sitting on the counter, body unmoving as the door closed and the jingle silenced.
Not standing behind it, not sitting behind it, sitting on the counter. One hand frozen in position pointing at the sky. Another hand pointing down at the potted plants, seeds, and other aspects of flora.
The child didn't move. Not once, not at all, with it's eyes closed I started to wonder whether I was crazy. Was this some statuesque model? No.
"It's been a long time..."
The porcelain visage doesn't move in the slightest, yet I can feel, no, LIVE, the words as they crash through my mind.
"It's been a long time, Big Brother." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | You ended up deciding to see what the big deal with the flower shop was.
You bought a flower one day and brought it back to your hotel room but it did not feel all that special.
You go home and stay there for a few years along with pressing the flower in a journal.
You have looked back and the question is still killing you why is it so special.
You go back and this time you see that they are hiring someone part time.
All or nothing
You take the job and still you can’t find what the answer is, the owner is this kind 30 ish year old looking man always reading a book.
You are working your hardest but you can’t find anything out of the ordinary. Your boss is nice and really loves to read but other then that it’s just your normal job.
Summer comes to a close.
You ask the boss if he will need help next year and the boss then asks if you want to stay full time. Your curiosity gets the better of you. You can’t help it.
You stay for one year and then two. You start getting board so you also start to become an avid reader. The boss says people don’t usually stay this long and that it’s nice to have some company.
You noticed that the boss sends out a few emails he says he’s just sending some social emails no big deal.
2 years turns into ten and you can’t find anything out of place so you think about quitting but you like selling flowers they smell nice.
You decide to go home for a visit see how the family’s doing. Everyone says that your looking great and they are all along with their lives. Your brother is married and he’s even expecting. You still kind of want to go back to your flowers.
20 years pass and now your well invested into selling flowers and reading tons of books but you still need to visit home as your mother is dying.
Your brother says that his son can pick you up from the airport and that he is so excited to see you after so long.
You wait for a while and get a call from your brother telling you that it seems his son could not find you and if you could tell him some identifiable traits. You tell him what your wearing and then your brother directs his son to pick you up.
His son says that he did not think you would look so young and that’s why he could not tell. He said that if he did not know better you would seem to be in your 30’s. You both laugh it off but it still feels a little off.
At your mothers death bed you sit with your family and you feel a little alienated which makes sense as you have been gone for so long but you still want to see your mother. You look at her and she is startled at your youth but embraces you afterwords. She died 5 days later.
After the procession you go back to your flowers and notice that your boss still looks like he is thirty ish which is weird being that you have worked their for 30 years.
In this time corporations have rose and fallen. Yet the flower shop is still number one. It does not feel weird anymore just normal. You have fallen in love with reading books and spend half of your day just reading.
40 years pass and now your brother is sick you decide to visit home one last time. His son picks you up again and he mentions that you have not changed a bit even though now the son is starting to get on his years.
Your brother says the same thing. You have not changed a bit similar situation to when your mom died. Now you see a lot of new faces in the family and a lot of old faces are gone. You think this is the last time your going to go home. You give a calling card to your nephew if he needs you and after the funeral you go back to the flower shop.
Your curiosity is killing your. You want to know why the shop is number one so you ask your boss if there is anything particularly special about this shop.
He tells you not really only that it has been around for a long time and that people sometimes call asking for advice.
It’s been a while and you have a visitor coming to see you. Apparently it’s your great grand nephew who found your calling card in his dead grandpas belongings. He wanted to know more about his dead grandpa but you don’t really know much. After all you only really knew your brother but you tell him what you knew.
The discussion turns to different things from stories to politics to physics. After talking with you he seems to have had a moment of inspiration and says he had to go home. He wants to talk to you again he says.
You did not see anything that relevant in what you said but 2 weeks later a paper which turned out to be revolutionary was published and you were one of the sources.
You boss looks over your shoulder and congratulated you on your first citation.
You finally start to understand why the flower shop is so important.
You ask your boss how old he is and he says that he might be around 500-600 years old.
One can’t read that many books and not learn something.
But in the end it’s just a small flower shop with some bookworms who answer questions.
The end. | It smelled like forever, a forgotten time from childhood, that moment of perfect comfort.
It was wrong.
In this small, hole in the wall shop in Tuscany, I've achieved Nirvana. At least, I'm closer than I was when finding s2, the weird cultists in Africa. Or s3 and 4, who had no idea they lived on the same street in spitsbergen.
Well not "in". I didn't have the balls to really enter the place until today. I'd simply rotated around it for the last 3 years. Nothing could stop the pull, it was an inexorable force, dragging me closer with the scent of beautiful... Beautiful something.
Yet it was wrong. I knew stepping in here was a rush, risk, and probably damnation. Yet I stepped in to hear a two tone Bell jingling behind me. A child of no more than 8 years was sitting on the counter, body unmoving as the door closed and the jingle silenced.
Not standing behind it, not sitting behind it, sitting on the counter. One hand frozen in position pointing at the sky. Another hand pointing down at the potted plants, seeds, and other aspects of flora.
The child didn't move. Not once, not at all, with it's eyes closed I started to wonder whether I was crazy. Was this some statuesque model? No.
"It's been a long time..."
The porcelain visage doesn't move in the slightest, yet I can feel, no, LIVE, the words as they crash through my mind.
"It's been a long time, Big Brother." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | I’ve never submitted one of these prompts so give me some feedback!
“
I rush through the door and hear a bell chattering behind me. I come to a quick stop in the doorway and look around. The little shop is full of floral arrangements and there’s an old Italian couple browsing the styles. This is so confusing.
”Mi scusi, negoziante?” I call for the shopkeeper. A middle aged man walks out with a warm smile.
“Benvenuto! Sir, may I help you find anything?”
“Actually, I was wondering if I could interview you. My name is Alexander, I’m a journalist at the New York Post, and we are including a segment on small businesses around the world. Do you have fifteen minutes?” I flash an attempt at a smile towards the gentleman and pray that the fear behind my eyes is invisible to him. The florist looks me over and evidently seems me worthy.
“Very well! My name is Luca. Come, come in. Join me in my office.”
“Thank you so much!”
We walk together through the winding paths between beautiful arrangements. I can’t help but be a little distracted by all these colors. I follow close behind Luca and try to take in as many details about the shop as I can. This is so confusing. Everything about this place is contradictory.
“Luca, how long has the flower shop been open?” I pat down my jacket, looking for a notepad. But since I’m not a real journalist, of course I don’t have one. Wow. That was smooth, Alex. Guess I’m “recording this on my phone”.
“Seventy,” he trails off, counting on his fingers, “seventy two years. My grandfather opened it when his fiancée’s parents would not let him marry her without a stable career. He found this warm little building and things fell into place. He’s passed on, as has my father. But the community is still here and as you can see, so are the flowers.”
“Wow. That’s beautiful.” I’m trying to analyze what he’s just told me, see if there’s some code but I need more information. “And, uh, what exactly do you bring to the community?”
Luca looks at me quizzically, unlocks the door to his office, and says, “Well, apart from flowers, I suppose we bring people love and happiness if that’s what you want to know.” He chuckles in a light, airy tone as he retreats to his desk.
“Oh, of course. What else could I have meant?”
This is getting me nowhere. Okay. Grow a pair and just tell him.
“Luca, I’m not a journalist. But I know something is going on here. I don’t know what it is exactly. But I know that you’re a man of influence. I have this…intuition. I can know how powerful a group is by seeing their headquarters or where they meet. And I had never found number one until today. Luca, why does my intuition say that your flower shop is the most powerful organization on earth?” I’ve never told anyone this. I probably sound crazy. I rightly grip the leather seat of the chair beneath me. Bracing for an answer.
Luca leans back in his chair and I can see him processing this new information.
“Well, Alex. I must say, I don’t appreciate being lied to. But if you already know so much, I suppose I’ll tell you more. My grandfather started this shop to be with the woman he loved. The city knew this. They supported their relationship so they flocked to the flowers he ordered. The people of Tuscany had little need for flowers in their home but it brought them such joy to support a good man who loved a good girl.”
I sit up towards the edge of my seat, “Please, I’m just asking for the truth.”
“What do you mean by this? I am telling you the story of this shop! Sit back. Listen. My grandfather was a good man. Kind. And the love of my grandparents inspired people. Nonna would cook for the kids who did not get enough at home. And Nonno would hire on young men and women who had nowhere else to go. Rejected from their homes because of religion or love or not wanting to take the family trade. This shop became a haven. And everyone knew that we provided the best arrangements in the city. Some of those men and women that worked here moved away. London, New York, Paris, Tokyo. Cities of influence. And they have opened their doors to those in need. My father continued this legacy. He began to organize teams to clean the streets and programs for the kids after school let out. We had enough that my father was able to give back to the city well. So, Alexander. This is power. Not brute strength. Influence. Power is a graceful being who is most present with those who remain humble. I can call any number of people in thirty countries and ask for a euro or a kidney and I know they’d be willing. I can ask the people of the city for a statue of my grandfather and they wouldn’t bat an eye. Do you understand?”
I stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
“I don’t run any secret drug rings. I don’t have an underground army. I have simply loved the people around me as my father and his father did. This is how you become a man of influence. Now, let me bring you home and make you dinner.”
Edit: added paragraph breaks | It smelled like forever, a forgotten time from childhood, that moment of perfect comfort.
It was wrong.
In this small, hole in the wall shop in Tuscany, I've achieved Nirvana. At least, I'm closer than I was when finding s2, the weird cultists in Africa. Or s3 and 4, who had no idea they lived on the same street in spitsbergen.
Well not "in". I didn't have the balls to really enter the place until today. I'd simply rotated around it for the last 3 years. Nothing could stop the pull, it was an inexorable force, dragging me closer with the scent of beautiful... Beautiful something.
Yet it was wrong. I knew stepping in here was a rush, risk, and probably damnation. Yet I stepped in to hear a two tone Bell jingling behind me. A child of no more than 8 years was sitting on the counter, body unmoving as the door closed and the jingle silenced.
Not standing behind it, not sitting behind it, sitting on the counter. One hand frozen in position pointing at the sky. Another hand pointing down at the potted plants, seeds, and other aspects of flora.
The child didn't move. Not once, not at all, with it's eyes closed I started to wonder whether I was crazy. Was this some statuesque model? No.
"It's been a long time..."
The porcelain visage doesn't move in the slightest, yet I can feel, no, LIVE, the words as they crash through my mind.
"It's been a long time, Big Brother." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. |
It was a neat trick to pull out at work events, mentioning how a specific government was or wasn’t even in the top ten most powerful organizations. Of course, when you were a member of the President’s Security Detail for the US Secret Service, you weren’t exactly doing that as a bar trick. You generally whispered it directly to the President herself.
You were the most nondescript of her detail, never in the trademark dark suits and ear pieces your brothers in arms were in, but that’s because you were the easiest to hide as an aide to Madame President. You barely made the Secret Service cutoffs for sizing until you pointed out your background in undercover work. It caused the interviewing officers to reevaluate your application. You solidly passed the physical and mental tests, your background showed no blemishes throughout eight years with the military and six more as a city police detective, and you were an ideal candidate for public-level spy work. You passed perfectly as a soccer mom or trophy wife and could get in to places and situations others couldn’t.
It wasn’t until you were through with training and into your third year with the agency that your talents were exposed.
It had been an easy mission – escort some senators through the embassy in Brazil and to a summit on climate change. Low danger level, mild media attention, and plenty of preparation with familiar facilities. You had been the second most senior agent on the case and had been scouting the region when you noticed the warm glow around the small coffee shop just six blocks from the summit. How had you not seen this before?
A soft seven floated around the door of the building. It was almost a shimmer instead of a solid number, just mild enough to catch your attention but not enough for anyone else to notice. It wasn’t particularly busy, but a few customers sat outside, sipping small espresso cups, nibbling on cookies, and reading books or chatting with friends. A single server chatted with an older gentleman who sat by himself near the door; they seemed familiar enough that he was likely a regular here.
It was funny, the most powerful places in the world rarely had Men in Suits going in and out of them as you might expect.
Number Ten had been a comic book store in Queens, NY. It had some mob ties but remained quiet. It wasn’t on any books anywhere and the ownership was so far removed from anyone associated with any of the Families that it couldn’t be tied back to them with rope, but it was the tenth most powerful place in the world.
Number Nine was in Rome, and surprisingly it was the only one you’d expected to be on the list, though you’d expected it a little higher than ninth place. The Vatican still held a lot of power within its walls and it didn’t seem God would be releasing any of it any time soon.
Numbers Eight, Six, Five, and Four were also small businesses in quiet places. An auto repair shop in France, a library in Spain, a Michelin-starred restaurant in Germany, and a petting zoo in Australia all held shimmering single-digit numbers.
Number Three was a historical home in England, but it wasn’t owned by the Royal Family. Number Two was a farm in Missouri, of all places, but Number One was elusive. You’d searched every country you’d been in, visiting neighborhoods tourists avoided and getting to know locals to find their favorite places. They often didn’t realize that their favorite little shop was the seat of power for some of the world’s most influential organizations.
You had spent a little too long staring at the shop and your commanding officer had noticed.
“Morrow, situation?” he’d asked in your ear-coms.
“Negative, sir. Just a cute shop, wondered if their coffee was any good,” you’d smiled. He didn’t believe you and had taken you to the side.
“Morrow, I need to know what you saw at that shop. There is no room for keeping anything to yourself,” he’d said quietly.
“I don’t even know how to say it, but that shop is the seventh most powerful organization in the world’s headquarters, sir.”
“What’s the organization? And more importantly, how do you know that?”
“I can’t answer that on either account sir, but I can tell you I’m right. We don’t have anything to worry about today, though. They don’t know we know and they don’t seem to be actively planning anything.”
The commander had set up a discreet watch on the coffee shop after that. He had been blown away by your accuracy. The US now had a handle on the headquarters of one of the most powerful secret societies in the world and you had given it to them.
Promotions had come quickly after that, getting you to be the personal guard and public aide to the first female President of the United States of America. That’s how you’d ended up in Tuscany, Italy today.
She had a meeting with the Italian president and all hands were on deck, as usual. It was a beautiful season in Italy when the grapes were harvested and many festivals were held. Madame President would be attending one that evening, in fact, but first had to handle the official business she was here for.
You’d spend most of the meeting studying those in the room and the surveillance undoubtedly installed everywhere, but it should be an easy hour. Smile, take some notes, whisper a few reminders and out. Nobody would ever suspect the unassuming aide to be someone with your talents.
And it was exactly as you’d expected. An easy meeting, a few photos for the press, and back out to the hotel. Another standard day in the life of a Secret Service agent, right?
Until you saw it.
It shimmered brighter than the others, you’d thought it was the sun starting to move behind the cute little flower shop that gave it the golden glow. An errant thought about photographers loving the light passed through your mind before it snapped to attention.
ONE. A bright, shiny, glowing 1 floated near the doorway of the flower shop, the fresh, cool scent of flowers hovering near the doorway.
“Madame President, a word please?” You trusted this one, unlike the last two. They’d been total idiots, unfit to serve or lead the people of the US, but this one had something different about her. Maybe it was the respect she commanded that had nothing to do with her gender, maybe it was the thoughtful way she considered each proposal brought her way, or maybe it was something else, but she was doing great and had started a slow improvement in the economy and job market. No one person would be able to fix it all, but she was making progress on both sides of the aisle.
“Sure, Morrow. What’s going on?” You rarely asked for her time, so she paused when you did. “Do we need to step away?”
“No Madame President, but I have a fun fact for you.”
The President leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, she loved the facts you spouted off about each location you visited and she was well aware that the phrasing mattered and would be important on this one.
“Oh wonderful! What’s today’s fact?” she smiled.
“I just wanted to point out those beautiful red poppies at that flower shop, Tuscany is known for their poppies this time of year,” you gestured. “They’re regarded as the most beautiful in the world, in fact.”
“Oh? Are they the number one producer?”
“Yes, ma’am, *the* number one.”
“I see, well, perhaps you could arrange a bouquet for the staff at the hotel before we leave, I do enjoy local floral arrangements.”
“Noted,” you said. You’d speak to her again at the embassy when you returned to Florence, but she was aware of the special gift you possessed and knew to take it seriously. While your gift told you of the importance, it didn’t tell you which organization it belonged to and it often took several weeks or months of investigation to figure it out. And only twice had anyone moved locations on you. Foolishly, they’d kept them in the same areas, so you’d been able to find them again easily.
You had a feeling if this one moved, you’d never find it again. | It smelled like forever, a forgotten time from childhood, that moment of perfect comfort.
It was wrong.
In this small, hole in the wall shop in Tuscany, I've achieved Nirvana. At least, I'm closer than I was when finding s2, the weird cultists in Africa. Or s3 and 4, who had no idea they lived on the same street in spitsbergen.
Well not "in". I didn't have the balls to really enter the place until today. I'd simply rotated around it for the last 3 years. Nothing could stop the pull, it was an inexorable force, dragging me closer with the scent of beautiful... Beautiful something.
Yet it was wrong. I knew stepping in here was a rush, risk, and probably damnation. Yet I stepped in to hear a two tone Bell jingling behind me. A child of no more than 8 years was sitting on the counter, body unmoving as the door closed and the jingle silenced.
Not standing behind it, not sitting behind it, sitting on the counter. One hand frozen in position pointing at the sky. Another hand pointing down at the potted plants, seeds, and other aspects of flora.
The child didn't move. Not once, not at all, with it's eyes closed I started to wonder whether I was crazy. Was this some statuesque model? No.
"It's been a long time..."
The porcelain visage doesn't move in the slightest, yet I can feel, no, LIVE, the words as they crash through my mind.
"It's been a long time, Big Brother." | |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany. | "This doesn't make sense," I muttered, perturbed. The tulips didn't seem to have any microphones inside. The hydrangea arrangements seemed like they were for sure hiding a secret passage but if that were so it was too well-concealed for even me to find - which should be impossible! There wasn't even a security camera on the ceiling, though that wasn't necessarily unusual. Anyone THIS powerful wouldn't have anything to fear, and also probably didn't want a lot of business caught on tape.
"Are you sure you don't need help?" The smiling old man behind the counter called out in stunted English.
"Oh I'm good," I called back, think returning his warmth with all the sincerity I could muster. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice.
It has to be the mob, I thought, but which mob? I'd sussed out mafioso headquarters from Russia to Ru Paul's Drag Race (it's all a front, people) and never even got a sniff of one headquartered in Tuscany. A new player? Impossible - whoever was running this place was head and shoulders above the CIA, Mossad, and the nomadic Mongolian witch coven that secretly controls the economy. A flower shop, to boot? I sidled up next to the roses again. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. I'd been looking for signs of secret organizations that originated on Earth...
"My friend, I know why you come here," the old man said, nearly making me jump out of my skin. When had he gotten so close?
"Ah," I did my best to smile with this monster beside me. "Do you?"
His eyes were a bright green, but his look was somber and grave. Only a few tufts of white hair remained on his liver-spotted head, and his face was a labyrinth of wrinkles and lines. Heavy eyebrows knit together as he brushed some soil off his hands onto the thin apron he wore, and then reached out to take me by the wrist.
"We're a gonna need to talk to Maria," he sternly intoned.
I pulled back, nearly tripping. He'd made me. "No, that's fine, I think I need to be going, there's- "
"Maria!" The man raised his voice, and the previous warmth had vanished. "We have a guest who needs your attention."
I heard a rustling in the back. Past the rows of neatly arranged flowers, the gift baskets and expensive chocolates, the selections of fine wines, a door opened. The old man, who had been so small when I entered, now seemed to loom over me. I had to get out, before -
"What is this? Marco, who is this?" A woman as wrinkled and dirt-stained as the old man rounded the corner. A small shovel was gripped menacingly in one gloved hand. Her eyes, as green as her partner's, gleamed as she cast her gaze back and forth between me and Marco. The old man straightened.
"Now you gonna get it," he threatened. Maria, twice the diminutive Marco's size, locked her eyes on mine.
"There's a misunderstanding- " I started to say, but then the bell on the front door announced a new visitor.
Both Maria and Marco turned, and I seized the opportunity to dash behind the roses. I began to shout out a theat, but another, wild "WHOOP!" drowned out my own.
"Mr. Romano! Mrs. Romano! I cannot thank you enough!" I peered out from behind the dozen thorny stalks acting as my shield. There was a young man in a vest and cap, vigorously shaking the hands of the pair in turn. "I give those flowers you say to Margaret and she adore them! She even give me a kiss - Dio! She's a coming to meet my mother this week - I think you did it! I owe it to you!"
Maria was beaming as Marco chuckled. "I told you our flowers were the best, Silvio," she patted his face warmly. "Now if you two get married and you ever get in a fight, you come back here and tell me what happened, we'll find what you need to apologize."
"But what if I am right?" Silvio queried.
Marco's chuckle became a deep belly laugh. "You just remember to come back when you need," Maria cuffed Marco on the back of the head, but that didn't stop his laughter. She rolled her eyes. "Go now Silvio, you find a nice shirt to wear when you bring her to your mama."
The young man profusely thanked them again before rushing out of the store, the door closing firmly behind him.
Both sets of eyes turned back on me. The thorns on these roses seemed to retract in fear.
"Don't think we forget about you," Marco said. "Maria, take care of this one."
Maria set her jaw, stepping forward. She reached out, gloved hand like a vise around my wrist, eyes pulling my gaze in as she searched my face.
"So," she yanked me from my useless hiding spot and into the shop's center. "What's her name?"
"Her...name?"
"Don't play coy," Maria gave me a look that said she wasn't having it. "Fifty years we've been doing this, and not once have we ever failed. You start talking, I'll get you what you need."
"We don't rightly understand it either," Marco sighed, taking out a broom to idly begin sweeping leaves and dirt from the floor, "but how are we going to complain?"
"You don't understand it, I understand it perfectly!" Maria yelled at him. He gave her a dreamy smile and leaned in for a kiss. She made a show of rolling her eyes and shooing him away, but I caught the fleeting wisp of a smile on her face.
"Fifty years," Maria repeated, "and not a one time have we failed to help a customer find their true love - and keep them - with our flowers. We only started this little shop because we both loved gardening, can you believe it? But I like to think in our little way, we mean something to the world."
"More than you realize," I replied, reassessing everything I thought I understood. "Far, far more than you realize." | It smelled like forever, a forgotten time from childhood, that moment of perfect comfort.
It was wrong.
In this small, hole in the wall shop in Tuscany, I've achieved Nirvana. At least, I'm closer than I was when finding s2, the weird cultists in Africa. Or s3 and 4, who had no idea they lived on the same street in spitsbergen.
Well not "in". I didn't have the balls to really enter the place until today. I'd simply rotated around it for the last 3 years. Nothing could stop the pull, it was an inexorable force, dragging me closer with the scent of beautiful... Beautiful something.
Yet it was wrong. I knew stepping in here was a rush, risk, and probably damnation. Yet I stepped in to hear a two tone Bell jingling behind me. A child of no more than 8 years was sitting on the counter, body unmoving as the door closed and the jingle silenced.
Not standing behind it, not sitting behind it, sitting on the counter. One hand frozen in position pointing at the sky. Another hand pointing down at the potted plants, seeds, and other aspects of flora.
The child didn't move. Not once, not at all, with it's eyes closed I started to wonder whether I was crazy. Was this some statuesque model? No.
"It's been a long time..."
The porcelain visage doesn't move in the slightest, yet I can feel, no, LIVE, the words as they crash through my mind.
"It's been a long time, Big Brother." |
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