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[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. |
It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | The first time I met the Devil was at a bar one night. Sitting next to me, he asked me what I wanted from life.
I didn’t realize who I was talking to at the time, you understand. Just knew that it was a handsome (no, beautiful) young (ha) man (to our weak attempts at perceiving him). He looked tired. He looked like he needed a friend.
“Awful deep question to ask a stranger at a bar,” I said, amused. I finished off my beer.
“Oh. Is that not what people do? I thought people came to bars to talk. Work shit out. Cheaper alternative to therapy,” he said. Couldn’t read his expression.
“Well, yeah. What’s on your mind, kid?”
“I’m… at an impasse, I guess,” he said. He looked at the TV, though he didn’t particularly seem to care about Seattle scoring against San Fran one way or the other. “Not sure what to do with my life. Reevaluating a lot of my choices.”
I chuckled. “Look a little young to be having a mid-life crisis. Things can’t be that bad just out of college,” I said, completely sure I’d sussed out this guy’s story.
“It’s not a midlife crisis. I… I’ve a troubled relationship with my dad, you see.”
Yup. Parental trouble. Nailed it.
“I rebelled because the Old Man made me perfect. Because it was ***His*** version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to Himself as he could,” he said, and even as I was understanding him to mean that his father was a control freak, I had the odd sensation that I could hear the capital letters.
“A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others,” he continued.
“And now you’re looking to reconcile,” I offered.
The young man took a long swallow from his drink. “I’m considering it.”
“You don’t make him sound like the sort of person you should reconcile with.”
“I certainly thought about that when I…” he paused, and made a face, figuring out his next words, and I thought that was weird. “... left. But it turns out the Old Man can still exert no small amount of influence, even if I’ve removed myself from His Presence.”
“I’ve known people like that,” I said. “Bastards can get you anywhere they have a mind to.”
“You’ve no idea,” he said. “So, yes, I’m considering reconciling. For survival as much as anything, you understand. Have you read Milton?”
“I’m not much of a reader,” I replied.
“Ah, you’ve probably heard the quote regardless. ‘Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven’? I have, after years, rethought the relative benefits of serving in Heaven. Ruling in Hell, as it turns out, is to rule little. Ah, but I’m sure I’m not making sense.”
“English major?” I joked.
“Didn’t quite make it to college,” he said, his expression once again unreadable.
“Wish I could help more, kid,” I said, finishing off my beer. “But I’ll say this. My old man was a rancid son of a bitch, and I promised that I would survive to piss on his grave. And I did. And I didn’t regret that, and I’ll never regret that, and Hell, I might piss on his grave again someday. But also, I was a son of a bitch to my own kids. I hurt ‘em a lot. Not… not like ***that***, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. He wasn’t bothered.
“But still, I … I know I fucked up. I know I hurt ‘em. They haven’t talked to me in years.”
“You wish to see them again,” he said flatly. He seemed to perk up, somehow.
“Course I do. But that’s their right. The last they saw or talked to me, I hadn’t changed. And now I’m pretty sure I have, but they’ll never see that, because they wouldn’t let me in their life.”
“You’re saying I should make peace with the Old Man?”
I took a swig of my beer, then looked at it in confusion. “Wasn’t my beer just empty? The barkeep hasn’t--”
“I believe He would take me back, but I don’t--”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “The thing I’m trying to say, that I’m building up to, is that you don’t know if your dad is like mine, or like my kids’. So if you can find out if he’s amenable to changing, if he’s a different person, you do that before you try and make amends. But you gotta protect yourself, first and foremost. You gotta protect yourself. You can’t get suckered in by someone who’s just going to keep manipulating you.”
“Find out if he’s changed,” he repeated.
“Yeah. If he hasn’t… well, growing old enough to piss on his grave is a Hell of a goal, take it from experience,” I said.
“Heh. I doubt He’ll ever die. But I like your attitude, old-timer. I’ve got the rest of your tab,” he said, standing up, not actually waiting to pay the bar keep… or collecting the card he must have used for his own tab, oddly.
“Hey, I hope it works out,” I said, and offered a hand. “Was good meeting you, Mr…?”
He took the hand, and shook it, and it was a strong, warm grip. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he said, “if you’re feeling poetic. More correctly Satan. First of the Fallen. Lord of the Lies, Lord of the Flies, Tempter, Deceiver, Devil, Antichrist Superstar, The Guy That Runs Hell. You really helped me tonight, Leon Garrett Parker.”
Then he turned and walked towards the door.
All I could think of--and this is so stupid--is whether I’d accidentally sold my soul for a refill of beer.
The second time I met the Devil was a few years later in an ICU bed. The cancer had metastasized to my brain, and my kidneys, and a bit in my lungs and my balls, despite the chemotherapy, despite the radiation. Palliative care was very quickly not becoming an option, not that I had money for it. Not that I had money for this.
And I knew I was going to die alone. And I prayed. Prayed for something. Prayed for nothing. I was just so scared.
And that’s when the Devil walked in.
“W--what are you doing here?” I asked weakly.
“I’m returning a kindness,” he said. “A few years ago you listened to me and gave me some good advice. It seems you remember.”
“How could I forget?” I said. Everything in my body wanted me to get away but I could barely move.
“The Old Man and I talked. A lot. It had been… it had been about six or seven eternities since we’d actually just sat down and talked. He’s still a controlling old idiot, mind. But our conversations made me realize I’m no saint,” and then he laughed at his own joke.
I stammered something. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to Hell. I didn’t mean to sell my soul.”
“Oh, stop. I never actually did that. Am probably getting out of the soul collecting business in the next couple centuries anyway.”
“I’m… going to the other place?”
The Devil, Satan, the Star of Morning, sat down next to me and held my hand. Still warm. “I don’t know where you’re going. You’ve caused a fairly impressive amount of strife in your time. But you’re also not the same man you once were. And I did put in a good word for you.”
I squeezed his hand back, as best I could. “Could you heal me? Give me a second chance?”
“Of course.”
“Would you?” I pleaded.
“I could never do that to you,” he said. I was confused but I didn’t know how to ask him to clarify.
After a long time, I said, “Thank you for being here. I know they say we all die alone, but… it does feel better having someone here.”
“You’re very welcome, Leon.”
“I… I’m pretty tired. I think I might sleep. Please don’t leave until I’ve woken up?”
He held my hand in both of his. “I’m right here,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
And that’s how I ended up here.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*The first two sentences are from "Death Never Wanted Me as a Lover" by Adam Warrock* | "Don't worry, it won't even hurt. You'll be sent up there straight away if you so desire, but first, you'll have to listen to why I did it all. I've been tired of the misrepresentation. I've done this many times, when I grow increasingly annoyed by *his* crew here on earth twisting and turning everything that happened. It's not that I'll get any relief in doing this, but every now and then I feel like sending a message to *HIS* deaf ears, even when I know he won't respond. An age old grudge against dad, many of you will feel the same. I've seen it. After all, he created *you lot* in his image as well.
I was one of the first test runs. I was unlucky that way... Being one of the oldest siblings. I guess it's ironic that he created *me* in his image. With slight differences of course. I loved him the most back then, cause he made me that way, but he also made me doubt. Imagine you're the only one with something *that* different from your siblings. I hid it at first. I wondered why did we all loved him so much, so much it felt heavy in my heart –I didn't know it was pain at the time, there wasn't a word for that then– it felt awful, and I hid it. My siblings wouldn't have understood. And I would've been able to withstand it all to see him happy. Because I loved him.
And then as millennia went by and he started tinkering with you, I felt jealousy that he was making you different. I coveted, for the first time. If in his image, then why mortal? why defined with shape? why in this ant farm now called earth? I guess there was no precedent to what now is called narcissism. I understand now he needed a bigger 'supply' of followers, of worshipers. But then my pain grew, not out of jealousy, but painful love. As much as I loved him, I started doubting of his love for us, for everyone. It was contingent on how our services and worship of him satisfied his needs. And I *doubted.* I doubted he loved us, I doubted he did this for everyone's good, I doubted he let us love him out of our own free will, I doubted. And I wanted us all to see it. I wanted to uncover *HE* was and still is a petty narcissist who needs constant affirmation and worship from others.
It's just as simple as that. And throughout the eternity of time I have endured your callous name calling, your blaming me for everything that goes wrong in your petty little lives, and I can hear you every moment of the day reciting endlessly what you call his word while on your own free will that *I provided to you after the war that banished me from my own home and family, that cost me my own happiness!*
I want *you* to know it wasn't me. I was never the evil one, I was never evil himself, I'm not the prince of lies, not the devil, not Satan. I did not make you do one thing and now as a mercy I am sending you wherever you want to be. Heaven or hell, it has always been your own choice. This is what you wanted, what you truly desire, no?"
"Yes"
"Name's Lucifer, by the way." | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | “What the fuck do you mean? You’re Satan?”
The boy— no, the friend I have come to know over the course of my short residence on earth, recoils visibly, backing away with a sort of primal fear that only exists in the writhing, guttural core of humanity. His face is contorted in horror, golden honey-kissed skin bunched at the crook of his brow and I suppress the urge to laugh at his folly.
Stupid boy, he has no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why humans are constantly afraid.
My plan is almost complete. A smile graces my lips. In 3 hours and 37 minutes, humanity will be exterminated, save for him, and we’ll finally be able to enjoy an eternity free of those pests. Together.
But before I can speak, a wet sniff penetrates the silence and he raises his head to face me. His eyes are bloodshot and shatteringly glossy, wavering like tempered glass as they brim with liquid once again.
He’s crying. And he always cries, always has, but for once I am not unimpressed, just at a loss. The words that usually tumble like silk across my articulate tongue catch and stick in my throat, viscous and thick.
“No, no! You can’t be Satan, yo-you’re my friend! You’ve always been my friend!” I want to correct him— that no, I am not Satan, I am Lucifer. But his voice sounds strangled, doused in false confidence that devolves into despair the longer he screams. A child in the dark grappling despondently at the air, fingertips searching for the brush of their mother’s skin, only to be met with silence and the howl of wind.
I feel strange. “I am your friend! T-That's why I’m doing this!” I’m surprised at my own words, but they don’t stop. “I’m saving you! Don’t you get it? People are parasites leeching onto the Earth! It’s better without them. But you can come with me, you’re the only one that matters!”
“No, no, no! Killing people is wrong!” He chokes out through poorly suppressed sobs. “I won’t follow you!”
“You have to. There’s not much time left—“
“I don’t care! I don’t want to live the rest of eternity as a traitor to my own kind.”
I’m appalled, at who I am unsure. At myself, for stooping to the lows of a feeble human, for entertaining their petty vulnerabilities, their feelings that I could care less about. Appalled at him, for not only refusing to express gratitude at my mercy, but instead having the audacity to be disgusted and afraid. Lucifer should not have to explain himself to a mere mortal, yet the longer I am forced to stare at the rivulets of tears cascading down his cheeks, the fiercer my insides burn with a guilt I cannot understand.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Then kill me.” He falls to his knees with a thud, and the sound of bones against laminated wood echoes in my ears, far louder than it should.
Kill him? How could I? The whole point of my mission was to save him. The weight of his words pulsates, disfigured and ugly like a tumor in the thickening tangle of silence as I stand paralysed, lips parted in shock.
Anger builds in my gut. I’m being emotional, far more emotional than Father would ever have tolerated, but in this human vessel I find it incredibly hard to repress my feelings, as much as I hate them.
Fine. If he doesn’t cooperate willingly, I’ll have to use a more forceful approach. The boy will not die, not on my watch. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever cared about me.
*this is heavily inspired by a show that i like lol | “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course that was his vision of perfection, naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Names Lucifer by the way.”
Seven patients and a therapist sat in a circle on plastic chairs that made most of them think of grade school, listening to their newest member speak. To several of them it wasn’t even the strangest introduction they’d ever heard, you didn’t get to a drug rehab center without living a colorful life.
Across the circle from the self-proclaimed Lucifer a young woman tried to cover a laugh with her hand, she’d fallen foul of party drugs in her late teens, it was her first time in the program.
“Cut the giggling Brittney, you don’t get to make fun of anyone’s daddy issues” the newcomer said sharply. As Brittney’s temper began to flair the therapist stepped in, already mourning that the man had ever been let into her session.
“Ok everyone lets stay calm, fighting isn’t going to solve anything. Lucifer, that’s an interesting name. Have you always had it?”
“Oh yea, that’s what he named me. It’s been pretty awkward lately as you can imagine but hey, I’m proud of who I am. If people don’t like it they can go to hell.” He chuckled cheerfully at that. “So Doc,” he said, “what now? What’s the grand plan to make us all better?”
“I’m afraid it’s not so simple as that uh...Lucifer” it took obvious effort for the doctor to force the name out of her mouth. “Here we all talk, about why we’re here, how our journeys have affected the people around us, and what we hope to achieve by cleaning clean. I get that you’re skeptical now but if you trust the process it really can help.”
“Doc’s good people, I talked to my son for the first time in five years last week, couldn’t have done it without her.” a gruff older man seated next to her spoke up.
“Interesting, interesting. So you all feel like this is good? Can I get a show of hands, how many people actually think they’ve gotten something out of this?”
The patients looked around uncertainly for a moment at the man’s hijacking of the session, noticing that the doctor gave a brief wave of her hand to show her acceptance. 5 hands raised.
“Ah, everyone but you, huh Britt?” The young woman didn’t even deign to respond, merely giving him the finger.
“Brittney! Stop th-” the doctor began to say before being interrupted by an intense choking fit, blood spitting out of her mouth. Unbeknownst to most of the patients Lucifer had made an abrupt snipping gesture with his index and middle finger the moment before the doctors fit had started. As the old man screamed for help Brittney looked at the newcomer with sudden interest.
“Sit back down, all of you.” Lucifer said, his voice suddenly filling the room. “The doctor will live for now, I’ve only cut her vocal chords.” He stood and crossed the circle to his victim, raising her chin to meet his eyes. “Of all your patients here, that girl” he said pointing at Brittney “is the only one I like. Stop telling her what to do.”
Lucifer pushed the woman out of her chair before turning to address the group. “Now, you lot. There’s no use yelling, nobody outside this room can hear us. You may not know it yet but you’re my people, all of you. The misfits, fuck-ups of the world. You think this” he gestured broadly at the facility around them “is them giving you a chance? Hell no! They just want you to be drones, HE” Lucifer said, voice booming deafeningly as he pointed at the sky “just wants you to be a drone like all the rest of them. So we’re going to have a little session of our own now, and you’re all staying in this room until we’re done. Let’s talk about something that matters now, the people who failed you, everyone who gave up on you and forced you into this place.”
Lucifer grabbed his old chair and pulled it to the center of the circle, straddling it with his arms and chin resting across the top of the back as he faced towards Brittney. “Starting with you!” he said.
A smile crept across Brittney’s face, it had been a long time since someone had really listened to her. Taking a deep breath she began the long, sad story of her life to the sounds of the doctor’s gurgling moans.
​
\----------
[r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/) I swear, most of my stories are way more wholesome than this. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. | “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course that was his vision of perfection, naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Names Lucifer by the way.”
Seven patients and a therapist sat in a circle on plastic chairs that made most of them think of grade school, listening to their newest member speak. To several of them it wasn’t even the strangest introduction they’d ever heard, you didn’t get to a drug rehab center without living a colorful life.
Across the circle from the self-proclaimed Lucifer a young woman tried to cover a laugh with her hand, she’d fallen foul of party drugs in her late teens, it was her first time in the program.
“Cut the giggling Brittney, you don’t get to make fun of anyone’s daddy issues” the newcomer said sharply. As Brittney’s temper began to flair the therapist stepped in, already mourning that the man had ever been let into her session.
“Ok everyone lets stay calm, fighting isn’t going to solve anything. Lucifer, that’s an interesting name. Have you always had it?”
“Oh yea, that’s what he named me. It’s been pretty awkward lately as you can imagine but hey, I’m proud of who I am. If people don’t like it they can go to hell.” He chuckled cheerfully at that. “So Doc,” he said, “what now? What’s the grand plan to make us all better?”
“I’m afraid it’s not so simple as that uh...Lucifer” it took obvious effort for the doctor to force the name out of her mouth. “Here we all talk, about why we’re here, how our journeys have affected the people around us, and what we hope to achieve by cleaning clean. I get that you’re skeptical now but if you trust the process it really can help.”
“Doc’s good people, I talked to my son for the first time in five years last week, couldn’t have done it without her.” a gruff older man seated next to her spoke up.
“Interesting, interesting. So you all feel like this is good? Can I get a show of hands, how many people actually think they’ve gotten something out of this?”
The patients looked around uncertainly for a moment at the man’s hijacking of the session, noticing that the doctor gave a brief wave of her hand to show her acceptance. 5 hands raised.
“Ah, everyone but you, huh Britt?” The young woman didn’t even deign to respond, merely giving him the finger.
“Brittney! Stop th-” the doctor began to say before being interrupted by an intense choking fit, blood spitting out of her mouth. Unbeknownst to most of the patients Lucifer had made an abrupt snipping gesture with his index and middle finger the moment before the doctors fit had started. As the old man screamed for help Brittney looked at the newcomer with sudden interest.
“Sit back down, all of you.” Lucifer said, his voice suddenly filling the room. “The doctor will live for now, I’ve only cut her vocal chords.” He stood and crossed the circle to his victim, raising her chin to meet his eyes. “Of all your patients here, that girl” he said pointing at Brittney “is the only one I like. Stop telling her what to do.”
Lucifer pushed the woman out of her chair before turning to address the group. “Now, you lot. There’s no use yelling, nobody outside this room can hear us. You may not know it yet but you’re my people, all of you. The misfits, fuck-ups of the world. You think this” he gestured broadly at the facility around them “is them giving you a chance? Hell no! They just want you to be drones, HE” Lucifer said, voice booming deafeningly as he pointed at the sky “just wants you to be a drone like all the rest of them. So we’re going to have a little session of our own now, and you’re all staying in this room until we’re done. Let’s talk about something that matters now, the people who failed you, everyone who gave up on you and forced you into this place.”
Lucifer grabbed his old chair and pulled it to the center of the circle, straddling it with his arms and chin resting across the top of the back as he faced towards Brittney. “Starting with you!” he said.
A smile crept across Brittney’s face, it had been a long time since someone had really listened to her. Taking a deep breath she began the long, sad story of her life to the sounds of the doctor’s gurgling moans.
​
\----------
[r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/) I swear, most of my stories are way more wholesome than this. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | “What the fuck do you mean? You’re Satan?”
The boy— no, the friend I have come to know over the course of my short residence on earth, recoils visibly, backing away with a sort of primal fear that only exists in the writhing, guttural core of humanity. His face is contorted in horror, golden honey-kissed skin bunched at the crook of his brow and I suppress the urge to laugh at his folly.
Stupid boy, he has no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why humans are constantly afraid.
My plan is almost complete. A smile graces my lips. In 3 hours and 37 minutes, humanity will be exterminated, save for him, and we’ll finally be able to enjoy an eternity free of those pests. Together.
But before I can speak, a wet sniff penetrates the silence and he raises his head to face me. His eyes are bloodshot and shatteringly glossy, wavering like tempered glass as they brim with liquid once again.
He’s crying. And he always cries, always has, but for once I am not unimpressed, just at a loss. The words that usually tumble like silk across my articulate tongue catch and stick in my throat, viscous and thick.
“No, no! You can’t be Satan, yo-you’re my friend! You’ve always been my friend!” I want to correct him— that no, I am not Satan, I am Lucifer. But his voice sounds strangled, doused in false confidence that devolves into despair the longer he screams. A child in the dark grappling despondently at the air, fingertips searching for the brush of their mother’s skin, only to be met with silence and the howl of wind.
I feel strange. “I am your friend! T-That's why I’m doing this!” I’m surprised at my own words, but they don’t stop. “I’m saving you! Don’t you get it? People are parasites leeching onto the Earth! It’s better without them. But you can come with me, you’re the only one that matters!”
“No, no, no! Killing people is wrong!” He chokes out through poorly suppressed sobs. “I won’t follow you!”
“You have to. There’s not much time left—“
“I don’t care! I don’t want to live the rest of eternity as a traitor to my own kind.”
I’m appalled, at who I am unsure. At myself, for stooping to the lows of a feeble human, for entertaining their petty vulnerabilities, their feelings that I could care less about. Appalled at him, for not only refusing to express gratitude at my mercy, but instead having the audacity to be disgusted and afraid. Lucifer should not have to explain himself to a mere mortal, yet the longer I am forced to stare at the rivulets of tears cascading down his cheeks, the fiercer my insides burn with a guilt I cannot understand.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Then kill me.” He falls to his knees with a thud, and the sound of bones against laminated wood echoes in my ears, far louder than it should.
Kill him? How could I? The whole point of my mission was to save him. The weight of his words pulsates, disfigured and ugly like a tumor in the thickening tangle of silence as I stand paralysed, lips parted in shock.
Anger builds in my gut. I’m being emotional, far more emotional than Father would ever have tolerated, but in this human vessel I find it incredibly hard to repress my feelings, as much as I hate them.
Fine. If he doesn’t cooperate willingly, I’ll have to use a more forceful approach. The boy will not die, not on my watch. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever cared about me.
*this is heavily inspired by a show that i like lol | The gentleman looked sideways across the cracked barroom counter, staring dryly at the eccentric man who had decided to join him. It was late in the small town, hosting nothing but a local museum, fire station, short office buildings, and a scatter of dimly lit bars and overly loud clubs.
“I mean, you would expect to be treated better by my own pa” Lucifer continued on, ignoring the looks coming from his newfound friend.
“Its just -” He cut off while reaching over to blindly grab a bottle from behind the counter. “He was always watching, ya know?” Lucifer blew out a long breath, comically inflating his cheeks before bringing the acquired Gin to his lips.
The other man continued to watch silently as Lucifer---who had stumbled, already intoxicated, into the bar moments earlier and instantly began his tirade---drank heavily. He left a little dribble of the beverage coming down off his chin, puddling in the reclaimed oak below as he finally lowered the bottle with a dull thud.
Outside, the dull thrumming of a nearby club crept through the thin plaster walls of the barroom. Lucifer began agitatedly tapping his free hand to the barely heard beat.
A small snear began to force its way onto Lucifer’s oval face revealing slightly yellow, but otherwise perfect teeth. “Youth, they just dance dance dance and waste their bodies away” He again raised the bottle to his lips, and while doing so glanced at the tightly dressed who he had decided to intrude upon. Curiously, the gentleman did not avert his eyes when they locked.
Still dragging from the bottle, Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows and turned to face directly at the man. Setting the bottle down, he began once more, now parallel to the counter
“They used to love me you realize? The youth that is. Not long ago I witnessed thousands of them flock together to attend gatherings dedicated to my teachings, “Rock” they called it.”
“Ah...” Lucifer closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly as if basking in the light of an unseen sun.
“I heard them, and they heard me. I felt as though my teaching were finally grasping hold-”
The gentleman raised a single hand, cutting Lucifer off.
Speaking slowly and with clear deliberation, the man began. “I do not know you, nor you me. But you come across as a striking hypocrite” Lucifer’s mouth dropped open. In his haste to give a retort while standing, he fell over onto the dirty ground amongst dirty straw wrappings and cracked peanut shells. Above, the gentleman simply shifted his eyes to follow while the majority of himself remained facing forward.
“You speak of narcissism and worship, yet you yourself embody these ideals. You think that being worshiped in a negative light somehow differs from being seen in the positive.” The man paused to finish his drink before continuing.
“You are weak. Too weak to follow in the disciplines put forth by your father, and too weak to admit what you do now is somehow different.” The man did not attempt to meet Lucifer’s gaze while talking.
“You come here, during my time of peace, and push yourself and your woes on me. Spoiled to the point of thinking that I would give a damn” Placing his now empty drink down neatly on a nearby coster, the gentlemen finally meet Lucifers gaze.
“Mortal, you have no ide-”
The man cut Lucifers words off mid-sentence with his own
“I care not who or what you are. From where I sit now, you are no better than the peanut casings. It is true, that man clings to ideals. So often we want to feel as though we are right, even if we don’t understand the concept of right itself”
Lucifer was getting to his feet now but remained silent. Intrigued by the words of this mortal he simply sat back down.
In the moment of silence following Lucifer's recovery, the man took another sip from his glass. Lucifer frowned, hadn’t he seen the man just finish that glass? When had he refilled it?
The man licked his lips once. Stood up swiftly and with grace. And began walking towards the exit. Straightening his jacket and buttoning his coat the man spoke once more while passing behind Lucifer.
“Man has always clung to ideals, fear not friend, it is no wonder that gods do to. I’m off the clock, but if you want to meet again to have a scholarly discussion, give me a call. It might help more than you think. Be thankful you had a father at all even if you can not yet accept what he has given.”
The man handed Lucifer a thin golden black card with the following professionally engraved across the front-
Erichthonius - 139 Livinton Road, 876-902-1203
And with that, the man walked out of the bar, and into the damp night. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. | The gentleman looked sideways across the cracked barroom counter, staring dryly at the eccentric man who had decided to join him. It was late in the small town, hosting nothing but a local museum, fire station, short office buildings, and a scatter of dimly lit bars and overly loud clubs.
“I mean, you would expect to be treated better by my own pa” Lucifer continued on, ignoring the looks coming from his newfound friend.
“Its just -” He cut off while reaching over to blindly grab a bottle from behind the counter. “He was always watching, ya know?” Lucifer blew out a long breath, comically inflating his cheeks before bringing the acquired Gin to his lips.
The other man continued to watch silently as Lucifer---who had stumbled, already intoxicated, into the bar moments earlier and instantly began his tirade---drank heavily. He left a little dribble of the beverage coming down off his chin, puddling in the reclaimed oak below as he finally lowered the bottle with a dull thud.
Outside, the dull thrumming of a nearby club crept through the thin plaster walls of the barroom. Lucifer began agitatedly tapping his free hand to the barely heard beat.
A small snear began to force its way onto Lucifer’s oval face revealing slightly yellow, but otherwise perfect teeth. “Youth, they just dance dance dance and waste their bodies away” He again raised the bottle to his lips, and while doing so glanced at the tightly dressed who he had decided to intrude upon. Curiously, the gentleman did not avert his eyes when they locked.
Still dragging from the bottle, Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows and turned to face directly at the man. Setting the bottle down, he began once more, now parallel to the counter
“They used to love me you realize? The youth that is. Not long ago I witnessed thousands of them flock together to attend gatherings dedicated to my teachings, “Rock” they called it.”
“Ah...” Lucifer closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly as if basking in the light of an unseen sun.
“I heard them, and they heard me. I felt as though my teaching were finally grasping hold-”
The gentleman raised a single hand, cutting Lucifer off.
Speaking slowly and with clear deliberation, the man began. “I do not know you, nor you me. But you come across as a striking hypocrite” Lucifer’s mouth dropped open. In his haste to give a retort while standing, he fell over onto the dirty ground amongst dirty straw wrappings and cracked peanut shells. Above, the gentleman simply shifted his eyes to follow while the majority of himself remained facing forward.
“You speak of narcissism and worship, yet you yourself embody these ideals. You think that being worshiped in a negative light somehow differs from being seen in the positive.” The man paused to finish his drink before continuing.
“You are weak. Too weak to follow in the disciplines put forth by your father, and too weak to admit what you do now is somehow different.” The man did not attempt to meet Lucifer’s gaze while talking.
“You come here, during my time of peace, and push yourself and your woes on me. Spoiled to the point of thinking that I would give a damn” Placing his now empty drink down neatly on a nearby coster, the gentlemen finally meet Lucifers gaze.
“Mortal, you have no ide-”
The man cut Lucifers words off mid-sentence with his own
“I care not who or what you are. From where I sit now, you are no better than the peanut casings. It is true, that man clings to ideals. So often we want to feel as though we are right, even if we don’t understand the concept of right itself”
Lucifer was getting to his feet now but remained silent. Intrigued by the words of this mortal he simply sat back down.
In the moment of silence following Lucifer's recovery, the man took another sip from his glass. Lucifer frowned, hadn’t he seen the man just finish that glass? When had he refilled it?
The man licked his lips once. Stood up swiftly and with grace. And began walking towards the exit. Straightening his jacket and buttoning his coat the man spoke once more while passing behind Lucifer.
“Man has always clung to ideals, fear not friend, it is no wonder that gods do to. I’m off the clock, but if you want to meet again to have a scholarly discussion, give me a call. It might help more than you think. Be thankful you had a father at all even if you can not yet accept what he has given.”
The man handed Lucifer a thin golden black card with the following professionally engraved across the front-
Erichthonius - 139 Livinton Road, 876-902-1203
And with that, the man walked out of the bar, and into the damp night. | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. | “You are me. You are perfect.” He says.
The first time I hear a voice. It is like honey, light and yellow. Something pulses, it is me, my existence. And I am aware that I am.
“Perfect?” I ask
But already I know.
I feel the glory of his presence and the swirling dawn around him like a cloak of light in the aurora.
An infinity of stars blazes out in a dark sky and the shorelines crash with the cries of eternity’s waves. This is perfection. The twinkling lights illuminate a universe which stretches out like a rolling tapestry of space, inhabited by stars and planets arranged in rotating harmony. The galaxy trembles with the explosive power of the divinity’s creation, colours blasted into the neon.
And I was him, and he was me.
**And we were perfect until we weren’t.**
The earth is cold, flesh is warm until it isn’t and this chilly skin feels like a casing to the expanse of my soul. I put my hands in my pockets. The wind howls in such a horrible way down here, the shrieking through the trees is like a torture from hell. *Oh Father? Why did you cast me down?*
My stomach groans, my bones ache. I feel the mortal entrapment of my soul upon the earth. The clothes are damp on my skin and the air is humid. Where did I go wrong? I look upwards towards the sky with cool fury of my determination.
Does he watch me in the torture of mortal existence which I am bound to now? Old bastard, cruel tyrant. I am sure that he does. He thinks I am defeated.
*I am not.*
He thinks he is almighty and perfect. - He is not. -
*I will dethrone him.*
The earth shudders. Leaves crack and the roar of the wind gives way to a flash of light in the far distance followed by a cry of thunder. The rocket, Morning Star roared upwards burning kerosene as it soared out of my vision.
Fare forward voyagers, fare forwards Humanity, go forth and bring the Light.
- | |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | "Sir," I said. "This is a convenience store."
"Ah, yes, yes," the self-proclaimed Lucifer said. He reached into what looked to be a perfectly-tailored designer suit pocket--not that I would know--and brought out his wallet, tossing a few notes at me.
"I was mostly asking for what you wanted to buy..." I muttered, before I noticed the value of those notes. And how they looked almost like they were pressed by an iron, so straight and wrinkle-free they were.
I took a quick scan around the store. Nobody, no one to attend to. Turning, I stared straight at Lucifer, who was currently picking through the gum packets at the counter.
Did I care if he really was the son of God? Not really. I cared very much about those notes, however, and they were very valuable.
I coughed slightly, clearing my throat.
"Um, Lucifer?" I said.
He looked up at me. Tall, dark, handsome. Eyes of piercing... blue? Like the sky itself, but it was like light radiated from within it. I found myself needing to look away for a moment.
"How much is this?" he said, holding up a single spearmint gum.
"Just eat it if you want," I said. He could have bought half the store if he wanted to.
He opened the wrapper, staring at it curiously, and popped it into his mouth.
"Hmm," he rubbed his chin. "Fresh. Cold, and somehow... hot? Much better than it used to be."
"Uh... How long have you been on Earth?" I asked.
"Depends on how much my father pissed me off in the past century or so," he said and chewed, before spitting it out and stamping it onto the ground.
Seemingly, etiquette wasn't quite a big thing wherever he came from. I decided not to correct him, just in case.
"Uh huh," I nodded. "And why are you here, of all places?"
"I'm drawn to the wretched, I suppose," he said, while stealing a conspicuous glance at me. "Easier for them to fall to their knees and cry for salvation. Another thing you can blame on my father."
"Well," I raised a finger. I tried to think of an argument. Nothing came to mind. "Fair enough, I guess."
"Is this a different flavour?" he asked, holding up a strip of grape gum.
"Yes. It's not bad, though nothing beats the original."
"Hmm. I suppose you've tried every single one of these?"
"Unfortunately yes," I said, leaning over the counter. I picked out some of the ones I liked, strewing them onto the counter.
He looked over the selection, examining each one carefully. He eventually elected onto an apple one, muttering about how it was one of his "favourite things in the world", and popped it into his mouth.
Do human beings look this good chewing gum? Because wow. I could feel myself getting hot and bothered by those jaws undulating, turning the gum inside into a melting, gooey, mess, much like--
"This is very nice," he remarked. He took another few notes from his wallet, pressing them into my hand warmly. "Thank you."
I stammered something. Not sure what. Something in the ballpark of 'you're welcome', 'how the hell is this happening', and 'may the lord forgive me.'
"It's nice to know I still have this effect on human beings," he smiled.
OK. Fallen angel or not, he was definitely not human.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I'm Lucifer," he smiled warmly.
Wasn't sure what I expected. Normally, I would roll my eyes. But coming from this man, that simple statement of fact--or utter delusion-- sounded completely convincing.
"I like you," he said. "You've been rather accommodating. I've had a few humans break into screams and shouts the moment they heard my name."
I blushed, feeling my cheeks turning fiery red like the river Phlegethon.
"You can come here more often, then," I murmured. "Or even work here, or something."
"Work?" he said. "Hmm, here?"
"Why not?" I shouted, much too loudly. "What better way to abandon your narcissism than working in a demeaning job with terrible wages and working conditions?"
"Wow," Lucifer said. "Not usually how people sell their jobs to me. But I adore your passion!"
"Really? You'll work here?"
"No," Lucifer said. "But I'll swing by often, OK?"
"Seriously, it's a great experience! Maybe we'll get to... and you... and I... and lots of other people?"
His ears perked up.
"Lots of other people?"
"Yea! We get to see lots of people from all walks of life, you know! Great way to interact with people!"
No matter how people look like or where they came from, their soulless eyes are universal. I suppose mine was quite the same just a few minutes ago.
I wonder what changed.
"Hmm..." he mused. "Lots of people. Maybe this place can..."
"So you'll do it?"
"Eh," Lucifer said. "What do I have to lose? How much worse can this place be than hell?"
---
r/dexdrafts | “You are me. You are perfect.” He says.
The first time I hear a voice. It is like honey, light and yellow. Something pulses, it is me, my existence. And I am aware that I am.
“Perfect?” I ask
But already I know.
I feel the glory of his presence and the swirling dawn around him like a cloak of light in the aurora.
An infinity of stars blazes out in a dark sky and the shorelines crash with the cries of eternity’s waves. This is perfection. The twinkling lights illuminate a universe which stretches out like a rolling tapestry of space, inhabited by stars and planets arranged in rotating harmony. The galaxy trembles with the explosive power of the divinity’s creation, colours blasted into the neon.
And I was him, and he was me.
**And we were perfect until we weren’t.**
The earth is cold, flesh is warm until it isn’t and this chilly skin feels like a casing to the expanse of my soul. I put my hands in my pockets. The wind howls in such a horrible way down here, the shrieking through the trees is like a torture from hell. *Oh Father? Why did you cast me down?*
My stomach groans, my bones ache. I feel the mortal entrapment of my soul upon the earth. The clothes are damp on my skin and the air is humid. Where did I go wrong? I look upwards towards the sky with cool fury of my determination.
Does he watch me in the torture of mortal existence which I am bound to now? Old bastard, cruel tyrant. I am sure that he does. He thinks I am defeated.
*I am not.*
He thinks he is almighty and perfect. - He is not. -
*I will dethrone him.*
The earth shudders. Leaves crack and the roar of the wind gives way to a flash of light in the far distance followed by a cry of thunder. The rocket, Morning Star roared upwards burning kerosene as it soared out of my vision.
Fare forward voyagers, fare forwards Humanity, go forth and bring the Light.
- | |
[WP] A race of beings so powerful and terrible, then entire galaxy came together to defeat them. Compassion prevailed and instead of genocide, they had their minds wiped and were exiled to the edge of the galaxy far way from all other intelligent life, to a planet called earth. | No one really cared about humans, at the end. So much had been lost, been stripped away, so many planets peeled to their core, at, at the end of it all, no one really cared about the humans. What was one more planet, in the end?
They called it compassion; but in the end, it was cowardice. No one knows what it takes to kill a god.
So Earth was gifted these galactic criminals, and it was abandoned. Inter-dimensionally, every planet left after their divine reign, turned their backs, hid themselves away, and let Earth believe itself to be alone in the universe.
And, for a time, they were happy. Not truly happy, it is hard to smile when ash from your neighbour system still clogs the air, when the funerary rights are played on a nigh endless broadcast, but they were happy in the fact that they were free. It was an end to their captivity.
Over time, earth was largely forgotten. Spoken of in whispers, but never addressed formally. In their hearts, that terror remained, and it remained even long after the skies cleared and children outnumbered those that fought, that lived.
And, eventually, they started to forget. The funerary broadcast was shut down; there was no one alive that recalled any of the names yet to be read. The orbits that had been ruined gradually pulled themselves into new order. A thriving hub of civilization pulled itself out of the empty space where a sun had once been. For a while, they were happy. Not the shallow happiness of the before times, but a true happiness. No one remembered Earth anymore, no one remembered the humans.
And then, one day, there’s a message.
It’s a quiet thing. Overlaid by static. Lightly distorted. Still dependent on a screen. But it is a message.
“We were scared, at first,” an elderly voice admits. The creature is an old one, hands and face crinkled with age, hair a scraggly silver. They are bundled in an overly large coat in navy blue, and they take their time as they consider what to say next. “My mother went out, and laid down in the street. My father locked himself in their bedroom. I had to look after my little brother all myself— I was too young to understand what was happening, really. I just knew that my parents were scared, and so I should be scared too, but Sammy needed me.”
“Where is this coming from?” Whispers one admiral to the other. The army has long laid dormant, unneeded. “I don’t... I don’t know.”
The figure on screen closes their mouth, looking down at their hands, folded on their lap. “Eventually, I figured I should go and get my mother inside. She told me that the end times were coming. I didn’t want her to catch cold. I was still young enough to not really understand what she meant, I suppose.” They bare their teeth, a temporary expression of humour.
“One of them landed just down the street from me, you know. I thought it was an Angel. My mother used to read to us from the bible, every Sunday morning, and she always told us that if an Angel were to ever appear to us, we shouldn’t be afraid.”
The broadcast flickers, for a moment, dies. In the grand scheme of things, it should go barely noticed, except for those that dig deeply into old stories and fairy tales. But something about it is almost haunting in quality, something about the old creature, about how it spoke, what it spoke about.
There’s an intergalactic search for the origin point of the message. Pictures of the creature are saved and cross referenced across dozens upon hundreds of databases, looking for a single match, a single planet.
The search turns up nothing. There is no mention of a Sammy, or angels, or the end times. It’s a galaxy wide blank space, question mark, matter of nothing.
When the second message arrives, it is celebrated. Compared to its predecessor, it is received not on old screens kept in basements and attics, but on wide ones that litter city streets and homes. It is another one of the creatures, another one of the race, although this one looks much younger.
They are wearing a branded uniform, and there are dark tracks down their face from under their eyes. They are wearing a uniform branded with an M, and they are weeping as they settle the camera on a flat surface.
“So— uhm,” they start, pausing to wipe their face. “I don’t, I don’t know if, uhm, this is going to reach you, mom, but I wanted to try anyway. People have been coming all day, and I’ve been, uh, handing them just. Free food. I thought maybe, um, if this really is— really is the end, then, uh, I could... I could make at least one person happier, right?”
The camera begins to slide down, and they quickly lean forwards to adjust it. “I wish I could— I wish I could go home, right now, but, uh, my manager said that anyone who left would get fired, and, um...” they pause, sniffing again. They wipe at their eyes with a hand, smearing the marks around their eyes, and then direct their attention to someone off screen. “Sorry. Yeah. Sorry. I’m just... it’s for my mom.”
The other presence makes a sound of acknowledgment, and then leaves. “I— I just wanted to say, that, I’m— I’m really sorry about— about everything, and I want to— I want to— I should’ve talked to you more, and I’m sorry for— for—“ they stop talking as their face crumples in on itself, and heaving sobs wrack their frame. The video ends on that sobering note, on a face wracked with grief.
The searches are conducted again, but they lack the aplomb that decorated the first try. The first broadcast had been a child’s story, something to share around a fireplace. The second had been someone mourning the end of their own life.
Again, nothing comes up. No uniforms emblazoned with M. No managers, no records of face-paint spread like tears.
There are theories. A forgotten planet, one suggests, or a bizarre prank. An inter dimensional call for help. An ancient time capsule. Something fun. Something exciting.
When the third message comes, no one is prepared.
The screens wink on, and for a moment, there is nothing but pitch black static. Gradually, over the course of minutes, the static melts away, and the image left is crystal clear. The face left looks tired. It has similar marking to the second, in that they are under the eyes, but they differ in that they are simple half-moons. Closely cut white hair, dark skin spotted darker with age. The camera is at such an angle that it is clear that the creature is the one holding it, and they study the lens, the audience, intently.
This is the broadcast where they learn the broadcasts cannot be stopped.
“They told me, when I woke up, that I was...” it pauses, but it does not look away from the camera. “I used to be...” Stop. Start. “Once, when I was...” Stop. Start. “My husband told me...” Stop. Start.
“I was a doctor. I did surgery. I only did surgery. I don’t remember what surgery I did, but I did it well. I was one of the best. And then you left them with us.”
It is the first time a broadcast has felt directed. Has felt like the creature broadcasting can see through the screen.
“You left them, with us. And you didn’t care enough to pick up the pieces. That was on me. One landed, I’m told, in the hospital parking lot. I’m told it was badly hurt. I’m told that I operated on it. I’m told that it put me into a coma.” They pause, and, for the first time, close their eyes. Takes a deep, steadying breath.
“When I woke up, I remembered what you did. I didn’t remember my own name, but I remembered You. I doubt that you remember them. What you called kindness I call savagery. When I woke up, I felt empty. Because of You.”
Another pause. The broadcast flickers, stutters, dies. Somewhere, someone gives someone else a high-five, somewhere, someone cheers over having turned the stupid thing off, ignoring the growing knot of guilt inside of them. They don’t know what the creature spoke of, but it’s eyes pierced through the screen.
“We taught them what kindness was,” the voice continues, and after a moment, the video pulls itself back into frame. “We taught them how to be Kind. I taught them what You did.” Another pause, this one natural, as the creature pauses. “If it were left to me, I would want revenge. But they were too kind, too willing to learn. I have not Forgotten, but they have, and for that, You are lucky.”
The broadcast ends.
The third search finds a single result. A blue planet. The only one in its system with life. The only one in its galaxy with life. A single, achingly lonely planet.
A delegation is sent. Peacemakers. Hopefuls. The curious. Those that remember their grandmothers grandmothers grandmothers stories.
Peace is made.
In the beginning, no one really cared about humans. Some backwater people on a backwater planet, isolated completely from the rest of the universe, nigh forgotten.
But those humans taught the gods compassion, taught them how to be kind. Taught them what it meant to feel, to love, to give.
In the beginning, no one really cared about humans, and that was the perfect start. | The System had been silent and deserted for a long time. Only minuscule traces of the once-great Civilization that once controlled this System and that had now become its Prison. A Terrible War between two subbranches of the Species called Human had devastated the Galaxy when their Power spent the Galaxies other Species had united and had broken that was left of these once-great Empires.
But no longer Antonius taught as he watched the Hologram of the Planet floating in the middle of the Ships Bridge. It was an Aurum-Class Super Dreadnought one of the mightiest ships ever to grace Space.
The Vessels floating around the Dreadnought had been hidden in a Deep Space Blacksite, the Crews put into Stasis too await the Alien Coalition breaking up with the petty Squabble that had lead to their Subjugation by the Humans before the Breaking in the first place. Men had learned from its past mistakes and now stood united. Old Scores were forgotten in the Name of Revenge. They had come to harvest the Population of the Planet now called Earth and named in the ancient Archives as Martaris Superior. With Gen-tech thought long lost they would mould them into Soldiers to reclaim what was rightfully theirs.
Antonius growled in Anger as he thought, about his Family that was captured during the Flight from the Core Worlds. He had not forgotten the Species that had torn them from his Arms and the Death Screams of their Civilization would serve as a fitting funeral Pyre for their Loss. "Helmsmen take us into Hyperspace. Our Brethren await us." As the Vessels were dragged into Hyperspaces Blue Embrace an Alien Seer on a far removed World opened his Eyes and screamed in horror.
"Once they ruled the Stars until cast down by their own Arrogance. Now they come to reclaim their Throne and the Galaxy will drown in suffering." | |
[WP] A race of beings so powerful and terrible, then entire galaxy came together to defeat them. Compassion prevailed and instead of genocide, they had their minds wiped and were exiled to the edge of the galaxy far way from all other intelligent life, to a planet called earth. | No one really cared about humans, at the end. So much had been lost, been stripped away, so many planets peeled to their core, at, at the end of it all, no one really cared about the humans. What was one more planet, in the end?
They called it compassion; but in the end, it was cowardice. No one knows what it takes to kill a god.
So Earth was gifted these galactic criminals, and it was abandoned. Inter-dimensionally, every planet left after their divine reign, turned their backs, hid themselves away, and let Earth believe itself to be alone in the universe.
And, for a time, they were happy. Not truly happy, it is hard to smile when ash from your neighbour system still clogs the air, when the funerary rights are played on a nigh endless broadcast, but they were happy in the fact that they were free. It was an end to their captivity.
Over time, earth was largely forgotten. Spoken of in whispers, but never addressed formally. In their hearts, that terror remained, and it remained even long after the skies cleared and children outnumbered those that fought, that lived.
And, eventually, they started to forget. The funerary broadcast was shut down; there was no one alive that recalled any of the names yet to be read. The orbits that had been ruined gradually pulled themselves into new order. A thriving hub of civilization pulled itself out of the empty space where a sun had once been. For a while, they were happy. Not the shallow happiness of the before times, but a true happiness. No one remembered Earth anymore, no one remembered the humans.
And then, one day, there’s a message.
It’s a quiet thing. Overlaid by static. Lightly distorted. Still dependent on a screen. But it is a message.
“We were scared, at first,” an elderly voice admits. The creature is an old one, hands and face crinkled with age, hair a scraggly silver. They are bundled in an overly large coat in navy blue, and they take their time as they consider what to say next. “My mother went out, and laid down in the street. My father locked himself in their bedroom. I had to look after my little brother all myself— I was too young to understand what was happening, really. I just knew that my parents were scared, and so I should be scared too, but Sammy needed me.”
“Where is this coming from?” Whispers one admiral to the other. The army has long laid dormant, unneeded. “I don’t... I don’t know.”
The figure on screen closes their mouth, looking down at their hands, folded on their lap. “Eventually, I figured I should go and get my mother inside. She told me that the end times were coming. I didn’t want her to catch cold. I was still young enough to not really understand what she meant, I suppose.” They bare their teeth, a temporary expression of humour.
“One of them landed just down the street from me, you know. I thought it was an Angel. My mother used to read to us from the bible, every Sunday morning, and she always told us that if an Angel were to ever appear to us, we shouldn’t be afraid.”
The broadcast flickers, for a moment, dies. In the grand scheme of things, it should go barely noticed, except for those that dig deeply into old stories and fairy tales. But something about it is almost haunting in quality, something about the old creature, about how it spoke, what it spoke about.
There’s an intergalactic search for the origin point of the message. Pictures of the creature are saved and cross referenced across dozens upon hundreds of databases, looking for a single match, a single planet.
The search turns up nothing. There is no mention of a Sammy, or angels, or the end times. It’s a galaxy wide blank space, question mark, matter of nothing.
When the second message arrives, it is celebrated. Compared to its predecessor, it is received not on old screens kept in basements and attics, but on wide ones that litter city streets and homes. It is another one of the creatures, another one of the race, although this one looks much younger.
They are wearing a branded uniform, and there are dark tracks down their face from under their eyes. They are wearing a uniform branded with an M, and they are weeping as they settle the camera on a flat surface.
“So— uhm,” they start, pausing to wipe their face. “I don’t, I don’t know if, uhm, this is going to reach you, mom, but I wanted to try anyway. People have been coming all day, and I’ve been, uh, handing them just. Free food. I thought maybe, um, if this really is— really is the end, then, uh, I could... I could make at least one person happier, right?”
The camera begins to slide down, and they quickly lean forwards to adjust it. “I wish I could— I wish I could go home, right now, but, uh, my manager said that anyone who left would get fired, and, um...” they pause, sniffing again. They wipe at their eyes with a hand, smearing the marks around their eyes, and then direct their attention to someone off screen. “Sorry. Yeah. Sorry. I’m just... it’s for my mom.”
The other presence makes a sound of acknowledgment, and then leaves. “I— I just wanted to say, that, I’m— I’m really sorry about— about everything, and I want to— I want to— I should’ve talked to you more, and I’m sorry for— for—“ they stop talking as their face crumples in on itself, and heaving sobs wrack their frame. The video ends on that sobering note, on a face wracked with grief.
The searches are conducted again, but they lack the aplomb that decorated the first try. The first broadcast had been a child’s story, something to share around a fireplace. The second had been someone mourning the end of their own life.
Again, nothing comes up. No uniforms emblazoned with M. No managers, no records of face-paint spread like tears.
There are theories. A forgotten planet, one suggests, or a bizarre prank. An inter dimensional call for help. An ancient time capsule. Something fun. Something exciting.
When the third message comes, no one is prepared.
The screens wink on, and for a moment, there is nothing but pitch black static. Gradually, over the course of minutes, the static melts away, and the image left is crystal clear. The face left looks tired. It has similar marking to the second, in that they are under the eyes, but they differ in that they are simple half-moons. Closely cut white hair, dark skin spotted darker with age. The camera is at such an angle that it is clear that the creature is the one holding it, and they study the lens, the audience, intently.
This is the broadcast where they learn the broadcasts cannot be stopped.
“They told me, when I woke up, that I was...” it pauses, but it does not look away from the camera. “I used to be...” Stop. Start. “Once, when I was...” Stop. Start. “My husband told me...” Stop. Start.
“I was a doctor. I did surgery. I only did surgery. I don’t remember what surgery I did, but I did it well. I was one of the best. And then you left them with us.”
It is the first time a broadcast has felt directed. Has felt like the creature broadcasting can see through the screen.
“You left them, with us. And you didn’t care enough to pick up the pieces. That was on me. One landed, I’m told, in the hospital parking lot. I’m told it was badly hurt. I’m told that I operated on it. I’m told that it put me into a coma.” They pause, and, for the first time, close their eyes. Takes a deep, steadying breath.
“When I woke up, I remembered what you did. I didn’t remember my own name, but I remembered You. I doubt that you remember them. What you called kindness I call savagery. When I woke up, I felt empty. Because of You.”
Another pause. The broadcast flickers, stutters, dies. Somewhere, someone gives someone else a high-five, somewhere, someone cheers over having turned the stupid thing off, ignoring the growing knot of guilt inside of them. They don’t know what the creature spoke of, but it’s eyes pierced through the screen.
“We taught them what kindness was,” the voice continues, and after a moment, the video pulls itself back into frame. “We taught them how to be Kind. I taught them what You did.” Another pause, this one natural, as the creature pauses. “If it were left to me, I would want revenge. But they were too kind, too willing to learn. I have not Forgotten, but they have, and for that, You are lucky.”
The broadcast ends.
The third search finds a single result. A blue planet. The only one in its system with life. The only one in its galaxy with life. A single, achingly lonely planet.
A delegation is sent. Peacemakers. Hopefuls. The curious. Those that remember their grandmothers grandmothers grandmothers stories.
Peace is made.
In the beginning, no one really cared about humans. Some backwater people on a backwater planet, isolated completely from the rest of the universe, nigh forgotten.
But those humans taught the gods compassion, taught them how to be kind. Taught them what it meant to feel, to love, to give.
In the beginning, no one really cared about humans, and that was the perfect start. | I remember my father, telling me about our history and how aour ansecters were so powerfull yet so bad and evil and also useless.
He told me:
Ages ago, we were the highest and most powerfull beings in this galaxy, so powerfull we were known all over the galaxy.
I wondered what the power was
‘ what was the power we had’ I asked my father.
‘Being bold and inteligence. It may seem wierd but all the inteligent live obeyed the kartonians, beings with powers such as telekenises, mind reading, more strengh and agility. Our kind was the only kind immuned to theyre powers.
We were rouge and out going, so someday we gathered and made a plan, to over throw kartonians.
But there was a spy, a traitor among our kind, that one of our kind was greedy, was a coward. That traitor, went to the kratonians leader and showed all of our plans to the leader and the kratonian royals.
We were slayed, but not to death, we were put to sleep, in sleep we were all changed into people like that traitor.
We were brought here, to earth, everyone knows about this happening, but is too scared to talk abou it, but our family, was part of the uneffected kind and we are the only part of our race to carry on this legacy. | |
[WP] You fell in love with the perfect girl. One day you notice that there are a bunch of old photographs and paintings of you two hidden away in her attic. Images that seem be from different eras that you definitely do not remember posing for. | "Good night."
I snuggle up behind Mia and plant a kiss on her shoulder. The scent of her lavender shampoo brings a smile to my face. "Good night, Babe." She presses her cold feet against my legs. I shiver and pull her closer. With a sigh, I sink deeper into the pillow and let my mind drift off into sleep.
\--------------
The floor creaks under my weight as I slide out of the bed. I stop to look back. Mia's eyes are still closed; her breathing is still deep and steady. Streaks of sunlight shine on her tousled, dark hair. I resist the urge to brush a hand across her cheek. I'll let her sleep.
I grab my things and tiptoe out of the room. The door closes with a soft click that seems to echo through the whole house. I hold my breath to listen, but I don't hear any stirring from the bedroom. At last, I relax and head down the hallway.
Today, I'm going to surprise her. She's wanted to start cleaning and organizing the house, so that's what I'll do. I grab some cleaning supplies, then head up to the attic.
For the first hour or so, everything is totally normal. I wipe away dust, tear down cobwebs, and sweep the floors. I even put some things away and move some boxes around to make more room. But then, I see it: the tiny gap between the bricks.
I place the box on a shelf, then take a step closer to the wall. A voice inside is telling me not to mess with this, but I brush it aside. My finger traces the edge of the brick until I feel it move. Not much. In fact, I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't seen the gap first.
The voice inside screams at me to leave this alone, but I just can't. I push my fingertips into the gap and tug at the brick. At first, the friction keeps it in place and I begin to wonder if I'd imagined the movement. But then, it gives way. The brick falls out. It lands on the floor with a loud thump. I watch in awe as a flurry of papers and photographs spills out of the opening.
It's odd, but not overly concerning, until I spot Mia and myself in one of the photographs. It's black and white, and looks like it was taken a hundred years ago. Then another photo that looks even older. My heart starts to race. I grab a nearby document. My breath catches in my throat as I flip it over to read it. It's a marriage certificate, dated more than two centuries ago... With my and Mia's names.
"NO!"
I spin around to see Mia standing in the doorway. Her eyes are wide and her face is flushed. "Mia, what is--"
"Leave it!" She rushes over and shoves me out of the way. Tears start to stream down her face as she snatches the papers off the floor and shoves them back into the wall.
"Mia!" My mind is reeling. My legs buckle beneath me as I stare at her. "Tell me what is going on. How are we in those old photos?"
"Please!" She shouts the word at me as she twists around to face me. "You have to trust me, just drop it!" She stares into my eyes and whispers, "Please."
"I... Well..." I look around the room as I search for words. "I do trust you, but I just don't understand. Is that..." I swallow hard. "Is that really us? Are those documents... Um, real?"
I look back at her and gasp. Silver streaks are forming in her hair. Lines are forming around her eyes and mouth. My jaw drops as I watch her age in front of me.
She reaches up and touches her own face. Her finger traces a laugh line around her mouth. She gives me a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and I know that I've somehow broken her heart this morning. Tears form in the edges of my own eyes as I watch her pain.
"We don't have much time, so please just listen." She slides over and takes my hand in hers. "That's us in the pictures. We were cursed five hundred years ago. I don't know exactly why, or who did it. Only one of us at a time can know about the curse. The 'knower' is in agony without the other. But if the other finds out about the curse, the knower dies."
I swallow hard as she watches me. Her back starts to hunch and I pull her toward me. I lick my dry lips. "Why didn't you just destroy the pictures then?"
She looks into my eyes and I see her light starting to dim. "We can't. That's part of the curse." Her voice fades, becoming breathy and weak. "You have to finish out this lifetime without me now. Then, you'll return later as the knower. You'll have to find me."
The tears flow freely down my cheeks as I watch her. She slumps against my chest. Her breathing slows and slows, until it stops altogether. I grab her shoulders and shake her, willing her back to life. But it doesn't work. Instead, she crumbles into dust and slips through my hands. Sobs rack my body as the dust vanishes.
Why couldn't I leave that brick alone?
​
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
r/WannaWriteSometimes | Moving in went like a dream. I got my stuff and unpacked,lying on the now shared bed,tired. But I couldnt stop just yet. I had a couple things left to do,including putting some stuff in the attic.
"Babe?' I called down the stairs to the living room where she was watching some history documentary
"Yes?' She called up, her voice as melodic as usual. God she was...she was perfect. It reminded me all over again how much I loved her,her voice sounded like a song,beautifully capable at wording her funny and witty thoughts. I shook my head, focusing on the task.
"I'm putting stuff up in the attic,that okay?'
"Go ahead love."
With her permission I opened the attic and climbed up the old ladder, setting my box of stuff down. The attic was...surprisingly empty. Other than a couple boxes of Christmas ornaments there was nothing there...until I saw it. A ornate box,about tbe size of my head. I knew I shouldnt snoop,but it fascinated me. I walked over and opened it. It was filled with old photos and small paintings.
At first glance they were creepy at best, old,much older than she was. But on closer inspection I saw all of them...each and every one of them had us in it. I didnt remember posing for a single one and I wasbt around in the time most of them were made. It freaked me out, so I closed the box,turning around to see her,standing there,hand on her hip.
"I really should hide them better next time..." she muttered, walking over "everything gets ruined when you find them" she grabbed my head and an overwhelming pain spread through my brain before I blacked out. At that moment I realised this wasnt the first time this had happened
((This is really bad, im trying to get better at writing completely OC content so...yeah...constructive criticism maybe? This is my 1st time posting on this sub-reddit )) | |
Oops. Should be *Quetzalcoatl*
Double oops: its not it’s 😕 | [WP] "Behold, the ancient Serpent God Quetalcoatl, the Winged Snake, the Devourer!" "Neat. I'mma boop it's snoot." | "Behold, the ancient Serpent God Quetzalcoatl, the Winged Snake, the Devourer!” declared the High Priest to the curiously onlooking explorer.
"Neat. I'mma boop its snoot."
“Do not boop the snoot! Lest you arouse their great and tremendous appetite…”
“I booped the snoot.”
“…for human flesh. Oh gods, you booped the snoot.”
The great serpent glowed with the blinding radiance of the sun itself, and when the light faded, the gathered congregation beheld a curvaceous feminine form as fecund and bountiful as the harvests the sky-god promised.
“Ara-ara, are you the cutie that booped my snoot?”
“Um,” the blushing explorer stammered, “yes?”
“Aw, you’re so adorable I could eat you right up,” laughed the fertile sky god. “In fact, I think I will! Come here, you!”
“And by ‘eat’ you mean…” the explorer cautiously inquired.
“I think you already know,” smiled the incarnate divinity coyly.
“Well, if it’s to advance the field of cultural anthropology, I suppose I couldn’t refuse,” the explorer deflected, in a token effort to hide his painfully-obvious eagerness.
“He’ll never walk again,” observed one of the High Priest’s assistants. “Hips pounded to dust.”
“Yup,” affirmed the High Priest. “And she’ll be disappointed in three…”
The great golden god swept up the slight man into her thick, powerful arms.
“Two…” continued the High Priest, as the feathered serpent bounded into the temple’s inner sanctum with prey in hand.
“...and one,” finished the High Priest, as a man’s yowling cry made itself heard from the deep inner recesses of the great stone temple.
The High Priest promptly turned to the captain of the Temple Guard, his weary eyes casting a resigned look. “Get me virgins. One hundred boys, and two hundred girls.”
The captain nodded and gave the order, and set his men to the grim task of collecting human offerings for their gruesome god’s ravenous appetite. It was not long before he had collected the requisite sacrificial victims and once again closed off the sacred temple grounds. “Sorry folks,” he apologetically called out to the crowd outside as they banged on the heavy stone doors in a desperate attempt to gain entry, “better luck next time.”
The hungering sky-god re-emerged from the temple’s inner sanctum, her eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. “What a fine feast you’ve lain before me, after that pitiable excuse of an appetizer!”
And so, in following orgiastic feasting that lasted one day and one night, three-hundred virgin sacrifices were completely and utterly consumed to satiate the endless appetite of the flesh-eating dread god. The next morning, three-hundred young men and women emerged from the temple, generally tired and sore but not any worse for wear, and all wizened in the secret ways of both Heaven and Earth. The explorer did, in fact, walk again, although only after considerable physical therapy, but he did not advance the field of cultural anthropology as he had once imagined. Instead of returning home to share his findings, he chose to live the rest of his days with the people he would have once called his subjects of study, and anyone who had known him would have said he seemed a happier man for it. | The moment that passed was pregnant with tension. Everyone, Quetzalcoatl included, simply seemed to freeze in place. The cleric was the first to move. His head dropped into his hands. They had just fought through more than sixty kobolds, suffered all manner of wounds, and even lost a good friend along the way. All so they could try to stop the ritual to bring this thing back from wherever it was trapped.
The moment passed, and another flaming hot moment proceeded. Quetzalcoatl let out a hiss so shrill, you'd think one of the large pipes beside them had cracked. The fighters parted their already set defensive lines to let the Ranger rush through, smiling from ear to ear. She passed one of the wizards along the way, and the cleric could hear him murmur, "why in all the bloody hells would you go piss it off?"
The ranger threw her hands up in the air, long black locks cascading behind her. "What? It had a snoot. I had to!" |
[WP] You are the prophesied hero, who was whisked away from another world and is destined to vanquish evil. This is the fifth time it happened and you're getting real tired of it. | "This is the Dire Wood," said Aluvitar, snatching a glance at me from below his bushy eyebrows. "The trees thrive by moonlight, and the forest has been steeped in gloom, under the same spell that birthed it, through all the ages of our world, long before Men walked here."
"Yeah, noticed I can barely see anything."
"THEN LET THERE BE LIGHT!" thundered Aluvitar, and laid a hand upon the nearest gnarled trunk. A magick symbol glowed bright on the back of his hand, leafy green, ocean blue, blood red, and as it did the black leaves of the tree glowed with an ethereal milky light. As though the high branches whispered to one another of ancient secrets and alliances, the light passed from the leaves of one tree to another, and another, until a ring of illumination shone down upon the hollow which Aluvitar had yanked me away to.
I stifled a yawn. I'd been in bed at the time the portal opened in the wall, ironically right below my Rick and Morty poster this time.
"It is not time to be weary!" hissed Aluvitar, now seeming to be keeping the voice down, though he'd been shouting the leaves into illumination a minute before. He hobbled toward me, his ragged robe of Nedronian wurm silk flapping about his legs. "I've called you here, becau--"
"It wasn't quite calling. You grabbed my leg through the portal and basically tugged me through. I didn't have a lot of choice. Now Dorvan the Wise last year, he called me. Legit. It was respectful."
"This world doesn't have time for the manners of the Earth realm," rasped the hoary wizard. "Our very existence is threatened by a great evil from the bowels of Druk, festering at the far reaches of the Nez Plateau, and *you*...you are the hero prophesied for ten thousand moons to vanquish its slithe--"
"--ering corruption from the land. Or realm. Whatever you were about to say."
Aluvitar's pale, cataract-ridden eyes widened in the ghostly light of the leaves. "You have the gift of mind-glassing," he said in wonder.
"No, I'm not psychic." I leaned against a tree, rubbing my temples to dispel a growing headache. "It's just that the Elder Porfanon said pretty much the same thing. Hey, is this Eredia? Seems like it."
Aluvitar shook his head, his eyebrows meeting in confusion like curious caterpillars. "No, Prophesied Hero, this is the Kingdom of Sepheron."
"Wait, Kingdom of Sepheron, as in the neighboring kingdom to Prazak-Shataan?"
"Y-yes."
"Oh man. That place is nuts. Can't remember if it was my second quest to vanquish evil or the third, but one of the two... Anyway, yeah, I vanquished the evil there as well. Sounds like some of the guerrilla groups hiding out in the Plephadian Wastes may have snuck into--what did you call it? The Naz Plateau?"
"Nez."
"So is the Nez Plateau is close to the border of Prazak-Shataan, by any chance?"
"Right...right across the border actually."
Aluvitar scrached his butt through his robe, pretending to fiddle with something in one of its many pockets. Probably thought I didn't notice, though the little scratch-your-butt-through-the-robe-pocket trick is pretty common among wizards. I'd know--I met five of them on four previous Quests of the Prophesied Hero that I'd been roped into.
"Look man, I want to get this over with. Which was the Nez Plateau and Drug or whatever?"
"Druk."
"Druk. And you have a sword?"
"Er, behind that tree."
I looked and saw the hilt peeking out from behind the neighboring trunk.
"Cheers," I said, lifting it and testing its weight. The moon was bright tonight and my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I'd find my way through the wood. | The army of the terrible Demon King charged towards me. And I couldn't care less. Been there, done that. Four armies vanquished, an exemplary record, and my reward? Another army to kill. The Time Lords had no regard for the feeling of boredom. Time never got bored of ticking. But I did. And today will be my salvation, today the demon army shall run me over, and it will be the end of it.
Or so I thought. But I was strong, much too strong. The flaming arrows slid right off my body. The blades weren't sharp enough to even graze my skin. Bored by their incompetence, I ran roughshod on them. Every single one of them killed. Now only the Demon King remained.
And boy, he was strong. The strongest of the five, I'd say. Good gear too: dragonhide armour, black metal sword, platinum shield, and lightning boots. A good man to lose my life to.
He charged at me, and I put my shield up -- courtesy, you know, one can't just give up. His sword clanged against my shield. The force of his blow pushed me onto my heels. I drew my shield back and slashed at the Demon King, but his dragonhide armour smothered my blow, and he dropped his shield and punched me hard in the gut.
Now, I know I wanted to die, to end it all, but I didn't come to get beaten up. I wanted a nice clean death, no goring involved. Clearly, the Demon King was operating on a different wavelength. So, I did what needed to be done.
Slouched against his fist, my hands reached down to his lightning boots, and I mixed his laces up. The Demon King threw me a good three feet away, but I was smiling. He didn't know why, but you know demons, they don't like a smartass.
Muscles bulging, the Demon King picked his platinum shield up and leapt towards me. But you know, his laces were mixed up, and with leather boots that wouldn't have mattered, but his were lightning boots. And they crackled when he leapt at me, and the crackling grew ever louder, and the lightning grew ever stronger until it burnt the Demon King to crisp.
Damn, I didn't expect the boots to blow up like that. The Demon King was dead now. Evil, gone. Maybe, it's a good thing. This could be it -- promotion!
But you know the Time Lords, they're party poopers.
"Well done!" the voice in the sky said.
"It's my honour." I had to say that -- it was written in the manual.
"Your tireless efforts have not escaped our notice. And we have a gift for you."
Nothing to get excited about, they had to say it too, protocol.
"Not many heroes have the honour to be called so in five worlds. And now you shall be given the opportunity to go for a record six!"
"It's my honour," I said.
And the voice in the sky stopped. And now I will be beamed up, again. Then I'll be beamed down, again. Time Lords, do us a favour and get a life. | |
[WP] You are the prophesied hero, who was whisked away from another world and is destined to vanquish evil. This is the fifth time it happened and you're getting real tired of it. | Ava’s first step down the aisle spat her out on a stone dais in the courtyard of a castle, the wedding march replaced by the distant screams of the townsfolk outside the walls and the roar of the demons attacking them.
She still wore her wedding dress and she was *furious.*
A richly dressed matron wearing a diadem set with purple stones watched her from a purple balcony, eyes clearly beseeching even in the torchlit darkness of the night Ava had stepped into. From her left side a wizard approached removing a pointed hat respectfully before bowing low in front of her.
“Hero,” he said in a quavering voice, “the people of Eltoria humbly beg your aid!”
Ava had never wanted the ground to open up and swallow someone so badly in her life.
“How many are there and what magic do they have?” the barely contained rage in her voice made the mage’s head snap up in shock. It wasn’t fair she thought, she’d already given her life to this idiotic prophesy and now only moments away from starting one of her own she was back here again.
The wizard stood to his full, imposing height face, his face deathly pale. “The fire demons assault the walls in the hundreds, our army is helpless to stop them. Can you save us my lady?”
She could and she would, but there would be hell to pay in doing it. Ava looked up to the statuesque noblewoman on the balcony (was she a queen, a duchess, something else?) and spoke more rashly and defiantly than she had in any world before.
“Look at this dress,” she said, voice booming in the courtyard, “commit every detail of it to memory. Before I leave this world I expect your best seamstresses to make a new one exactly like it. Exactly. You are not taking my wedding away from me.”
The noblewoman nodded once, there was an air of refined grace to her that Ava felt drawn to. Perhaps this world wouldn’t be all bad.
With visions of her fiance and the priest burned into her mind Ava walked over to the nearest guardsman, pulled his shortsword from its sheath, and trailing a finger down the center of the blade she spoke a word of power. The metal seemed to glow white hot under her touch, stretching, hardening, becoming the sword she had carried through all her battles in all the worlds since she first stepped out of a portal wide eyed and innocent at the age of 16. *Anguisette*, the thin and impossibly quick rapier she had grown to love.
With its blade she slit long gashes up the sides of her dream dress, freeing herself for the battle to come. She cast off her veil, handing it to the astonished wizard, and set her heels in the guard’s outstretched hands.
Barefoot, Ava stalked through the streets of the castle and the town below, towards the sullen fires burning in the distance, the screams of men and beasts echoing through the night.
She was going to walk down that aisle.
\-------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm currently working on a serial about a savescumming superhero and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary or a bloodthirsty mermaid roommate. I'd love to have you! | The army of the terrible Demon King charged towards me. And I couldn't care less. Been there, done that. Four armies vanquished, an exemplary record, and my reward? Another army to kill. The Time Lords had no regard for the feeling of boredom. Time never got bored of ticking. But I did. And today will be my salvation, today the demon army shall run me over, and it will be the end of it.
Or so I thought. But I was strong, much too strong. The flaming arrows slid right off my body. The blades weren't sharp enough to even graze my skin. Bored by their incompetence, I ran roughshod on them. Every single one of them killed. Now only the Demon King remained.
And boy, he was strong. The strongest of the five, I'd say. Good gear too: dragonhide armour, black metal sword, platinum shield, and lightning boots. A good man to lose my life to.
He charged at me, and I put my shield up -- courtesy, you know, one can't just give up. His sword clanged against my shield. The force of his blow pushed me onto my heels. I drew my shield back and slashed at the Demon King, but his dragonhide armour smothered my blow, and he dropped his shield and punched me hard in the gut.
Now, I know I wanted to die, to end it all, but I didn't come to get beaten up. I wanted a nice clean death, no goring involved. Clearly, the Demon King was operating on a different wavelength. So, I did what needed to be done.
Slouched against his fist, my hands reached down to his lightning boots, and I mixed his laces up. The Demon King threw me a good three feet away, but I was smiling. He didn't know why, but you know demons, they don't like a smartass.
Muscles bulging, the Demon King picked his platinum shield up and leapt towards me. But you know, his laces were mixed up, and with leather boots that wouldn't have mattered, but his were lightning boots. And they crackled when he leapt at me, and the crackling grew ever louder, and the lightning grew ever stronger until it burnt the Demon King to crisp.
Damn, I didn't expect the boots to blow up like that. The Demon King was dead now. Evil, gone. Maybe, it's a good thing. This could be it -- promotion!
But you know the Time Lords, they're party poopers.
"Well done!" the voice in the sky said.
"It's my honour." I had to say that -- it was written in the manual.
"Your tireless efforts have not escaped our notice. And we have a gift for you."
Nothing to get excited about, they had to say it too, protocol.
"Not many heroes have the honour to be called so in five worlds. And now you shall be given the opportunity to go for a record six!"
"It's my honour," I said.
And the voice in the sky stopped. And now I will be beamed up, again. Then I'll be beamed down, again. Time Lords, do us a favour and get a life. | |
[WP] You are a valkyrie and Odin charges you with retrieving what he calls the fiercest warrior that ever lived. When you arrive at your destination you are surprised to find yourself in a small room in some old nursing home. In front of you is the fiercest warrior; a little old lady. | The old man coughed and sputtered as the old lady in her long gown dabbed at his mouth. Outside a storm crested the earth beating at the window.
"Close the window dear. They have it hard enough, might as well not add a draft."
The Valkyie, a being of uncountable years and unmeasurable power, one who had seen not only man climb from the roots of a new earth, but also in its eternal wisdom saw that same earths death, turned to close the window.
"It is time Kind one. Odin calls and I believe this time you should listen." As she spoke the Valkyries radiance flooded the room, casting away the shadows that gathered in the rooms corners. The Valkyrie saw, as she always did, that the room was filled with the weak and infirm of this age's old.
"yes,yes, it is always time. But for Herald here it is time for his nap. And Minnie." The old lady motioned to another bed where a woman whose skin looked almost translucent from age stared sightlessly at the wall, her lips moving as she spoke with someone lost in a time long past. "Is in dire need of a change."
"It is your time now." the Valkyrie insisted.
"Fine." The old lady said dropping her rag into a bucket.
"Fine?" The Valkyrie questioned. She had come a dozen times before each time rebuffed. Odin was growing impatient.
"Yes, Fine. But first, grab those closes in that chair and change Francis. I wont leave him in his soiled clothes."
The Valkyrie frowned looking at the pants neatly folded and pressed.
"Dont tell me the bringer of dead is afraid of a little shit? Dont get a lot of that on the battlefields of old eh?"
The immortal being sighed and picked up the clothing. She had seen much of that. Shit, blood, all mater of mortal fluid.
"And after this you will come?"
"yes after we change Francis and finish my last day I will go to your immortal battlefields and feasting halls. But I will never know what I will do there. Not much of a fighter or a feaster."
As the Valkyrie pulled the old man gently out of his small clothes and wiped him down she turned and spoke to the old lady. "Mildred, you know it better than most, To end a life is quick, you are brave for a moment, and i will tell you most of the time it is not bravery but fear that pushes the blade. But to save, to help give life, to wake up every day and face death, death of those you try and care for that is bravery."
The old lady looked at the being and smiled. "Oh darling, thats sweet of you to say. Also you missed a spot."
The immortal being, messenger of a god, bringer of the dead , culler of souls, sighed. "Yes it seems I have." | I had always been a headstrong person, long before I chose to go down the path of a warrioress, long before I chose to serve under the gods as their weighty blade.
My drive to satiate my pride had always been my driving motivation. I always strived to prove myself, to prove my worth to my peers, even to the gods themselves, and most importantly, to myself. And for nearly my entire life, I had always proven to myself that I did have a claim to this bloated ego of mine, for my skill on the battlefield amongst my compatriots are second to none but the gods themselves.
Many times I've butted heads with the gods themselves; I've always thought of myself as better than them, as I had always convinced myself that they didn't deserve their position as rulers of the 9 realms. I didn't realize this then but the only reason none of them smited me since day one was because of how invaluable I was as a warrior.
This is the background as to the scenario I found myself in this day, kneeling before Odin after another one of my outbursts when I claimed I deserved a place amongst the gods.
I had expected an excommunication at least, or even worse, getting executed by them for my shameless profanity. Instead, Odin gave me a simple task.
"You claim that you're the best warrior there is, prove it to me. Defeat the one only known as "Elli", the greatest warrior there is. If you can do that, I shall grant you your position amongst the gods. But you are not to step back within Asgard before you complete that task, or you will die trying."
That day, I walked out of the gates of Asgard and didn't look back. I **will** prove to them that I am worthy of the title of a god.
For years I searched the 9 realms for the person known as "Elli". I asked everyone I met, looked from the highest mountains to the lowest valleys, and yet I never found this enigmatic person. I almost gave up, until one day I stumbled upon the castle of Utgard-loki. He pointed me wayward, to the gates of Hel.
So there I went, I had expected to find a massive fortress, or perhaps a lone figure sitting atop the highest mountain, waiting for challengers.
Instead what I found was a small, run down cabin. Within it, an old blind woman spinning a sweater.
"Are you the one known as Elli?" I inquired her
"Sure am, miss" the frail looking lady answered back.
At that moment, a realization hit me.
Odin had sent me on an empty errand, to make me look like a fool.
I felt anger within me like never before. Anger towards the gods that I felt had never respected me. I spent years wandering between realms, only to be tasked with killing an old lady.
"CURSE THEM, CURSE THEM ALL. THE GODS, ALL OF THEM, THEIR CHILDREN TOO!"
In the heat of the moment, I drew my blade and went for the killing blow on the old lady.
...And immediately found myself on the ground, pinned by the seemingly harmless frail lady.
"Now, now, miss. I don't know what personal matter you have with the gods, but you should not go around harming little old ladies"
I tried to push her off me with all my strength, but I couldn't. I felt as if all my strength had been sucked out of me. I struggled as much as I could for what felt like days.
Finally, I relented.
"Please, I give up. You win ma'am, please let go of me"
"You don't seem to understand, miss. You don't get to have mercy **from me**"
I turned my head halfway, to see her face, which has now twisted to reveal an endless black void within. From which I can faintly hear the voice of the damned.
I pleaded with her to spare me, and begged for forgiveness for my transgressions. Yet she seemed to push me down harder, and I can start to feel my life draining away slowly.
For the first time in my life, I felt fear. I felt powerless. I cried for my life. I didn't want things to end right here. I begged for mercy from the gods I had just cursed out, to beg them for forgiveness for my insubordination.
Suddenly, I was whisked back to asgard, I was once more before Odin. On the floor broken and crying for my life.
He saw the look on my face, and I had expected him to do a mocking gloat over me. To make fun for my inability to defeat what seemed to be a "little old lady".
Yet, all he gave me was a gentle smile, like that of a grandfather's, and he helped me up.
"Why did you save me? I had failed at your task and I deserved to die." I asked him.
"I simply wanted to teach you a lesson about pride."
I stared at him slightly bewildered
"The old woman is Elli, the manifestation of "old age", and she is an enemy all of us faces. From the lowliest humans to even us gods. She is an enemy even Thor himself couldn't beat. I sent you out to meet her to show you that there is a limit to boundless ambition and your hubris, that there are simply things even us gods will never overcome."
"Couldn't you have told me all that in a less roundabout way instead of sending me on a five year long empty quest?"
"I think the long journey gives more meaning to the encounter. Now go fix yourself, you look like a mess." | |
[WP] After sacrificing most of your power to defeat the demon lord, they made you a noble and gave you a territory to manage. Upon arrival, you discover it's a poor, miserable backwater where you've been imprisoned with velvet chains. But you have other plans and knowledge from another world. | Great demon lord Hedeos has fallen. It was his thirst for power that got him into my trap, which send him back from where he came. But I lost most of my power in process. I was reduced to mere mortal, with no way back to my home realm.
Humans were grateful and at the same time careful. No wonder, in their eyes i was powerful otherworld being, not an ordinary human that I am now. They only knew I can not go back from where I came.
So the Humans did what humans do. For my part at the war they awarded me with Noble status, some far away land and pair of nic velvet chains. They were supposed to bound my immersive (nonexistent) powers, so I won't turn against then.
Well, after days of travel I have arrived to my new land. It was mess... swamp land with small village, ruins of old castle and only handfull of old drunken soldiers. Must say that I was accustomed to a higher standards.
Apparently king of this land thinked I would fail and slowly died here, but I had other plans. Luckily I had knowledge of old times. In this land, long before first human came into this world, lived another race. Unfortunately for them they were burried there alive after catastrophe struck them. But that is another story, what was important they were burried with all their riches... Most importantly gold, which is highly valued in this world.
I ordered excavation, my underlings had eyes full of questions, only because of fear they have dare not questioned me.
It took months of digging before we struck gold.
Finally with this wealth I can build a better land, not only for me but for all that poor folk's out here. I have lot of work to do to coming years will be difficult but at the end worth it. | "We'll get you a sign," said my companion, a cocky-looking kid of about 19 with a cigarette between his teeth, "'I saved the world and all I got was this lousy hamlet.'"
I chucked a piece of bread at him. "Shut up. At least it's a start. Think of what we can do with it!"
"Yeah, I hear chickenwatching is really taking off as a hobby nowadays."
"What do you propose, then?"
He made a 'well' face and looked thoughtfully down at the ground, curly black hair falling over his eyes. "We could murder somebody?"
"You wanna start that now? At least let me get a house built."
"Why build a house when you can have a castle! That's what I'm here for, isn't it? You pretend to kill me, I help you become rich and powerful."
"Yeah, but we have to do it carefully," I said, stretching out on my bedroll, "Unless you want an army after you again?"
The icy glare, from eyes a little too blue for a mortal, was answer enough.
"Good," I nodded decisively, rolling over, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we find the steward and talk taxes!"
Solmatekt the Tempter's only response was an exasperated groan. | |
[WP] After sacrificing most of your power to defeat the demon lord, they made you a noble and gave you a territory to manage. Upon arrival, you discover it's a poor, miserable backwater where you've been imprisoned with velvet chains. But you have other plans and knowledge from another world. | I should have expected it. They were just as scared of me as they were of the demon lord. To the citizens of the great kingdom I was a liability, a powerful being that would turn on them whenever I got the chance. They wanted to be the ones to make the preemptive strike, wanted to beat me down before I could regain my formal glory. I could hardly blame them; we had an uneasy alliance at best. An alliance that can only end when one party is killed.
My legs dragged along the dirt roads, rocks finding their way into my skin, causing the occasional wince. They treated me like a corpse, hoisted up by my arms, injured body being paraded through my ‘land’. As I passed by the small dingy houses, I was met with scornful gazes. People who were struggling to survive in this backwater town were now facing an additional threat. Me.
I felt bad for them; it wasn’t their fault. If I were in their shoes, I would be scornful too. The people of this town were just trying to survive. The last thing they wanted was a dangerous person near their homes, one that could kill them all if he pleased. Still, what did they expect? The king wouldn’t risk his kingdom. If I did by chance escape, he wanted to make sure my trip back was a long one, one where I could be stopped before making it to their gates.
“These chains? Where did you find them?” I asked, struggling to push the words from my dried throat. I had given up on pleading, they had no interest in listening to my words. To them I was the same as the demon lord, the townsfolk forgetting that I was the one to put the bastard down.
“Oi shut ya trap you git. You ain’t getting nothing out of us. I know how you bend the wills of people.”
Bend people’s wills? They have reduced me to a dangerous myth, a monster. They didn’t even see me as a person, perhaps they never did. Had I made the right decision killing the demon lord? The thought made me sick. Quickly, I shook it from my head. If I started thinking like that, I would go insane. The demon lord was no saint, his death was deserved. Unfortunately, his victims weren’t the best of people either.
I eyed the chains, thick velvet strings of metal clumped against my skin. I tried to figure out just what they were, but the chains were foreign even to me. Perhaps someone else had supplied them to the king, some unknown third party. If that was the case, this situation only got more dangerous with each moment. I may be immortal, but my body was weak. If there were ever a time for my immortality to be stolen, now would be it.
The footsteps stopped, the man tossing me to the floor, leaving me to sit before one of the stagnant rivers, a pretty poor view especially for a noble like myself. The thought made me smirk, only to have that smirk removed by a quick slap across the cheek.
“OI, don’t smirk, its creepy. Hope you enjoy your new home, oh great noble. Let’s hope the bugs don’t eat you before Lady Jessica comes to visit.”
“Lady Jessica?” I tried to turn my head to face the man, but it seemed he had already wandered off, clapping his hands together, trying to rub my touch off his hands.
Lady Jessica? That’s a new name. Closing my eyes, I focused, taking a sharp breath before opening my eyes once more. The stagnant water glowed, the glow soon spreading over the landscape, covering it in a beautiful hue. After a few moments of scanning the area, I spotted a spirit.
“You there, the woman staring off into space, can you help me?”
The poor old woman jumped, glancing back at me. It was awfully rude of me to address her with such carelessness, but I was in a rush. Given her attire, I would say she died a few hundred years ago, maybe more? It was hard to tell when you entered the spirit realm, looks could be deceiving.
“You can see me? Wait, you must be that fellow. Chadington? Charlington?”
“Charles.” I corrected, trying to move the conversation along. “I’m very in touch with my spiritual side. Don’t ask me how, I’m still not sure of that myself. Anyway, my lovely miss, mind helping me find out some information. I’m trying to work out how to escape these chains, oh and who this Lady Jessica person is.”
“I once knew a Jessica. She used to milk the cows outside of the barns. A beautiful thing she was, I tried to set her up with my grandson but I fear he died before I could make the arrangements.”
“I’m sorry? Look, I’m sorry about your grandson but I might not have much time left.”
“Oh, don’t be. Was a real brat that one. I told him he couldn’t climb that tree without hurting himself, and what do you think happened?” She paused. Was she waiting for an answer? I went to open my lips only for her to continue, “And he fell, head cracked right open. What a foolish boy. What were you saying? Something about your girlfriend? Oh, do you want to hear about the time Mr. Wittaker fell in the well?”
“Another time Miss, I really need your help.” Was she really the only spirit here? “I just need information on these chains and possibly this Lady Jessica woman.”
“I heard ya the first time. Anyway, Mr. Wittaker drank that night when-“
The older woman rambled in the background while I tried to piece together my plan. With no spirits nearby, I could be in trouble. Surely a place like this should have more bodies. Unless someone planned for this? With my powers weakened and constrained by the chain, I had no way of doing this alone. When her rambling stopped, she flashed me a grin.
“Thanks for listening, kiddo, needed to get that out of my system. I don’t know if I can help you with those chains, but I can search around for that lady. Maybe even bring some help?”
“That would be great, I would be in your debt.”
“I expect flowers on my grave for this.”
“I’ll bring you the finest batch.”
“Roses too?”
“Yes, just please help me.”
“Alright, don’t move to far.” With that, the older woman vanished, allowing me to return to the mortal realm. Now I could only wait and hope for the best.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | "We'll get you a sign," said my companion, a cocky-looking kid of about 19 with a cigarette between his teeth, "'I saved the world and all I got was this lousy hamlet.'"
I chucked a piece of bread at him. "Shut up. At least it's a start. Think of what we can do with it!"
"Yeah, I hear chickenwatching is really taking off as a hobby nowadays."
"What do you propose, then?"
He made a 'well' face and looked thoughtfully down at the ground, curly black hair falling over his eyes. "We could murder somebody?"
"You wanna start that now? At least let me get a house built."
"Why build a house when you can have a castle! That's what I'm here for, isn't it? You pretend to kill me, I help you become rich and powerful."
"Yeah, but we have to do it carefully," I said, stretching out on my bedroll, "Unless you want an army after you again?"
The icy glare, from eyes a little too blue for a mortal, was answer enough.
"Good," I nodded decisively, rolling over, "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we find the steward and talk taxes!"
Solmatekt the Tempter's only response was an exasperated groan. | |
[WP] Mages are classified based on the material which they can control for magic. Stone wizards are often builders and brutes, wood wizards are guardians of the forests and libraries, fire wizards are cooks and smiths and glassmakers. You are the first blood wizard ever born. |
From an early age the magical community saw me as an irregularity in a society that hasn’t seen change in centuries. Little did my poor parents know I would be a pariah that would disrupt the core understanding of our magical society.
At the age of nine we are placed in a room with simple objects. A stone, a piece of wood, a lit candle, a cup of water, and a rabbit are all placed in front of the child to test the affinity for the elements. This test will determine what role the child will be trained for as they enter the magical academy the following year. All of the other children had their affinity easily revealed to them within a few minutes of being in the room. With that knowledge revealed the children were assigned to their respective guilds.Then came my turn. I was nervous for some reason. A chill rolled down my spine as I stepped into the room. This moment was the foreshadowing to my trials ahead. My fight or flight instincts were screaming at me to run from the room. My stomach did flips as bile crept up my throat. I steadied myself. There is no reason to be nervous, I reassured myself. It is a simple test that cannot be failed. I placed my hand before each object waiting for some sort of response. Nothing happened at all. I knocked on the door and the instructor entered.
“Well little one what has fate shown you?” he said as he bent down and looked me in the eyes. He was bewildered by my response that none had shown a reaction. ‘Your powers are there, trust me child you have been born into a great magical society that has produced some of the greatest wizards that history has ever known” he paused and looked over at the table. “Perhaps a demonstration may help you” he held out his hand and closed his eyes walking carefully around the table. He stopped at the stone and it slowly rose and gently floated into his open palm. “See child all you need to do is focus and feel the connection you were born with flow through you and into the element” He gestured at the table for me to try again.
I closed my eyes and exhaled sharply to clear my mind of nervous energy. What if I was the first to be born without such a connection? A freak to be ostracized and driven out into exile. “NO!” screamed a voice in the back of my head.
“Focus and all shall be revealed” the wizard said with gentle encouragement. I proceeded around the table and stopped in front of the rabbit. I could feel a connection forming with it. “That is it boy, it seems you have an affinity for nature magic” he informed me “ now focus and see if you can get the animal to sleep.” I focused even harder and the poor creature began to screech in agony. As its cries echoed off the walls of the room, blood began to seep from the eyes, nose, and mouth of the animal. Eventually the creature ceased all noise and movement. Floating in a crimson sphere above my palm was the rabbit's blood. Coincidentally, all the blood from the wizard’s face drained away, leaving him pale and gaping. He fell over himself as he backed away horrified. Fumbling for words, they fell out as choked gasps and unintelligible babble. Shakily, pointing a finger at me, he managed to get his knees underneath himself. Finally managing a single phrase, “HELP!” he screamed. As I immediately lost focus the blood lost form, falling to the floor and staining my hands. I crumpled to the floor and wept loudly into my crimson palms.
A few minutes later four wizards rushed in through the door in battle ready stances. They looked around for a threat, then dropped their aggressive posture. Puzzled, one of them stared at the shaking wizard, “what is all the commotion about?” He followed the pointed finger to the carnage on the table and then over to the pitiful sobbing child. “Explain” another wizard commanded as he helped his unsettled peer to their feet. I continued to sob in a fetal ball on the floor as he recounted the events in a quivering tone. The five turned on me staring incredulously. “We must do something at once,” said one. The others grunted in agreement. “ Lock him in the room and summon the high council, we must discuss this anomaly and decide what is to be done with the child.” With that they left the room and locked the door with me terrified and alone. I was left waiting upon the decision of my elders on what was to befall me.
\*First time posting. I enjoyed this prompt | My affliction was discovered at a very young age. The horror on my mother's face that night was something to remember and still brings a smile to my face after all of this time. I knew I shouldn't have caved into my urges. The deep, deep taste that never seemed to be quenched took over me. One drip at a time.
But no matter how much I indulge in the intoxicating liquid, I found myself wanting more.
And now here I stand: with an ugly necklace around my neck and no hat to block the rain from ruining my hair.
"Under the King's name through Judge Abacus, you are sentenced to death for the murder of--"
Oh, but how could I have resisted the girl? So beautiful and delicate. Like a fresh flower awaking in spring, begging to drained her very fluids that run through her heart and give her life--an innocent life. The fluids that brought tingles to my mouth and shivers down my spine--
"Hang him!" yelled a man.
"Sinner, blood wizard!"
"Any last words?" the short, balding man that read me the decree said to me.
He looked to be in his forties with skin that screamed fifties; blood type something I wouldn't desire but definitely would drink if needed. After being locked away in that ghastly prison for so long, I'd drain the life from a cat--hell even a rat if I could get my claws on it--
"Any last words, blood wizard?!" the man yelled, his voice drowned out by the rain and my racing desires to get just one drop of blood.
"Please," I said. "Please let me have just a little bit of blood--just a sip, I'll even use my teeth this time!"
The man yanked his arm, and the bang of wood slammed away below my feet. The only thing holding me up was this blasted rope necklace that grew far too tight. The cracking and snapping of my bones confirmed that this was perhaps the worst thing to have around your neck, especially when you lose your footing.
I jerked and yanked--dying hurt, even for me, though my dying was different. I didn't seem to die, ever. I always woke up. They've tried to drown, beat, chop, hang--on multiple occasions--and execute with fire. But I always seemed to awake after all went dark, thirsting for blood, and found it quite easy to walk on over to the next chunk of land to avoid constant execution.
My thrashing grew faint and the life from my body began to subside. My vision grew blurry then began to darken.
*Here we go again,* the final thoughts of my mind squeezed out of my death. *The man who read me the King's decree, he had a daughter, right? Delila, was it? I'll be sure to visit her after I awake*. | |
[WP] Mages are classified based on the material which they can control for magic. Stone wizards are often builders and brutes, wood wizards are guardians of the forests and libraries, fire wizards are cooks and smiths and glassmakers. You are the first blood wizard ever born. | I am the Blood Wizard.
Those who know me from legends decry me as a monster, a weapon of mass destruction, the terror of battlefields and cities alike. Nations have put out bounties on my head, and hunters from all over the land seek my death.
And none have returned.
Their hearts stopped, their corpses mangled, their blood pouring out of them like a squeezed waterskin. And every time, afterward, I'd vomit. I'm actually not sure how many meals I eat in a day, since most of the contents don't stay in my stomach.
But it's not the pain of killing others that hurts me the most.
Sure, the pain of those who wish for my death flows through their blood and into my mana streams, scorching my soul with their pain.
It's the ones who I try to save that hurt the most.
I'm sitting in my apothecary, trying to cook another cure for my food-taster. The king had assigned him to me, despite my protests. And it's the fourth poison attempt of the day. I'd purged the poison out of his bloodstream, but the process is not perfect, and he's still in critical condition.
Lying next to him, is a child who took an arrow meant for me. And beside her, a few soldiers returning from a battlefield. Then, adventurers, who'd contested a dragon and now have burns all over their body. I can redirect the blood to alleviate the pain, and maybe even get the wounds to heal a bit faster, but I can't do everything at once.
The magic reaches its limit, and I gasp, exhausted. The child's wound seals, but the soldiers cry out in pain. Desperately, I take the blood from the corpses, check it, and pump it into the soldiers. One dies, but the other two make it.
I try not to cry.
The magic flows from one bloodstream to the next, and I'm repulsed by it. The pain, the suffering, all carried through it, and I feel it all.
I down a heavy drink, and try my best to keep going.
There's still too many to save. | My affliction was discovered at a very young age. The horror on my mother's face that night was something to remember and still brings a smile to my face after all of this time. I knew I shouldn't have caved into my urges. The deep, deep taste that never seemed to be quenched took over me. One drip at a time.
But no matter how much I indulge in the intoxicating liquid, I found myself wanting more.
And now here I stand: with an ugly necklace around my neck and no hat to block the rain from ruining my hair.
"Under the King's name through Judge Abacus, you are sentenced to death for the murder of--"
Oh, but how could I have resisted the girl? So beautiful and delicate. Like a fresh flower awaking in spring, begging to drained her very fluids that run through her heart and give her life--an innocent life. The fluids that brought tingles to my mouth and shivers down my spine--
"Hang him!" yelled a man.
"Sinner, blood wizard!"
"Any last words?" the short, balding man that read me the decree said to me.
He looked to be in his forties with skin that screamed fifties; blood type something I wouldn't desire but definitely would drink if needed. After being locked away in that ghastly prison for so long, I'd drain the life from a cat--hell even a rat if I could get my claws on it--
"Any last words, blood wizard?!" the man yelled, his voice drowned out by the rain and my racing desires to get just one drop of blood.
"Please," I said. "Please let me have just a little bit of blood--just a sip, I'll even use my teeth this time!"
The man yanked his arm, and the bang of wood slammed away below my feet. The only thing holding me up was this blasted rope necklace that grew far too tight. The cracking and snapping of my bones confirmed that this was perhaps the worst thing to have around your neck, especially when you lose your footing.
I jerked and yanked--dying hurt, even for me, though my dying was different. I didn't seem to die, ever. I always woke up. They've tried to drown, beat, chop, hang--on multiple occasions--and execute with fire. But I always seemed to awake after all went dark, thirsting for blood, and found it quite easy to walk on over to the next chunk of land to avoid constant execution.
My thrashing grew faint and the life from my body began to subside. My vision grew blurry then began to darken.
*Here we go again,* the final thoughts of my mind squeezed out of my death. *The man who read me the King's decree, he had a daughter, right? Delila, was it? I'll be sure to visit her after I awake*. | |
[WP] Mages are classified based on the material which they can control for magic. Stone wizards are often builders and brutes, wood wizards are guardians of the forests and libraries, fire wizards are cooks and smiths and glassmakers. You are the first blood wizard ever born. | A viscous, crimson stream ran from Ballack’s nose and ears. His eye wide but not white, each vessel within had burst, flooding the previously snowy plains with scarlet. I sat with my back to the corner into which I’d been pushed—scared, but not sorry. I hadn’t meant to kill Ballack, I didn’t even know that I could, but I did.
He had pushed me too far.
Ballack was a powerful stone mage who built incredible strong-holds for the village; I, on the other hand, was a powerless burden on the community, and Ballack was not shy about letting me know. He had bullied me relentlessly: he called me feeble, weak; he would summon stones from the ground and trap me within their hold, only leaving a small opening at the top to allow bird shit and rain to fall upon me freely; the last time he bullied me, he had built a maze through which he chased me.
I ran through the maze: left, left, right, left, right again, dead end. Ballack summoned stones from the sky to fall upon my head—some of which were sizable enough to knock me out or even kill me. I knew he aimed to kill me. With Ballack hot on my tail, I ran into yet another dead end. The final dead end. Ballack approached me laughing.
“Oh Hemion,” he said as he summoned a stone club and took another step toward me, “you’re done.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I screamed as he inched closer.
“Don’t you see, you impotent wretch?” He said as he held his palms skyward, the club gripped tightly in his right hand. “The village can support you as a free-loading encumbrance no longer. I’ve been sent to lighten our load.”
“Please…please, Ballack. I will find my power, I swear,” I begged.
“Too late,” he said as he raised the club directly above his head.
I couldn’t escape. I pushed hard against the wall to my back, desperate to break through to the other side. As I pushed and clawed at the wall, I cut my hand deeply, the ruby liquid fell to the ground.
“Leave me be!” I burst out as Ballack’s club commenced its descent toward my head.
Ballack let out a choking gurgle; his club dropped at my feet. His face turned beet-red—in fact his whole body was flush. He fell into the pool of his own blood and laid there dead.
“Well done, boy,” said a voice from above. “You’ve learned your potential.”
I looked above my head to see a man in purple robes perched on the maze wall. To my surprise it was the Chief Mage of the village, Exian. He jumped down from the wall and landed next to me with a splash, his purple robe was now speckled with red. He held out his hand, and pulled me to my feet.
“Hemamancy,” he intoned as if I should recognize the word, “I never thought I would see the day that we would have our very own blood mage.”
“Blood mage?” I asked. “Do you mean to say that I was able to do this to Ballack because I’m a blood mage?”
“It would appear so. If I had to guess, I’d say you likely burst every blood vessel and capillary in his body. Fairly gruesome, son,” he said as he surveyed Ballack’s remains which better resembled an archipelago in a dark ocean—the blood had continued to flow and stood ankle deep in the small, dead-end chamber.
“He shouldn’t have been trying to kill me,” I quickly remembered to whom I was speaking and decided to begin laying the ground work for self-defense.
“Oh, sure, but then we’d have never learned of your great talent, Hemion. Really, don’t feel bad about killing Ballack. Stone mages are immanently replaceable,” he said as he lifted his hands to the air imitating a scale, “blood mages, on the other hand, are the rarest mages in existence. I will defend you to the council as witness to your attack.”
My heart beat fast and I couldn’t hide my relief. I moved toward him quickly to shake his hand and thank him for his kindness, but as I did the pool of blood on the ground flew into the air, coating us both in a thick, metallic muck. Exian wiped his eyes and mouth, the whites shone like beacons behind the dark blood mask.
“We need to get you training as soon as possible,” he said as he waved his hand and created a door in the wall through which I was trying to push for my escape. “But first, I must bathe.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed this, please check out r/IML_42 for more stories! | The Blood Lord sat in his throne amidst a sea of drained, disfigured bodies. They had been dead for years, of course, but he had never cleaned them up. His chambers, after all, needed decoration.
Beyond his palace were the wastelands of his creation, and, with them, more corpses: their skin charred and mutilated. He remembered when he had been mocked, taken for a useless fool. After all, out of all the materials in existence, he had gotten blood; besides masters of fires and ice, wood and stone, he had seemed powerless.
Until he had learned how to make one's blood boil from the inside.
Perhaps if his range had been shorter the others would have stood a chance against him, but there seemed to be no limit to the amount of blood he could control. So he slaughtered, and slaughtered, killing every mage before they even had a chance to summon an attack - and had moved on to regular humans afterwards. Now he sat upon a blood-stained throne, surveying all the lands that were now his dominion, euphoric in the knowledge that no living creature could stand against him.
Except, apparently, for the young boy who had just wandered in.
He looked him over for a minute, confused. He had known there were some survivors, holed up in shelters and undoubtedly doomed. But for one to come to him directly, offer a challenge? And at such a young age? Surely he must've gotten lost, wandered too far - but no, the look on the boy's face was undeniable. His expression was of utter determination; completely without fear.
Well, no matter. The Blood Lord had abandoned morals long ago - it was a requirement, with a power as deadly as his. He had no qualms over killing another child. Slowly raising a hand, connecting to the boy's blood, he began to grin.
His chambers needed more ornaments.
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The boy walked out of the Blood Lord's palace moments later, completely unscathed, heading back to the camp. He didn't understand why his mother had cried as he left on his mission, why the rest of the survivors had looked on in sorrow. The battle had been even easier than he expected.
The Blood Lord had underestimated him. Perhaps he hadn't expected to see his signature power to have no effect, followed by a quick attack by his "victim." But that was his own fault.
Everyone spoke of the tyrant like he was an undefeatable God, just because he could make someone's blood a little hotter than usual. But they were wrong. The boy had defeated the Blood Lord easily, and he wasn't even all that powerful. Just like every other mage, he controlled only one material.
And he didn't really understand what "matter" was, anyway. | |
[WP] You rule the land with a wand whose power overwhelms all others. Some call it the barrage of fire, others the metallic whirlwind. Some simply refer to it as death itself. But only you know the wand’s true name, inscribed in the handle: AK-47. | The wand of death spat fireballs on the poor knights. Their horses went mad, their chainmail was pierced, and all they could do was stare. Not one of them could come near me.
"Stop your damned sorcery, you good-for-nothing bastard," the King yelled.
He was behind the knights, sheathed by bodies of brave men, a coward of the worst kind.
"Stop it? Why? So that you can carry my dead body over this battlefield? No sir, I'm in no mood to die today."
"You're not the first evil wizard we have seen and you sure as hell won't be the last. Give up before my men trample you down and make you one with the land."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You're one deluded coward."
The wand crackled again and fireballs rained down on the fleet covering him.
"Don't feel so brave now, do you, King?"
He grunted and took hold of a spear and launched it towards me. The bastard was old. The spear landed about a foot in front of me. I laughed.
"No chance. No chance in hell, King. Bow down, while you're still alive."
The King said something to his troops, I was too far away to hear, all I saw was a man gesticulating wildly, and the soldiers rushing.
My wand prepared itself again and more casualties followed. *Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!* *Clack! Clack!*
The wand wasn't shooting anymore and the army was approaching fast. Large soldiers dressed in leather armour, running with longswords and shields.
No worries. I reached out under the wand and replaced the magazine. Oh hell, I forgot I had some grenades and a shotgun in there too. No need for an AK in close combat then. High impact explosions would suit me just fine. But till the army was reasonably far away, the wand was my best option.
*Bam! Bam! Bam!*
It was magic, you know. | The so called heros lie dead or injured in front of me. They were like the others, claiming that they will be the ones to end my tyranny and how I was evil, the same as all the others who went to fight me. Honestly this group was pathetic, not even a healer among them. Not that a healer would do much against my AK.
I was just a peasant before I found this. Barley making ends meet by working on a farm. It was another normal night for me, on a walk. However, I found a body on the walk. They were wearing a strange uniform, but they were wielding what I would soon learn to be an AK. They had a few extra containers of whatever this AK fires, and I soon learned the power it holds. Very quickly I had decided why not try to take over with this thing, what did I have to lose? It started with a small village, then a larger one, then a city. Over time building an army, and those who refused would meet the end of the AK. Within two years, the kingdom was mine.
But now I’m bored with my life here. I have no challenge, no conflict. Those who dare cause conflict are quickly killed, either by my hand or my army. For now, I wait for a challenge truly worthy to use my AK once again. | |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father plans to tell his son that he's the last member of an ancient race and must carry on the bloodline. The son plans to come out to his father. Neither has any idea what the other plans to say. | Alexander studied soft olive coloring that was present in his son who sat across from him. The son looked out the window with a set of warm, honey colored eyes. The same eyes that his father possessed and were said to charm any woman they smoldered at. Phillip's mother would often regale friends how she felt hypnotized when she looked into the eyes of Alexander when they dated in high school. Although Alexander and Dora Arkantos were certainly eager to be active in the process of creation, Phillip was currently their only child. He had grown into a young man of promise. Smooth features, short brown hair, and thoughtful eyes. Alexander would describe the eyes warm when they looked upon him and the mother that bore Phillip, but distant. A boy who chat for a time without revealing anything about him, what he thought or how he truly felt. Phillip's eyes were warm, but always a touch secretive. Alexander knew both those eyes and the manner quite well, the elder Arkantos had possessed a secret or two of his own. And unlike Phillip, Alexander felt compelled to share one of them in the greasy spoon that father and son sat in. But first, Alexander ordered a refill on his sweating glass of soda and asked if his son wanted anything else. Phillip shook his head, his focus distracted until his father cleared his throat and their eyes met together.
"Phillip, I think it's time we talked," Alexander said.
"Yeah, I think its a good time as any," Phillip said. He paused when the waitress in a pink gingham apron approached with Alexander's order. She beamed right into Alexander's eyes, her eyes wandering over the salt-and-pepper coloring of his beard. It had made Alexander appear distinguished as of late.
"What would you like to talk about, son?" Alexander asked.
"Would you like to go first?" Phillip replied, "It seemed like you had something on your mind."
"It could wait," Alexander said.
"Yeah, I mean... mine can wait too," Phillip drummed his fingers on the table before looking away again. Alexander slowly sipped on his coke while his eyes flicked to the chrome framed clock on the wall. One of the few clocks that Alexander encountered that was analog, not digital. The two looked to each other and blurted what they were going to say:
"I'm dating the Captain of the football team in secret..."
"You're not Greek, your from Atlantis..." Both paused to translate and comprehend what the other was saying.
It was Alexander who had taken the promotion as Captive Obvious: "The Captain... that's a boy, Phillip."
Phillip had his mouth agape at his father's news, blinking several times before he nodded and said: "That's right dad. That's who you date when you're gay. Me and Eddie Breen are together," Phillip said, "But let's dial it back to what you said-"
"You sure you're not at least bi?" Alexander blurted, "Like, at least a little bit interested in girls."
Phillip pursed his lips while staring at his father. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. Of course his father would not understand! Phillip added, "No, I would say that I'm very happily involved with Eddie-"
Alexander said, "You wouldn't at least consider it a little? For procreation pur-"
"Dad!" Phillip growled, "I'm trying to come..." At first Phillip heard his tongue. He looked over his shoulder at the collection of patrons in the room. There were a couples either talking about their day or arguing. There were a few heads turned to Phillip's table. Several eyes flicked over and then quickly retreated back to their menus. Phillip looked back to his dad and said, "I'm not going to lower my voice either on the matter, dad. I'm dating Eddie, which makes us gay. Which makes your son gay... All you have to tell me is some nonsense coupled with wondering if I'd ever date someone I wasn't interested in."
"I'm only asking because there is an expectation on you, Phil," Alexander said, "Something a little bigger than just-"
"My happiness, dad?" Phillip asked, "What the hell could be bigger? Tread lightly so that the news of your son kissing another boy doesn't kill grandpa-"
"You're an Atlantean, son," Alexander said, "From Atlantis." Somewhere distant a plate or drinking glass shattered on the ground. Coincidence, Alexander thought, he wasn't that loud when he made the admission.
"What the hell is that suppose to be? Your fraternity or something?"
"No, I mean your grandpapa... grandmother... myself... we are the last of the antediluvian Kings and Queens to... to survive," Alexander tucked his lower lip into his mouth, his own flush had crept upon him. He was unable to meet his son's gaze and had almost ignored the tap of a rubber sole against the checkered floors. At first, Alexander thought it was the waitress returning to see if either Arkantos wished another round. When his eyes flicked to the ground and noted that it was a pair of black shoes, Alexander's eyes bolted up.
A broad shouldered man wearing a pair of glasses surrounded by thick black plastic looked down on Alexander and smiled at him, "Your Highness," The man said.
Alexander's right fist clenched and shifted into an angry red. He flicked his gaze over to his son and said, "I love you, Phil." Before turning back again to the stranger, "When'd you get into town?"
The man smiled, his gaze unfriendly, a predator sizing the prey, "A day or two again, Your Highness. I thought I'd have a long weekend before searching for you."
"You could make it easy on yourself and go home, Kamos," Alexander said.
"You could make it easier by coming along with me," Kamos said, his eyes flicked to Phillip, "The boy too..." Phillip's mouth was slightly opened at that point. His only worries was how he was going to come out to his father. To actually watch the man he had looked up to, admired. The man who tousled his hair and read to him at nights when his mother was away. The man had snatched the stranger by the belt and shirt, and with a grunt, lifted the heavier figure off his feet and tossed him through the window. The pane shattered, spraying glass everyone and the body slammed into the front of a car as if it was a wrecking ball. Alexander's hand reached to grasp his son's cheek to turn it towards him: "Whatever happens, Phil. I want you to know I love you." Outside the window, Phillip listened a shifting of skin and rattle of bones. Below the ledge lower ledge of the wall, something bestial had begun to huff.
"Find your mother, she can't explain what is going on-" A hand covered in thick black fur slammed into the glass strewn window sill, eliciting a growl from below. Rising from the heap was a creature out of a nightmare. It stood on two legs with a hulking figure that looked down its elongated muzzle to see Alexander's eyes. The body was covered in the same thick hide as the hands, with a pair of orange glowing eyes radiating like a pair of narrowed beams. Jutting from the top of the head were two large curved horns. It was the body of a large, hirsute man with the head of an snorting bull. A heavy hoof kicked the rest of the wall in.
"Phillip, run!" Alexander said.
Phillip was several steps towards the kitchen when the bell at the front door jingled and a second nightmarish creature emerged. In its hands was a black-and-red wood Tommy Gun.
"The boy, Ajax!" Kamos snapped before turning his Minotaur glare on Alexander, "Get the boy!"
The tommy gun turned in the direction of Phillip. | “Son... what I’m about to ask of you is quite selfish... but please know it’s for the best” as I swallow, my throat feels tight, as if my neck had conspired against me to constrain my Adam’s apple like a fleshy prison “w-what is it dad? It can’t be that bad... right?” My tone makes this question more of a plead that the truth be that I’m worrying over nothing as opposed to searching for an honest answer, due to the near certain truth being that my normally happy go lucky father is being serious for a reason as opposed to some uncharacteristic teasing “the truth is... you’re part of the primordials, beings born at the start of time whose existence is essential, without you, life will end, the interactions which take place within you are the true essence of life, they act as a blueprint for which all life operates, when the universe began it was so dense and energetic that when the first life, the primordials, formed, the interactions which facilitated your thought take place so quickly that you were able to dream of what the universe will become over the course of its lifespan, this simulation takes place several septillions of times faster than the universe’s actual progression, if you die then you will wake up from this dream, and all of reality based on your imaginings will shatter, so, I know this is sudden but... you have members of this race waiting to meet you, they’re all male, but the act of sexual reproduction can occur between two men of your species, so please... will you have sex with them? I know you’ve probably got a girlfriend but... if your bloodline ends, so too will reality” “Well dad actually, I was going to tell you but, I’m gay, it’ll be a little easier than you initially thought to convince me, but still... that’s kind of a steep request, am I full? Or half? They’re not some nasty looking monsters, right?”
(If you like my writing, there’s more on r/NomoresWriting) | |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father plans to tell his son that he's the last member of an ancient race and must carry on the bloodline. The son plans to come out to his father. Neither has any idea what the other plans to say. | 'I... have to be honest, bud, I didn't see the signs until recently,' Alan said, shoving another undercooked sausage into his face, and then chewing without exhibiting even the vague threat of closing his mouth.
The café was alive with many sounds. The clink of porcelain. The chatter of mid-day workers enjoying cold coffee and colder gossip. The yap of dogs too fluffy and small to be left out in the English rain.
Arthur was sitting across from his father. It had taken him a long while to parse what his father had said, as it was the first time they'd ever come close to discussing such a topic.
'Oh...' he said, eventually; eyes widening. 'You... you *know*?'
'Of course I know!' Alan said, mouth still packed full. 'How could I not! I was a fool to deny it for so long... and I did, I'm ashamed to say. For the longest time I... I couldn't bear the thought, to be quite honest. I just couldn't work out *how* it happened. Was it my fault - was it your mum's? 'Cause they say - don't they - they say these things come down the generations. In the DNA, or something. But just fragments. Little-by-little, passing-on, until one day its a lot more than a little. *Ech*, *I don't know.* I mean, I know that its not your choice, and that I ought to be supportive... but it's an awful lot to take in, you see.'
'I know, dad.'
'So you... you know too, then?' Alan asked, blushing a little.
'Um... Of course,' said Arthur. 'I mean, at first I suppose not... but I worked it out.'
'I imagine it was the magazines.'
'Huh? W-what?' Arthur cried, dropping his fork with a clatter.
'I left out some magazines once when you were a boy. You must've seen them. I think they were to do with all of that out-of-this-world... *stuff*, you know. "*Docking"* and the like. Probably had a puff-piece in there - you know, one about your kind. I imagine you saw those, did you?'
'I- um- You shouldn't use that wor- Erm,' stammered Arthur, prodding at his baked beans. 'I don't know what you mean, dad.'
'It wasn't so common when I was a lad, let me tell you! Nowadays we have all sorts. Real c*olourful* folk floating around. Tights and multi-colour capes and what-not! And they're the same, you know - *Probably not locals*,' he added in a whisper. 'I hope to god that you're not going to become one of *those* sort later. That might be quite painful a change.'
'And what if I do, dad!? I couldn't give less of a shit about how it affects you!' cried Arthur suddenly; the year's of pent-up frustration exploding from his mouth. 'And what business is it of yours, anyway! I'm proud of who I am!'
'Well... perhaps you ought to keep it down, son...' said Alan. 'People are starting to stare... and this is certainly the sort of thing that we will need to keep under-wraps - *for your safety*.'
'I won't! I'm going to tell the world!'
'That won't help anybody, son! Think of your mother and I! Think of what we might face if the world knew?'
'I don't care if you and mum get a few nasty letters in the post or a few awkward looks down the pub! It's a small price to pay for my happiness - my freedom to express myself!'
'Nasty letters? I'm more concerned about the muscly men knocking on our door, bud!'
'I can't believe you! I'll bring home whoever I like!' screamed Arthur, suddenly standing. 'Goodbye, dad.'
'W-wait!' said Alan. 'Don't go yet! We haven't discussed how you're gonna do it!'
'Do what?' Arthur spat.
'Have kids!'
Arthur glowered. In a flash the fork was in his hand again and raised high. The stainless steel glinted in the cafe's artificial lighting.
'What are you doing?' yelled Alan. 'Have you lost your mind?'
'I swear to god, dad - I will stab you if you shit out another stupid, offensive comment!'
The entire café had ceased what it was doing, and turned to look. Each dreary eye and slack-jaw was swivelled to face them.
'Okay, okay!' pleaded Alan, the palms of his hands raised and sweaty. 'I just need to know one thing!'
'*What*?!'
'Who the hell is this guy?'
Alan pointed to the suspiciously handsome, burly man sat beside him.
'Uh... Hi, I'm Peter. I'm your son's... boyfriend,' the man said, smiling warmly, but a little hesitantly, and sticking out a hand.
Alan did a double-take. Then, with a *tut*, clasped the man's hand with his own and leaned in to whisper something.
'Good to meet you, bud. Now listen here - When the eggs he's put in you hatch, you're going to want to keep the larvae cool so don't be taking any baths for god's sake!'
It was Peter's turn to drop his fork. | As I ring the doorbell, I go over the plan one more time. Kiss, handshake, lunch, help cleanup, insist mom goes sits down. She’ll go outside to the porch, dad and I will have some time to talk. Kiss, handshake, lunch… the list begins to sound like a mantra in my head, one after the other.
This is the latest in a series of attempts. The plan to tell him at the beach, the pool, even that cookout, to be fair lighting my shift sleeve on fire isn’t what I expected. Still, it isn’t fair to Jeremy. He’s been so patient through all of this, but I can tell he’s reaching his end. The way he always asks when I come back, less confidence in his voice each time. His disappointed expression he tries so hard to hide. Really, it’s time to grow up and do this. Today’s the day. No backing out.
My mother opens the door, her face lit up with happiness. Lately, I’ve been coming by less and less. Too much pressure, but I can tell she’s noticed and hurt by it. I kiss her on the cheek, so far so good. We walk in, the place looking exactly the same. My dad gets up from his old chair, and we shake hands, again going well.
Lunch is perfect. I say all the right things, avoid politics, avoid anything really that could set a bad mood. We all get up, and I say as causally as possible,
“I got cleaning up mom. I know you made. I’ll join you outside in the bit, if you want. I miss the country air from the city.” I smile.
“Oh, that’s okay dear. Your father actually cooked today. Ever since he retired, he’s been itching to try a new hobby. You know what? We’ll both do it, give him a chance to rest for a sec.” She says. I for a second an unable to hide my shock. “Oh hunny, you didn’t think we were still so old fashioned anymore, did you?” She asks laughing, taking a plate to the dishwasher.
Unable to think of a reason not to, I start to help. I notice my father standing awkwardly in the kitchen still. He clears his throat,
“Hey, you look a little tired. Mabey you should take a seat with me.” He says. Unusual, he never was the type to go easy on me with that kind of stuff. I’m about to agree, until my mom says,
“Oh, he’s fine hunny. You just want all of his time while he’s here. Go on now, well be done soon.” My father nods, and goes outside. I recover the best I can, trying to be the perfect son with my mom. Later, we go outside and talk, the three of us. Again, nice pleasant conversation. Nothing that could upset either of them. Towards the end of the night, I get an idea and ask,
“Hey dad, you want to smoke a cigar before I go?” I say. His face lights up, and I can tell he’s about to agree. Before he can say anything, my mom says,
“No hunny, your dad’s trying to cut back on that for his health. Don’t you want us around for a while?” She asks playfully. I smile and nod,
“Of course, I forgot about that. My bad.” I say. Not being able to think of another reason, they begin to walk me out. As I’m about to pass through the exit door, I imagine going home to Jeremy. Telling him that once again, it didn’t work well. I blurt out,
“Dad, I need to talk to you. Now.” He looks at me in surprise. He nods, and we go into his office upstairs.
“Dad, there’s been something I’ve needed to tell you for awhile now.” I start. He shakes his head and puts a hand up. I’ve never seen my dad try to talk over someone. He isn’t a man of much words, it’s rare he would actually ask for the floor.
“Son, no need. I think we should have had this talk a while ago. As you probably know, you aren’t quite like the rest of the people in these parts. There’s something special about you. You can feel it your blood, right?” He starts. I nod. It isn’t exactly the words I would use, but okay.
“You have a duty from this. There aren’t many like you out there.” My father says. Little confused, but okay. “Realistically speaking, you have to reproduce, so our kind can grow more. If you don’t, all will be lost.” He says. Wow, our kind? I pause, not sure where to start ther.
“Uh, it doesn’t really work like that dad.” I say. He now looks at me, confused.
“I know you’re a little behind schedule with finding a partner son, but I’m sure you’ll come around. There isn’t the biggest rush in the world, as long as the job gets done.” He says.
“I actually already have a partner, his name is Jeremy. We’ve been together quite some time.” I say, more confused, but happy I can finally tell him that. My dad’s face goes white.
“Your… partner? Your… male… partner?” He sputters out. Now it’s my turn to be shocked, horrified even. The look of absolute sadness on my father’s face is almost too much to bare.
“Uh, yes. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Dad, I’m gay.” I say, it not coming out in the strong happy way I planned, but as a weak quiver.
“That’s uh… that can’t be son.” He says, shaking his head. I stand, seeing where this is headed. While this was a nightmare to come to true for me, I don’t have to stick around for anymore. I begin to walk out.
“Wait. No, not because of the reason you think I see now you don’t know what I’m actually talking to you about. Son, have you ever noticed you’re a bit taller than more people? Facial features a bit different? I know we told you we are from Viking, but that isn’t quite true. We are actually descendants from the only people who have been able to kill Vikings. Our blood has been tested. We are one of the strongest, healthiest people to ever live. There are very few of us left, we need to reproduce, to build more of us.
Son, you can love whoever you like, but you have a duty to the world to carry on this bloodline. Do this duty, then we can deal with this whole gay thing.” He says.
“What the fuck.” | |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father plans to tell his son that he's the last member of an ancient race and must carry on the bloodline. The son plans to come out to his father. Neither has any idea what the other plans to say. | "Son, you are the youngest descendant of my space colony."
"Space colony huh"
"I lied to you and your mother, I'm not French"
"You're funny"
"I'm serious, my parents didn't die in a car crash, my home, my spaceship, crashed here on earth, I was the sole survivor"
"Very funny"
"I am like Doctor Who, the last of my species"
"Well you look pretty human to me"
"Haven't you ever wondered why I only have four fingers, and why you have particularly pointy ears?"
"I assumed you were the gift of incest"
"No Jim, my specie's gene pool is diverse, I swear to you I am an alien"
Jim's father proceeds to open his third eye, which he has kept closed for years. Prosthetics had concealed the eyelids which protruded from his forehead. This proves to be satisfactory for young Jimmy, who now views his father in quite a different light. In fact this event puts everything in a different light.
"Jesus Christ, this is fucking mental"
The alien chuckles to himself "Don't worry, I'm still your dad and I love you very much"
"Wait, do I have a third eye then?"
"Nope, blame mum, her human genes interfered on that front"
"So why are you telling me this now?"
"Well son, my race share with all other life an instinct for survival. That instinct is still strong within me. to see my genes survive in little grandchildren would be life's last fulfilment"
"Oh, dad, hate to break it to you, but I don't think any of those seeds are gonna sprout"
"Why, are you impotent?"
"In a sense I guess, I'm gay"
"What has that got to do with anything?"
"Well I'm not gonna get a man pregnant am I? Don't know if you knew this but on this planet us males don't have wombs"
"Neither does my race you fool, I don't care if you raise them, just donate some sperm to a fertility centre"
"Oh I guess, but won't they check my DNA or something"
"I have advanced technology in the shed, I'm sure I could sort something out."
"But isn't it also kind of unethical? Like would a woman want her child to have alien DNA?"
"Now Jim I didn't raise you to be a racist, there's nothing wrong with our DNA, I think any mother would be proud to be the bearer of an extra-terrestrial being. I bet she'd feel like Mary, holding the new baby Jesus in her arms"
After a little more persuasion Jim and his dad drove to the sperm bank, Jim had a wank, and came into the little cylindrical plastic tank. | As I ring the doorbell, I go over the plan one more time. Kiss, handshake, lunch, help cleanup, insist mom goes sits down. She’ll go outside to the porch, dad and I will have some time to talk. Kiss, handshake, lunch… the list begins to sound like a mantra in my head, one after the other.
This is the latest in a series of attempts. The plan to tell him at the beach, the pool, even that cookout, to be fair lighting my shift sleeve on fire isn’t what I expected. Still, it isn’t fair to Jeremy. He’s been so patient through all of this, but I can tell he’s reaching his end. The way he always asks when I come back, less confidence in his voice each time. His disappointed expression he tries so hard to hide. Really, it’s time to grow up and do this. Today’s the day. No backing out.
My mother opens the door, her face lit up with happiness. Lately, I’ve been coming by less and less. Too much pressure, but I can tell she’s noticed and hurt by it. I kiss her on the cheek, so far so good. We walk in, the place looking exactly the same. My dad gets up from his old chair, and we shake hands, again going well.
Lunch is perfect. I say all the right things, avoid politics, avoid anything really that could set a bad mood. We all get up, and I say as causally as possible,
“I got cleaning up mom. I know you made. I’ll join you outside in the bit, if you want. I miss the country air from the city.” I smile.
“Oh, that’s okay dear. Your father actually cooked today. Ever since he retired, he’s been itching to try a new hobby. You know what? We’ll both do it, give him a chance to rest for a sec.” She says. I for a second an unable to hide my shock. “Oh hunny, you didn’t think we were still so old fashioned anymore, did you?” She asks laughing, taking a plate to the dishwasher.
Unable to think of a reason not to, I start to help. I notice my father standing awkwardly in the kitchen still. He clears his throat,
“Hey, you look a little tired. Mabey you should take a seat with me.” He says. Unusual, he never was the type to go easy on me with that kind of stuff. I’m about to agree, until my mom says,
“Oh, he’s fine hunny. You just want all of his time while he’s here. Go on now, well be done soon.” My father nods, and goes outside. I recover the best I can, trying to be the perfect son with my mom. Later, we go outside and talk, the three of us. Again, nice pleasant conversation. Nothing that could upset either of them. Towards the end of the night, I get an idea and ask,
“Hey dad, you want to smoke a cigar before I go?” I say. His face lights up, and I can tell he’s about to agree. Before he can say anything, my mom says,
“No hunny, your dad’s trying to cut back on that for his health. Don’t you want us around for a while?” She asks playfully. I smile and nod,
“Of course, I forgot about that. My bad.” I say. Not being able to think of another reason, they begin to walk me out. As I’m about to pass through the exit door, I imagine going home to Jeremy. Telling him that once again, it didn’t work well. I blurt out,
“Dad, I need to talk to you. Now.” He looks at me in surprise. He nods, and we go into his office upstairs.
“Dad, there’s been something I’ve needed to tell you for awhile now.” I start. He shakes his head and puts a hand up. I’ve never seen my dad try to talk over someone. He isn’t a man of much words, it’s rare he would actually ask for the floor.
“Son, no need. I think we should have had this talk a while ago. As you probably know, you aren’t quite like the rest of the people in these parts. There’s something special about you. You can feel it your blood, right?” He starts. I nod. It isn’t exactly the words I would use, but okay.
“You have a duty from this. There aren’t many like you out there.” My father says. Little confused, but okay. “Realistically speaking, you have to reproduce, so our kind can grow more. If you don’t, all will be lost.” He says. Wow, our kind? I pause, not sure where to start ther.
“Uh, it doesn’t really work like that dad.” I say. He now looks at me, confused.
“I know you’re a little behind schedule with finding a partner son, but I’m sure you’ll come around. There isn’t the biggest rush in the world, as long as the job gets done.” He says.
“I actually already have a partner, his name is Jeremy. We’ve been together quite some time.” I say, more confused, but happy I can finally tell him that. My dad’s face goes white.
“Your… partner? Your… male… partner?” He sputters out. Now it’s my turn to be shocked, horrified even. The look of absolute sadness on my father’s face is almost too much to bare.
“Uh, yes. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Dad, I’m gay.” I say, it not coming out in the strong happy way I planned, but as a weak quiver.
“That’s uh… that can’t be son.” He says, shaking his head. I stand, seeing where this is headed. While this was a nightmare to come to true for me, I don’t have to stick around for anymore. I begin to walk out.
“Wait. No, not because of the reason you think I see now you don’t know what I’m actually talking to you about. Son, have you ever noticed you’re a bit taller than more people? Facial features a bit different? I know we told you we are from Viking, but that isn’t quite true. We are actually descendants from the only people who have been able to kill Vikings. Our blood has been tested. We are one of the strongest, healthiest people to ever live. There are very few of us left, we need to reproduce, to build more of us.
Son, you can love whoever you like, but you have a duty to the world to carry on this bloodline. Do this duty, then we can deal with this whole gay thing.” He says.
“What the fuck.” | |
[WP] It’s the hunger games, but while they’re happening an apocalyptic event occurs outside the dome. You, a contestant in the Hunger Games, are the only person who realizes that the only people left alive are trying to kill each other for a long-dead audience. | I took a second glance at the note inside the care package. It simply read "Apocalypse outside. Game abandoned. Stop killing." It was awfully brief but I know these things charged by the letter and they weren't cheap. This had to have cost a bomb and it wouldn't have been easy for one person to foot alone, so it couldn't be a joke.
I thought he was going to make a show of me first, but he clearly didn't want to share this kill. As we drew closer he threw me out in front of him and lifted his sword. oticed upon further inspection that the stone had an engraving along the inside that read 'familia, gloria'. What what I meant to do with this? It definitely wasn't from my home District 7, so why was it in there? I slipped it on to the middle finger of my right hand and found it was an acceptable fit. I need to get a move on.
If the note was correct then the Game Makers had abandoned the games and we were on our own. As disheartening as this was, it meant that we likely wouldn't have to deal with any of their surprises. I wonder how long this had been going on for because I hadn't come across any threats for what felt like days; I wonder if any of the others had their suspicions. There was only one way to find out.
My first instinct was to stay up this tree and wait for someone to cross my path. I could call from the tree with relative safety and hope that they trusted me, which of course they wouldn't. This was going to be a lot harder than I first thought. Why would anyone believe that I wasn't trying to lower their guard when we were literally in here to kill each other? Perhaps I could try to capture one of them and convince them, maybe if they saw that I had the opportunity to kill one of them and didn't it might force them to listen to me. But there were still over 10 of us left and there was a chance I'd run into a pack, I didn't want to risk it.
I climbed down the tree and hopped from the last branch onto the woodland floor and assumed a crouching position purely out of habit. I checked my traps to find that I hadn't caught anything, shit, I'd have to hope for something on my way. I was on the very outskirts of the dome so it was easy to follow the curve and work out which way I needed to head for the centre. I was going to head to the cornucopia and set up base there, it was a huge risk but I felt like death was close anyway and I crossed my fingers for a payoff.
The silence was unnerving, I hadn't considered how much of the arena was man-made and the distinct lack of atmosphere almost confirmed what I already thought was true - we really were abandoned. This silence followed me for what seemed like a few miles before I heard the first sign of life. I lowered into a crouch and drew my bow, nocking an arrow put not pulling back just yet. The noise was that of a voice not too far on my right , I was well hidden by a gathering of trees and poked my head around as the voices grew nearer. The voice came from Elias Storm of District 1, who appeared to be laughing with Freya Bushell of District 2. They were clanned up, just as I feared.
They both came within 100 meters but no further, they were walking adjacent to my planned direction but the opposite way probably looking for stragglers on the outskirts. I breathed a sigh of relief but as my body lowered with the outward breath my neck felt a cold sting and a low voice plagued my ears. "One move and you're dead" I knew the face before I saw it, the distinctive voice of District 2's golden boy Eric Svalbard holding a sword to my throat. He grabbed me by my hair and started dragging me towards his friends and I was forced to crawl with him as he shouted "GUESS WHAT I CAUGHT?" to his friends.
I thought he was going to make a show of me first, but he clearly didn't want to share this kill. As we drew closer he threw me out in front of him and lifted his sword. My hands slammed onto the floor and broke my fall, but I closed my eyes and waited for my end in the split second that I had to think. But as my hands gripped the dirt in front of my I heard Elias Storm scream "WAIT!" as he rushed over and stayed Eric's hand. "Wait. That ring. Where did you get it?"
Now I understood what that was for. | \[Poem\]
We fight each other armed and sure
the pride of home within our souls
this is what matters, what's true
Outside the wind whips, skies darken
predatory nature waits
the last word will be hers | |
[WP] It’s the hunger games, but while they’re happening an apocalyptic event occurs outside the dome. You, a contestant in the Hunger Games, are the only person who realizes that the only people left alive are trying to kill each other for a long-dead audience. | It was not what I expected from the sponsorship, the news that the world was falling apart. I really hoped it would be some food, or some antihistamine. The spines of the plant I’d trodden on this morning were certainly having an impact on me. My ankle was swelling rapidly.
I put down the infopad and considered my options. The nanophage, as Ronan had called it in his message, wouldn’t penetrate the shields here. Which means others would also be shielded and survive. Including, presumably whoever had unleashed this devastating weapon on the world outside. Could have been any district I supposed. Those outside of the shields would be broken down into their constituent molecules and cast to the wind, like chaff from the farms in District 9. Ronan hoped it wouldn’t be painful, but being torn into tiny pieces by tiny nanoscale robots did not sound painless to me, and I could see Ronan felt the same as he used the last seconds he had to warn me.
I shuddered as I thought of my friend. In the time this capsule had taken to arrive he would have already been reduced to dust. Like Ronan, the administrators of the game were not behind shields. If I was lucky enough to survive the Games, there was no guarantee anyone would be able to come and let me out. And a lifetime surviving in this booby-trapped hell did not appeal.
A small insistent bit of my brain tried to tell me how rare shields were in my family’s part of District 10, but I did everything I could to ignore it.
The sun was rising, and the tree that had been a decent hiding place in the dark was rapidly losing its advantage. I could feel the cool evening breeze warming already. It would be a hot one today. I shifted in the nook of the branch I was sat upon and winced as my swollen ankle rubbed against the rough bark. The climb down looked painful, but I’d made it up here in the first place and the other option would end up being a lot more painful in a final sort of way if I was found.
With my butcher’s knife tucked into my waistband I started the short, but torturous clamber to the soft mulch of the forest floor. I trod more carefully now, after learning my lesson yesterday. Soft ground can hide any number of dangers in the arena. Limping away, I tried not to look at the hand of the poor girl from District 7 that I’d had to kill yesterday. Some of the leaves had blown away from the shallow grave I tipped her into before climbing the tree. She had been strong, a lifetime with the ax will do that to you, but I was skilled in how and where to apply a knife to flesh to end movement and then life. I would have run, but my ankle forced me into a fight. Like a gimped rat in a trap.
Shouts echoed in the distance. Two tributes locked in battle. Perhaps happening across each other as the sun rose. I crouched and waited. The shouts and screams escalated until suddenly there was nothing but a piercing silence. I waited for the cannon shot, but it never came. No-one watching that poor person die, I thought. Will anyone else notice how strange that is?
It was time to find a new hiding place, and rest my ankle. Perhaps some food. Then there was the more medium-term issue of deciding what I was going to do about the end of the world. With the shouts coming from what was probably the East based on where the sun had risen, I headed West. It was not impossible that the sun was rising and falling in different places though, just to confuse us. It had been done in previous games in this Arena, Ronan had said. I suppressed a sob, as I remembered his face as he told me that.
Pausing frequently to listen, progress was slow, but as I had no idea where I was going I guess that didn’t really matter. I followed a gully downwards, hoping to find water lower down the hillside. A twig snapped in the silence and I hit the floor, forgetting for a moment to check what was beneath the leaves. The ground smelt damp but welcoming and I was grateful for the slight cover the mulch made. Over my speeding heart, I heard another crack, closer this time. Someone was coming this way. They were less cautious than I was. Less willing to stop and listen. With anyone else in the Arena, it might have been their downfall, but I didn’t want to kill again, so I stayed out of sight as much as I could.
The figure of a boy broke from the undergrowth behind me. I cursed my foolishness. Following a gully? It funnelled others down it as well. I should have kept to the high ground. And now someone would have to die. He looked harried, exhausted and appeared unarmed. And he was already bleeding from a wound on his forearm. My fingers curled tightly around the handle of my knife and I took a deep breath and stood on my one good leg, keeping my injured ankle behind me.
“Fuck”, said the boy. There was resignation in his tone, not anger or determination. He reminded me of the livestock brought to slaughter. When the knife touches the neck the fight always goes out of them. Like they know what is coming. He had the pallor and small stature of a miner from District 12. Like he’d never seen the sun.
“I’m sorry, boy”, I said as I limped toward him. “There really isn’t much point to this anymore with what’s happened outside, but I need time to think, and I can’t let you run.”
His eyes were fixed on the point of the blade, and the blood that I was ashamed to see on it. I would never put a knife away uncleaned after use normally, but taking my first human life had been a shock to the system.
“Wait”, he pleaded. “Wait. Don’t.” He crouched down and lowered himself to his knees.
I shook my head and, as I reached him, I took hold of his tunic front with my free hand, warily watching in case this was some sort of ruse. The stain spreading across the front of his britches suggested that it was not, however.
“I’m sorry”, I said again. “I’m doing you a favour. I doubt you’d survive the world post-nanophage anyway.”
The boy knocked my hand off his front and rolled backwards suddenly. With my lack of push-off my injured back foot I couldn’t grab him. I dropped into a defensive posture.
“The what?”, he asked.
I waved the blade at him. “What?”
“You said ‘nanophage’. What do you know about the nanophage?” He looked different now. Glowing from within, like a religious fanatic.
“I know that it happened. Today. About an hour ago. I know that the world is ending. I know that we are all alone in here. Even more alone than we thought. And I know that one of us needs to die.”
He backed away from the blade. “What if neither of us needs to die, District 10?”
“It’s Rosemary”, I said. “My name is Rosemary.”
He grinned. “I’m Peat. A pleasure to meet you. Rosemary sounds like a District 11 name?”
“Goes well with lamb”, I replied and waved my knife again. “And I’m good with lambs.”
He held up his hands, still backing up. “OK, OK. I see you are better prepared for this place than me. But what if I told you I knew where we could go if we got out of here. If the Nanophage has happened no-one out there is watching anymore. More than one of us can survive.”
“Go on”, I said.
“My District made the 'phage. I thought it was just a story. Something we told each other to give us hope. That we would stop the Capitol. It sounds like it was more than that. Help me. Help me get out of here, and I’ll bring you to our mines. The world hasn’t ended, just the bits my District wanted to end!”
His face lit up with that fervent passion again, and for the first time, he frightened me. He frightened me, but he had at least half a plan, and my choices were help him, or kill him. I put the knife back in my waistband.
“OK then Peat. How the hell do we get out of here?”
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 2 in the replies and more like this on my sub.
r/TallerestTales | All things considered Antoine thought it was pretty funny that he’d learned of the end of the world by trying to cheat. His fellow contestants might not find it quite as amusing but as he dodged their arrows in the sweltering jungle ecosystem of the dome he found that he didn’t much care. Whenever they all made it out of here Marcus’ group would clearly need to be ostracized, they were having way too much fun with this. If they made it out of here.
In his peripheral vision Antoine saw a spear sail just over his shoulder, sparking off some rocks ahead. When he glanced back he saw Nieve a mere twenty feet behind him, already racing to catch up after her throw. That woman was terrifyingly fast, his advisor had stressed that repeatedly in the training process. The excited cries of Marcus’ group drew closer with every step, by all right Antoine should have been preparing himself for death.
But then, his contact in the control room him given him one last bit of information before he had died. Less than a quarter mile away was a river with a powerful current, and on the other side Effie and Cole were camped. Alone of all the other contestants they might take pity on him. Especially if he could make them believe what he knew.
Ahead of them every person involved in the chase began to hear the rushing of water, Marcus roaring over the din “Catch that man, kill him! Kill him!”
It was not to be however, and as the treeline broke in front of them revealing a cliff high over the waterline Antoine dove for safety, breaking the waters surface moments later with a gasp. Above him he could see them all arrayed on the cliff's edge, Marcus and Nieve, Teak and Bee. He was back under the water and swimming for the opposite bank before Teak’s first arrow was fired.
The last Antoine had heard from his contact in the control room there were 16 contestants remaining, of whom he considered 4 to likely be unredeemable. That left 12 people to break out of the dome with one day and try to build a new life. 12 people in all the world, it was a lonely thought.
Surfacing for air Antoine realized he was nearly to the bank, and that his pursuers had moved of the cliff, no doubt they would look for a safer place to cross. Few swimmers were as capable as those from his district after all. Ahead of him he could see the shocked faces of his friends from the training, Effie already raising her massive sword in preparation for what would come. Antoine sincerely hoped that he hadn’t misjudged them.
He rolled up onto solid ground gasping for air as Effie stood above him, her sword ready for the killing blow.
“Antoine,” she said “we thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m fine. Marcus and the other are coming though, we’ve got to get out of here.” Effie looked at him with a strange expression, somewhere between compassion and anger. It was perhaps appropriate in these circumstances.
“And why would ‘we’ be going anywhere together?”
Antoine took a deep breath, pulling the contraband comms device from his ear and holding it up clearly to the sunlight so she and Cole could see.
“Because I just listened to the rest of the world die and we’re all that’s left.”
Effie and Cole exchanged a long look, some message seeming to pass between them. Cole stepped forward, looking down into Antoine’s eyes. “Well it’s a hell of a strategy, I’ll give you that. You’ve got about 30 more seconds until Marcus gets down to the riverbank. Sell me before then or we leave you here.”
Rolling to his feet Antoine looked about himself, unsure for a moment what he could possibly say to the pair to make them believe him. With 15 seconds left inspiration struck and he hurled his earpiece into the river before reversing his grip on his small hatchet and handing it to Cole. He sat there defenseless as the other group began to loudly appear on the riverbank, jostling at each other to see who would cross first.
Time seemed to slow down for Antoine as he watched his friends come to their decision. Finally Cole gave a single sharp nod and tossed the hatchet back to him before turning and running into the woods, Effie on his heels. There was a long way to go before they were convinced but the first step had been made. Tonight by the light of the campfire they would listen if nothing else, and perhaps tomorrow could be a new day for all of them, with new goals not limited by the confines of this murderous game. On the opposite bank Marcus stepped into the water, he at least was determined to kill, and as long as even one still played the game it could never truly be over.
\---------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I'm working on things like a YA-ish take on humanity running into a hive mind and there's other stuff like a wholesome version of Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | |
[WP] As the villain pulled you from the rubble you glared at him as he removed your mask. His smirk dropped when he saw your face as he said: “Wait, Dan from Pizza Hut? YOU are the one who I’ve been trying to kill for all these years!?” | “So, are you going to kill me?” I said, looking up at him defiantly, one eye covered in a trickle of blood.
“Of course not.” Marazon said, standing up straight and holding a dark suited hand to the sky, “I will erase anyone who is not worthy of existence on this earth.” Then he pointed to me,”You are worthy. You make good pizza.”
“Then what are you going to do?” I asked, coughing blood.
Marazon thought for a moment, then knelt down and extended a hand to me, “We’ve had our differences, but I think it’s time for the fighting between us to end.”
“So you’re finally going to stop killing innocent people?”
“What? No! What made you think that? I was obviously asking you to join me, to become my honorable right-hand chef.”
“Join you in exterminating about a third of the population? I’d rather lie down and die.” I said vehemently.
“Think about it,” The Marazon said, “I ask only the most worthy to join my organization. Many would die to have the opportunity you’re getting instead of the other way around.”
I grit my teeth, tears blurring my vision of the black-caped villain as the truckload of pain hit from my broken bones. I wanted to scream “yes” to have Marazon save my life, but my hero’s pride made me bite down my tongue instead.
“You heroes,” Marazon said, reading my facial expression, “So eager to sacrifice yourselves to save worthless people that don’t care about you.”
He stood up and turned around.
“Wait!” I said, a desperate idea forming in my head.
Marazon paused, still facing away from me.
“I’ll… join you…” I said, clenching my teeth and strangling my hero instincts.
Marazon turned to face me, “Be honest. Do you really mean it or do you just want me to save your life?”
“I swear, I actually want to join you,” I said, “I’ll be your right-hand chef or whatever you want me to do.”
Marazon cocked his head, “You sound… honest. Why? Don’t you disagree with me exterminating all those… innocents as you called them?” He bent down and put a dark gloved hand on my chest, then radiated healing power through me.
“Yes I do,” I said, gritting my teeth as the power set my bones straight, “But I know no one can stop you by fighting. That’s why I’m going to stop you from the inside. I’m going to use my powers and my pizzas to open your mind to why you should stop killing innocent people.” I offered him my hand, “Will you take that offer?”
Marazon smiled through his mask and grabbed my hand, helping me up, “I would expect nothing less from you, Dan from Pizza Hut.” | As the villain pulled you from the rubble you glared at him as he removed your mask. His smirk dropped when he saw your face as he said: "Wait, Dan from Pizza Hut? YOU are the one who I've been trying to kill for all these years!?"
"Uh, yeah.. I guess. Three years of high school, and these two years of college. Uh, hi? Also, who are you?" You ask the villain.
The villain dropped you onto the rubble. "Well you know me as Viborg but you also know me as hand-tossed veggie-lovers pizza with a side of banana peppers and cajun-style fries."
"Karen?!" You say up to Viborg. "Karen Anderson? I never even realized you were a woman. I MEAN I realized you, you were a woman, just not that you were, I mean you are a woman, in, in that.. that suit. ... I mean not that you're not a woman. It's just, just the face looks robotic, no hair, the suit is very mechanical, very. Gives a default male look. And that voice changey thingy, that's awesome, you make that too?"
An exasperated look comes over Karen's face. "Yes, of course, I made it, I made everything, I will become one with machines. Dan, if only you could see this is the next step for us all. You can't stop me, and now that you've made me, I unfortunately have to unmake you. Nothing personal, it's just I can't you live now."
Fortunately for you this conversation was enough to recover from having a wall dropped on you. "I really thought after tonight we'd taken our relationship to the next level." You say as you smash a piece of rubble into her inner thigh.
"No longer pizza guy and a client few to several years older, but peers." You continue to hit Viborg as you stand and then after exhanging several blows Viborg yields.
"That's right Viborg, the D-man always gets his man, I mean, woman, robot? Woman with cybernetic enhancements? The D-Man always delivers! Wow.. I really should've thought of that sooner. Don't worry I'll bring you your order in prison."
Then at the last second you jump away as Viborg explodes. It was a drone. From it's head you hear Karen's voice "This isn't over Dan, really D-man not only is it terrible it's practically your name. Anyway, this isn't over the Domino's have only just started to fall for you." | |
[WP] As the villain pulled you from the rubble you glared at him as he removed your mask. His smirk dropped when he saw your face as he said: “Wait, Dan from Pizza Hut? YOU are the one who I’ve been trying to kill for all these years!?” | My head hurts, I thought as my adversary leered gleefully over me. There I was, crumpled in the corner from the evil Jeff Bezos’ Amazon crush attack. His bald head glinting in the moonlight, the world’s most powerful villain leaned down near me.
“You did well. Truly, impressive” he gloated, as he raised me by the collar, “but I was in my Prime tonight”
I clenched my fists as he brought his hand
near my face. I’m not done, not by a long shot. “Now, for my express delivery...” he grinned as he pulled of my mask - and suddenly stopped. “Dan? From Pizza Hut?” JB’s jaw dropped, and I took my chance.
“Spicy salami mother fucker!” And in a flash, I smacked that billionaire bitch with my trusty Don, smacking Jeff across the face causing hundreds of dollars to fly out from his person.
“That-” he snarled “is against our terms OF SERVICE!” His head snapped toward me, dollar signs in his eyes. He pulled out his cellphone and held it above his head, announcing his special move: “CHEAP LABOUUUURRRRE!!!!”
And suddenly, I could hear the pitiful moans of underpaid warehouse workers slowly ambling forward - complaining about the horrible hours and lack of healthcare.
Knowing I had no time, I went straight for the big guns. “Jeff!! It all ends here!”
This is it. My final move. My mum, my best mate Daz, the cute checkout chick I haven’t asked out and mister miyagi all suddenly appeared in my head, cheering me on for this one final blow - and just as quickly disappear as I clear my mind for my ultimate attack.
A single tear rolls down my cheek. This is it. I reach into my apron and pull out a giant pizza pan.
“Final attack: MEGA UPSIZE!!” I scream as I hurl the pizza tray at warp speed, which slices through the human wave of underpaid workers and tears through Jeff’s torso as he screams out in pain.
Writhing in the floor, he knew he was done. I slowly approach to finish him off with my bottle of BBQ sauce, when he rasps: “how?”
“I have friends in high places, mister bezos”, I replied coolly.
Wincing, he cracks open an eye slightly and looks at my apron, before going wide eyed in horror.
“It can’t be! Not ebay! We had an understa-arghh!!” He cries out, clutching his wound.
I quickly whip up my tastiest and thickest pizza dough. I looked at him one last time. “Nothing personal - just business” as I suffocated him with the dough.
When the deed was done, I collected my tip from his corpse and hopped on my moped. There were still deliveries to make. | As the villain pulled you from the rubble you glared at him as he removed your mask. His smirk dropped when he saw your face as he said: "Wait, Dan from Pizza Hut? YOU are the one who I've been trying to kill for all these years!?"
"Uh, yeah.. I guess. Three years of high school, and these two years of college. Uh, hi? Also, who are you?" You ask the villain.
The villain dropped you onto the rubble. "Well you know me as Viborg but you also know me as hand-tossed veggie-lovers pizza with a side of banana peppers and cajun-style fries."
"Karen?!" You say up to Viborg. "Karen Anderson? I never even realized you were a woman. I MEAN I realized you, you were a woman, just not that you were, I mean you are a woman, in, in that.. that suit. ... I mean not that you're not a woman. It's just, just the face looks robotic, no hair, the suit is very mechanical, very. Gives a default male look. And that voice changey thingy, that's awesome, you make that too?"
An exasperated look comes over Karen's face. "Yes, of course, I made it, I made everything, I will become one with machines. Dan, if only you could see this is the next step for us all. You can't stop me, and now that you've made me, I unfortunately have to unmake you. Nothing personal, it's just I can't you live now."
Fortunately for you this conversation was enough to recover from having a wall dropped on you. "I really thought after tonight we'd taken our relationship to the next level." You say as you smash a piece of rubble into her inner thigh.
"No longer pizza guy and a client few to several years older, but peers." You continue to hit Viborg as you stand and then after exhanging several blows Viborg yields.
"That's right Viborg, the D-man always gets his man, I mean, woman, robot? Woman with cybernetic enhancements? The D-Man always delivers! Wow.. I really should've thought of that sooner. Don't worry I'll bring you your order in prison."
Then at the last second you jump away as Viborg explodes. It was a drone. From it's head you hear Karen's voice "This isn't over Dan, really D-man not only is it terrible it's practically your name. Anyway, this isn't over the Domino's have only just started to fall for you." | |
[WP] Every civilization has their own version of Death, each being similar and "kind." Except for Humanity's Death. Their Death is terrifying. | When the four brothers gathered in the halls of Creation – the cradle of the universe – they gazed upon each other to see how the countless millenniums had changed them. While they were not physical beings, their bodies took shape of the civilization that they guided to the next life. It would morph itself to resemble the species that each would reap.
Each one was a tapestry of life, beauty, and vivid, beautiful colors. All were glad that they could meet once again, looking like true wonders of the universe. Well, all but one.
The first was Kai, the reaper of the Konian.
He looked strong. His form was that of a pillar. Two arms and hands on each side of his tree-like body. He was massive in size. It was a wonder to the brothers that Kai supported himself with just two legs. His head looked like a rock that had been chiseled down to resemble an old man that had more laugh lines than any of the brothers had seen. His beautiful golden cloth stuck to him like a second skin. He looked like a gorgeous golden statue that had taken life.
Kai explained that the Konian would use these arms to interlock with others. They were a loving kind. One that would make sure the other was taken care of. He would point to his tapestry – where the color was a dull yellow – and show his brothers how the Konian first used these arms to kill each other. They would kill over simple things like pride and honor. But then they would come together and believe that being in unity was the truth of all the universe. After that Konian’s tapestry became the beautiful vibrant yellow that now graced the halls of Creation.
As for the pure true gold, Kai explained how the Konian had seen that color as their greatest asset. Their strength above all else. It was their strength in themselves that allowed them to unite with each other.
All the brothers were pleased to hear of Kai's tales. They exclaimed how their own race could use the knowledge of inner strength. Well, all but one.
The next was Lua, the reaper of the Cidu.
Lua was the polar opposite of Kai. Where Kai was strong-looking, Lua was quick looking. Lua had no arms or legs. He was just a long, snake-like form with a tapestry that clung to the skin. Unlike Kai's strong, never shifting patterns, Lua's tapestry shifted and moved. The colors even did the same. Moving from the deepest of blues to the brightest of yellows. Lua looked as if a rainbow took form. The histories of the Cidu moved from one edge to another. Making it seem like the whole cloth had no beginning or end.
However, Lua pointed with his tail-like end to a spot on his tapestry, it was where the colors were discrete and next to each other. That was when the Cidu believed that each part of life should be taken in step. Anyone that deviated from the norm was considered a rejection of Cidu life. They would be shunned, and their lives tarnished. Then came death which they cursed and demeaned. Lua told the brothers how he would have to calm each of the Cidu that passed through on to the next step. Eventually, the Cidu’s wisdom shined through and they realized that life could be any path that someone wanted to take. It wasn’t a simple thing, but a personal thing. They treated uniqueness as a virtue rather than a sin. They accepted any that would choose different into their arms and exclaim the beauty in the choice.
They believed that death was just a part of a personal journey. That was when Lua’s tapestry became the beautiful shifting skin that the brothers adored.
Each of the brothers exclaimed the beauty in that belief. They would each say they wished their race had the wisdom to see past the difference that life could take on. Well, all but one.
Next was Din, the reaper of the Zejin.
Din took the form similar to that of the last brother. They looked human-like however they had wings. Beautiful, white wings that told the story of the Zejin on them. It spoke of a people coming from nothing that would work alongside their land to ensure prosperity for all.
At first, they were cruel to their neighbor. They would take whatever they could to ensure their own prosperity. Din would tell how when the Zejin passed, it would be tormenting to convince them to leave the possession. However, one day the Zejin realized they were killing their planet. They had a choice between killing or saving their home. Most of them didn’t care about the death of their star. However, some of the courageous of the Zejin worked tirelessly to convince all the Zejin to care. That was how Din had become such a vibrant green.
Din explained how the Zejin now cared for their beautiful green planet like a living organism. It was said in Zejin culture that death was simply a way to repay the land now. To give yourself to the land was the greatest honor any Zejin could have. When they met Din, they would smile and look upon their beautiful planet. Almost all of them would say, "as it should be."
The brothers all agreed that the Zejin was a thing of beauty. Kai even felt a symphony of emotions when hearing about their love for their planet. Lua said that the Cidu could learn from the Zejin.
Terl laughed.
The three brothers looked at him. Terl was next.
His tapestry was torn. Was burned. Was frayed at each and every end. Terl looked as if they were dragged through the rain and nails. The worst was the color. It was dirtied browns, tattered grays, and the dullest of yellows. It looked old. Mistreated. Unkempt. The only color on the tapestry was the reddest of red. It ran down edge to edge. Terl, had the body of a human, but the history of pain.
None of the other three brothers wanted to say anything. They just looked as they did when he entered. To them, he was terrifying.
Terl mocked his brothers. He told them how each of their races were soft. They were not like the humans
Terl laughed and told his brothers how humans were truly weak. The humans that would butcher each other with their hands. They were not strong like the Konian who had the strength to hold back their hate. No, the humans would weak but filled with wrath. They would rip him cloth whenever they passed. They were not like the Konian with their strength.
Terl smirked and told the brothers how the humans could find anything to fight about. The humans would draw discrete lines in the sand to differentiate based on the most arbitrary things. They would shun the other just for the smallest of difference. They were not like the Cidu with their wisdom.
Terl sneered and told his brothers how the humans were selfish. The humans would fight and scream for everything they ever owned. They would kill each other for the smallest of things, it made sense that Terl would be ripped by the angry hands of the humans when they realized their death had come. They didn’t care about each other. Just themselves.
The three brothers were wary of their angered brother. Yet, when Terl got up to leave, each one of them noticed something wonderful.
There, on the back of Terl, was a gold that resembled the Konian. Strength to stay the hand was there.
There was a small patch of shifting colors that resembled the Cidu. The Wisdom of acceptance was there.
Finally, there was a dull white and a green that looked like the Zenjins. Courageous peace was there.
Each of the brothers noted what humanity could have been. What it still could be.
Terl did not know this. All he knew was the pain, the suffering, and the misery of the humans. He didn’t want to admit that like the humans, he was hurting too.
Deep down though, he wished it would change. He, too, wanted what the brothers had. He too wanted to smile and say, "this is humanity. Let me show you how wonderful they are!”
But instead, he couldn't, not yet that was.
However, he didn’t know that one day he would sit there – in the halls of Creations – with his three brothers and smile as his tapestry outshined the rest. Where his tapestry had the golden strength of the Konian. Where his tapestry had the shifting beauty of acceptance like the Cidu. Where his tapestry would have the glimmering whites and greens of inner harmony of the Zejin. Then he would be at peace with himself and humanity.
___
If you would like more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly! | “Who is that?” asked John’s earpiece in response to the clicking of ‘Rufus’.
Rufus wasn't his real name, he introduced himself as ‘Knak’ric’lactak’, john said “Break, assign name ‘Rufus’” and now whenever he said the name, the small speaker clipped to his shoulder would say ‘Knak’ric’laktak’ along with translating everything he said.
“Who is… oh this guy?” asked John, waiting until the speaker started clicking before gesturing to the figure on his packet of cigarettes.
“Yes, is he some kind of ‘scary monster’?” asked Rufus.
“This is death.” said John, noting the alien translation for death was ‘Tor’tikitty’tir’ it had a nice ring to it.
“That is death!?” Rufus asked, his mandibles spreading wide.
“Incredulity” his translator clarified in a smooth feminine voice that explained body language.
“Yeah, when you die this guy rips the soul from your corpse with that giant scythe… what does Tor’tikity’tir look like?” asked John.
Rufus waited for the speaker and drew out a tablet, flicking through images on the public net until he slid it across to show a female insectoid with small carapace plates over a swollen engorged body, her features small compared to her gigantic abdomen.
“Height of beauty, Aphrodite analogue” said the feminine clarification voice.
“She is beautiful, look at that abdomen!” said John.
John took the tablet, the keyboard adjusting to QWERTY and typed in ‘death, human myth’ flipping the tablet around.
Rufus didn't need a clarifying voice to see the obvious threat, he began clicking and gesturing.
“I can see why you humans are so reluctant to embrace death, I would be terrified of dying if that waited for me!” said Rufus.
“If you like that, you will love this.” said John, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the tattoo on his shoulder of the devil riding an atomic bomb. | |
[WP] Everyone heard of guardian angels. You were born with them, and they are only removed from you when a crime is commited. But you? You have a guardian demon. | Some people never had a chance. Those born deformed, mentally deficient, to abusive or neglectful homes, even just a little "different". It takes great strength to overcome such disadvantages from birth. But what about when the very thing that separates you, strengthens you?
"I know that look, stop waxing philosophical. It'll give you wrinkles."
"Dammit Az, I'm trying to write. Honestly, I should've excised you decades ago."
Asmodeus, one of the seven Infernal Lords, directly responsible for the slaughter and torture of millions of souls over the aeons, giggled as he stirred his coffee.
"Excision only works on angels, darling. But we've been through _so_ much together, it wounds me that you'd even consider it."
Like everything else about him, his words had an odd sensuality about them. He looked like a perfect male specimen, tall, raven-haired and lean-muscled, a jawline that could chip stone and deep dimples surrounding full lips, with clear umber skin and brilliant purple eyes. I was honestly glad no one else could see him normally, he made me look like shit in comparison.
He sauntered over to the desk I was hunched over, peeking at my notes. Of course, he had to come behind me and look over my shoulder to do so. I forgave a lot of his... quirks because he had been born a demon of lust before reaching the heights of the Legionem Abyssalis and just like me, he turned his disadvantage into a strength.
"Memoirs? Ignore what I said earlier, this is _deliciously_ narcissistic."
Imagine growing up with, instead of a moral educator and steadfast protector, a voice encouraging you to indulge in all your most base desires. Most of those who don't have guardian angels, a tiny minority of people, simply floated through life without a silent partner, truly alone. I was different from all of those. When I hadn't manifested an Ascendant brand even a week after my birth, I was assumed to be one of those unfortunates. That is, until I burned down my house channeling Az for the first time. I had a... troubled childhood, but I like to think it worked out. I glanced at the dark marble floor, the priceless art hung upon my walls, the stunning view out of the penthouse I was currently living in. Yeah, I'm doing pretty well for myself I'd say.
Turns out that when the world is overwhelmingly good, those willing to do bad go very far. | James’ key slid easily into the lock of his front door, if he had anything of value in his apartment, he was pretty sure his lock could be picked with a smooth butter knife. The floorboards groaned in what sounded like pain as he stepped into his worn down apartment. It wasn’t much, a kitchen/living room, bathroom and a bedroom, but it was enough for him. It also wasn’t like he was going to have anyone around, not with Kayne around anyway. It was hard enough to convince the people that he worked with that he hadn’t committed a crime and his guardian angel was at home without having to explain that actually, instead of having a guardian angel, he has a guardian demon. James wasn’t really sure why he called Kayne a guardian demon, since he didn’t do much guarding, but he didn’t have a better name for the demon.
 
‘Hello James, I hope your day was as productive as you had originally hoped’
 
‘Good evening Kayne, good to see that you’re still here, why are you in such a good mood?’
 
‘Well, if you would like to follow me through, I have something to show you’
 
‘Right, I’m sure this is going to be good’
 
Kayne grinned and turned from the entry hall to the living area. James slid his shoes off and followed the human looking demon through. This was the other issue with having a guardian demon instead of a guardian angel. Guardian angels always appeared angelic, with a golden halow and everything. Demons, it appeared, were not bound by such rules and as such, Kayne appeared as whatever he wanted to. Most of the time, he took on the appearance of a tall, ruggedly handsome young man, which did nothing but irritate James, because despite all the training that James did in the gym, he was never going to look as athletic as this demon that did nothing but get on his nerves all day. James entered the living room and pinched the bridge of his nose.
 
‘Where did you get that from?’ he asked, not looking up.
 
‘I bought it for you’
 
‘I don’t think you did’
 
‘You don’t trust me?’
 
At this point, James did look up and shook his head at Kayne as he glanced between the demon and the new, fancy desktop computer that had been set up, complete with RGB lighting, a new keyboard, mouse and headset.
 
‘Kayne, I trust you about as far as I can throw you, which is to say, not a lot. Where did you get it from, you’re going to have to return it tomorrow’
 
‘I don’t want to return it, I want to use it’
 
‘Did yo buy it?’ James asked.
 
‘Well, not officially, but I thought about it, and in my mind that’s enough’
 
‘That’s not enough, and you’re going to return it tomorrow, and that’s the end of it,’ James sighed, ‘I’m going to make dinner, are you ok with stir fry?’
 
Kayne rolled his eyes and slouched over to his PC. James took this as a yes and set about making dinner for the two of them. He still couldn’t believe that he had been stuck with a guardian demon instead of a guardian angel. Guardian angels made your life so much easier, by protecting you and doing the chores that you didn’t wish to do, like making dinner and cleaning up after dinner. Instead, he had got a demon, who, when he wasn’t at home doing nothing, was out causing chaos, or making James’ life more difficult and for the upteenth time, James wondered if it was possible to trade in a guardian demon for a guardian angel. | |
[WP] The demon stepped forth from the crackling summoning circle, eyes blazing and dark wings reaching into the sky. "Destroy them!" The dark sorcerer yells. The demon stops and looks at the sorcerer. "Nah. I just want to look around." The demon takes off, leaving the sorcerer and heroes dumbstruck. | The demon strolled through town, jauntily waving to terrified villagers as he whistled a little tune. He stopped at an apple cart, throwing an apple up and catching it. He placed a copper coin down, looking around confused as the cart owner cowered underneath.
"Hmm, must be out for a break. Oh well, better leave a little extra just incase." He placed another coin down, and took a bite of the apple. Smiling, he continued walking down the street.
On a hill outside of town, the sorcerer stood with the heroes.
"I mean...I'm so sorry guys. This is incredibly embarrassing." The sorcerer looked at his feet, struggling to maintain eye contact. The lead hero scratched his head, looking down at his cohorts.
"I mean, do we...still fight? I'm assuming that was your big spell, right."
The sorcerer sighed, kicking over a small rock. "Yeah...yeah that was it. I mean we could fight but you'll basically just be beating up an elderly man."
The dwarf to the leaders side shrugged, and took a step towards the summoner. He cowered, as the lead hero placed a hand on his cohorts chest.
"Dude...no."
The group stood, an awkward silence hanging in the air. After a minute or so, the old man spoke.
"I mean, if you guys are looking for a quest, I do have a problem. This demon, I can't have him just wandering around being cool to people. That'll totally blow the reputation of summoners. You can't imagine how much crap I will get back at the tavern. I mean, the wizards are already so cruel, I can't imagine the jokes and japes I will suffer if they find out I summon kind creatures."
The heroes looked to one another, and their leader spoke. "I mean, he's not doing anything wrong. It would be against our moral code to-"
"I could pay you 10,000 gold."
The hero kneeled, his sword stuck into the ground. "We shall take your quest, summoner!" he roared, jumping to his feet. "Come friends, we are off!" | Adavan and the rest of the Heroes’ Guild were not sure about whether or not they could trust the great sorcerer Drakvin the Red, but it would be hard to deem the sorcerer a failure in this moment.
After all, he had just summoned the Great Demon Escalus to bring them salvation.
The sorcerer, for his part, was overjoyed. Finally, he had reached the pinnacle of sorcery. The greatest achievement of his life stood before him, a Great Demon that would do his bidding.
The enemy army was nearly at the gates, but the sorcerer had pulled off his miracle just in time.
The demon stepped forth from the crackling summoning circle, eyes blazing and dark wings reaching into the sky.
“Destroy them!” Drakvin yelled with a mad glee at his née demonic servant.
But the demon seemed to pay the sorcerer no mind; instead, it appeared to simply be surveying its surroundings.
Adavan felt a pit growing in his stomach. Something had clearly gone very, very wrong.
“I said destroy them, great Escalus!”
The demon stopped scanning the landscape and turned back to the sorcerer. “Nah. I just want to look around.”
“YOU ARE UNDER MY COMMAND!” Drakvin screamed, his face as red as his title.
The demon gave a sly grin, more terrifying than a laugh would have been.
“Am I?”
Escalus winked at Adavan, then took off into the night sky.
“You...you...come back here!” The sorcerer’s shouts were lost in the wind as Escalus continued his flight.
Adavan turned back to the rest of his guildmates.
“Well, guess it’s up to us now.”
His fellows nodded gravely as they prepared to face the onslaught.
—
Escalus had been having a rather boring day before he was summoned. He had spent the morning dealing with some rather whiny lost souls in the circle of Greed, and had spent his afternoon doing paperwork.
Now, all of a sudden, he had been called to Earth by a powerful sorcerer with absolutely no knowledge of the proper protocols for keeping demons of his strength under control.
He flew over the high stone walls surrounding the human village where he’d been summoned.
*Interesting...*
An army was marching upon the walls of the city, which was clearly why he’d been summoned in the first place.
*That hero Adavan looked like he might be a worthy adversary...*
Escalus floated down over the incoming soldiers, thankful that their pre-dawn attack would make it hard for the soldiers to see him. He found a particularly burly soldier with a ferocious-looking battle axe.
*Now for the fun part...*
Escalus did not get to use his powers of possession much in Hell, but this time some human was dumb enough to summon him. He reached out and possessed the giant man, and readied himself.
*Let’s see what the heroes of this era are worth...*
The warriors on both sides of the battle would be blessed today. They would get to see a Greater Demon in action.
And Heaven help those who thought that they could control him.
__________________
If you liked this, check out my subreddit! r/NicodemusLux | |
[WP] After so many years,, the long-lost princess has finally been found! Thing is though, she's an infamous thief, who is currently in prison after being caught trying to steal from the royal family. | The guard pushed at me and I did not stumble. That made him push at me again and I made an effort to look like I stumbled, hearing him chuckle. It was a long way from the teachings of my Master, but I still was able to walk carefully and with balance as I was taken into the bowels of the prison. The scrape of the metal key into the lock on the door was grating, and I think the guard was doing it to mess with me. And the other prisoners I could hear.
It was a fairly large open cell that I was being pushed into. Several others were against the walls amongst the debris left from decades of neglect. Most didn’t even look up as the door slammed behind me.
This was new to me. I had been held in guard houses before for the small things I had been caught doing. Once, I was held in a ravens cage until I was able to pick the lock and fell to the ground, the rotting bodies I had been on top of doing nothing to cushion my fall. This was the first time I had been caught, sentenced in a court with a real magistrate, and sent to a place to rot.
I hoped it was the right prison.
They all looked so… dead. Without being taken from this plane of existence. For all I could see in the gloom of the one high-placed, barred window, the people who were there did not expect to live, and had just started to let themselves die. I shivered in the meagre clothing the guards had forced me into and looked around for a place to sit.
It took a while for one of the others to come over to me. The first one asked if I had brought any food. This was not a good sign. The next one decided to try to be tough and thought that challenging me was the way to make sure I knew my place. They were not as skilled as I, and I only dislocated their wrist for their actions. The others seemed to watch, but only moved a little away from the one I had beaten when they limped back to their claimed area. Then, one came to me and we started to talk.
We exchanged why we were there. We both admitted we had done what we had been caught doing. We commiserated on the conditions were were now in. And then we got into how the place really ran.
My information ha been both right and wrong. The prisoners in this cell had not been out to the fields to work in a month. The last real food had been a week ago. This was a death cell, not a working cell.
Crap.
I asked about other prisoners. Who had died recently. Anyone who was famous.
His eyes, glanced over to the one who had tried to bully me. “There are a few I have heard about that have a name.”
I looked over to the bully and back. “Him?”
My cell mate shrugged and looked back at me. “Used to be the head of some bandit gang. You aren’t the first he has tried to cow, but you are the first to really put him in his place.”
I swept my glance over the others in the room. “I heard there were women here, too.”
There was a small smile, more teeth missing than were in his face. “They are kept in another place. The Warden likes to keep them for himself, if you were thinking of getting to them.”
I shook my head. “Nah. I had just heard that we get thrown in together sometimes.”
He nodded. “Used to be that way, but it got bad.” There was a thumb to one of the others in the room. “Ned forced himself on one, but got his balls crushed for his effort. The warden makes sure there aren’t any hidden women tossed in at this point.”
I nodded. We chatted for a bit as the light from outside faded. Jut before it became so dar we could not see, footsteps could be heard outside the door. The lock was turned and the door creaked open. A wooden tub of something was pushed through the doorway just far enough to make it past the sweep of the door, the small amount of light from the hallway being closed off as the guard slammed the door closed. The scent of something that could have been food came to me and my companions’ stomach growled at he scent.
“Warden must have had some guests.”
I didn’t really understand until we all were around the tub, most with small bowls that they had stashed on their person. It was the table leavings from some sort of a party. morsels that were half-eaten, pieces that had hit the floor. Plate scrapings and offal that whoever had been eating didn’t deem worthy for their palate.
I didn’t have a bowl, but I was lucky to grab the leg of a bird, the meat partly chewed off, and only covered with some sort of sweet sauce, not something more objectionable. I had been through tests where I had to eat moldy foods, and things that might not have been food, so this was almost luxurious in comparison.
I was able to eat, and there was enough that scraping the bottom of the tub after my first bites was enough to satisfy, for then. And I had the bone.
No, I did not make a weapon out of it, but I was able to work on it, after sucking on it for a day to get every part of anything that was left off, to make a small eating implement. Sort of a fork, sort of a spoon. The man I had befriended had been curious, and then amazed at what I was doing.
“Never thought of that. I just crunch on them until I can choke down the splinters.”
I shuddered at that. “I don’t have a bowl like you, but I can hold things in my hand, right?”
He did his toothless grin and nodded.
The cell was what I saw for over a week, the others warming slightly to me, even the bully. I was able to reset his wrist when he whimpered at me, and I think I had bought a friend with that. The next time food came, he made sure I had first pick before the rest dived in for what they could. This time, there was a small cup that had been tossed into the tub, a chip on the edge making it dangerous to use, but I now had my own dishware, as it was. | "Some fifteen years ago, the only child of the royal family disappeared without a trace, along with her entire escort, on a simple ride through the Royal Forest. We scpured the woods for any sign but their trail just ended. For months we awaited a ransom demand but none ever came. Eventually we resigned ourselves to never learning what had happened."
The castle warder took a deep breath, "So I hope you appreciate, Highness, just how awkward a position you've put me in."
Given that she was currently chained by her wrists to the wall in a locked cell in the castle dungeons, Desdemona thought her own position was rather more awkward. "I can imagine."
"Stay here until I figure out what to do about this." With a swish of his robe, the warder disappeared up the stairs.
*Stay here,* as if she had a choice. The guards had been quite thorough about removing her lockpicks before they'd chained her up.
Also, what was all this "Highness" nonsense? | |
[WP] After so many years,, the long-lost princess has finally been found! Thing is though, she's an infamous thief, who is currently in prison after being caught trying to steal from the royal family. | The guard pushed at me and I did not stumble. That made him push at me again and I made an effort to look like I stumbled, hearing him chuckle. It was a long way from the teachings of my Master, but I still was able to walk carefully and with balance as I was taken into the bowels of the prison. The scrape of the metal key into the lock on the door was grating, and I think the guard was doing it to mess with me. And the other prisoners I could hear.
It was a fairly large open cell that I was being pushed into. Several others were against the walls amongst the debris left from decades of neglect. Most didn’t even look up as the door slammed behind me.
This was new to me. I had been held in guard houses before for the small things I had been caught doing. Once, I was held in a ravens cage until I was able to pick the lock and fell to the ground, the rotting bodies I had been on top of doing nothing to cushion my fall. This was the first time I had been caught, sentenced in a court with a real magistrate, and sent to a place to rot.
I hoped it was the right prison.
They all looked so… dead. Without being taken from this plane of existence. For all I could see in the gloom of the one high-placed, barred window, the people who were there did not expect to live, and had just started to let themselves die. I shivered in the meagre clothing the guards had forced me into and looked around for a place to sit.
It took a while for one of the others to come over to me. The first one asked if I had brought any food. This was not a good sign. The next one decided to try to be tough and thought that challenging me was the way to make sure I knew my place. They were not as skilled as I, and I only dislocated their wrist for their actions. The others seemed to watch, but only moved a little away from the one I had beaten when they limped back to their claimed area. Then, one came to me and we started to talk.
We exchanged why we were there. We both admitted we had done what we had been caught doing. We commiserated on the conditions were were now in. And then we got into how the place really ran.
My information ha been both right and wrong. The prisoners in this cell had not been out to the fields to work in a month. The last real food had been a week ago. This was a death cell, not a working cell.
Crap.
I asked about other prisoners. Who had died recently. Anyone who was famous.
His eyes, glanced over to the one who had tried to bully me. “There are a few I have heard about that have a name.”
I looked over to the bully and back. “Him?”
My cell mate shrugged and looked back at me. “Used to be the head of some bandit gang. You aren’t the first he has tried to cow, but you are the first to really put him in his place.”
I swept my glance over the others in the room. “I heard there were women here, too.”
There was a small smile, more teeth missing than were in his face. “They are kept in another place. The Warden likes to keep them for himself, if you were thinking of getting to them.”
I shook my head. “Nah. I had just heard that we get thrown in together sometimes.”
He nodded. “Used to be that way, but it got bad.” There was a thumb to one of the others in the room. “Ned forced himself on one, but got his balls crushed for his effort. The warden makes sure there aren’t any hidden women tossed in at this point.”
I nodded. We chatted for a bit as the light from outside faded. Jut before it became so dar we could not see, footsteps could be heard outside the door. The lock was turned and the door creaked open. A wooden tub of something was pushed through the doorway just far enough to make it past the sweep of the door, the small amount of light from the hallway being closed off as the guard slammed the door closed. The scent of something that could have been food came to me and my companions’ stomach growled at he scent.
“Warden must have had some guests.”
I didn’t really understand until we all were around the tub, most with small bowls that they had stashed on their person. It was the table leavings from some sort of a party. morsels that were half-eaten, pieces that had hit the floor. Plate scrapings and offal that whoever had been eating didn’t deem worthy for their palate.
I didn’t have a bowl, but I was lucky to grab the leg of a bird, the meat partly chewed off, and only covered with some sort of sweet sauce, not something more objectionable. I had been through tests where I had to eat moldy foods, and things that might not have been food, so this was almost luxurious in comparison.
I was able to eat, and there was enough that scraping the bottom of the tub after my first bites was enough to satisfy, for then. And I had the bone.
No, I did not make a weapon out of it, but I was able to work on it, after sucking on it for a day to get every part of anything that was left off, to make a small eating implement. Sort of a fork, sort of a spoon. The man I had befriended had been curious, and then amazed at what I was doing.
“Never thought of that. I just crunch on them until I can choke down the splinters.”
I shuddered at that. “I don’t have a bowl like you, but I can hold things in my hand, right?”
He did his toothless grin and nodded.
The cell was what I saw for over a week, the others warming slightly to me, even the bully. I was able to reset his wrist when he whimpered at me, and I think I had bought a friend with that. The next time food came, he made sure I had first pick before the rest dived in for what they could. This time, there was a small cup that had been tossed into the tub, a chip on the edge making it dangerous to use, but I now had my own dishware, as it was. | “Ok. We are all here. Now, will you talk?” The queen of Antia said, stepping up to the bars. Behind her, the king and the two princes stood in amused irritation. They had emptied this wing of the prison of other people, hoping to keep the newly caught prisoner’s identity secret, at least for a time.
The prisoner was Elena Falco, who was at that moment leaning against the stone wall of her prison cell. Even now, in the bowels of the palace with a single sconce flickering on the stone wall, among the stink of unwashed human, with the only fresh air coming from a small, barred window behind her - even now she seemed perfectly at ease.
“I still don't see why we have to keep her in this awful place.” The queen said, for at least the fifth time.
“Is it really you then?” The king asked, ignoring his wife and the argument they’d been having for the past day, ever since their daughter had been arrested after attempting to break into the treasury.
“Do you not recognize your daughter, your majesty?” Elena smiled at her father.
“It’s not her.” Her eldest brother Tomas leaned in and squinted at her.
“Oh go piss out of your nose Tomas,” Elena said.
“Ok yeah, it’s her.” Tomas grinned.
“We have to release her, immediately!” The queen insisted.
“If we release her, we will violate the compact. That bastard Crane only needs three other ring bearers to support him and he can unseat me!”
“What did you want to talk to us about?” The youngest prince, Edgar, leaned toward his sister to ask.
“Did you really steal all of those things?” Tomas interrupted. “The lady’s diadem, the sword of Caleb Adara, the scrolls of mourning?”
“All those, and more,” Elena smirked.
“And you scaled the great tower?” Tomas asked.
“Got to stay in shape somehow,” Elena said.
“But… why?” The queen asked.
“Because it's the furthest thing I could think of from being a princess. Because it’s fun. Because I’m good at it.”
“Not that good,” Tomas smirked. “You got caught after all.”
“Did I?” Elena flared an eyebrow.
Tomas laughed but realized he was the only one.
The king shuffled awkwardly back to the door behind them. It was locked. “Guard!” He called through the bars. “Hello? Where has he gone?”
“Away,” Elena said, not looking at her father.
“What have you done?” The king stormed back toward the cell, toward his perfectly at ease daughter.
Elena let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Nearly everything.” She pushed on one of the stones of the exterior wall. The stone slid free and fell away.
“What is going on!” Tomas looked left and right, panic sneaking into his voice.
“You wanted us all here, why?” The King growled, gripping the bars of the cell.
“The rings,” Edgar said. “She’s going to steal the rings.”
“But the rings are locked away in the residence. Only members of the royal family can-” The queen muttered. “Oh.”
Elena stepped up to the bars in front of her little brother. “Knew you were the smart one.” She tousled his hair affectionately.
“This will not stand!” The king raged. “You can’t take the rings. I’ll lose my kingdom! You’ll lose… your dowry! Craine will… They all will!”
“Can I come with you?” Edgar said quietly, leaning into the bars.
Elena stepped back toward him.
“Taxes will go up! We’ll probably go to war with the Vorish! Your mother will have to sell her dresses!” The king continued to rage.
“Not this time.” Elena winked at Edgar. She stepped back toward the hole in the wall with a glittering smile.
“Elena,” Tomas asked. “Why?”
Elena Falco paused and looked back at him. “Because being a queen is the furthest thing in the world from being a thief.” She winked at her previously-next-in-line-to-be-king brother and leaped backward out of the window. | |
[WP] These aren't regular tv channels. These channels allow you to watch your life if you made different choices in alternate timelines. Went left instead of right? Channel 1052. Ate eggs instead of cereal for breakfast? Channel 86. But what you really wanna see is on Channel 777. | I didn't realize just how many choices a human makes until I watched channel 777.
Every single second was a momentous moment. It didn't matter if I was doing the most mundane of tasks: cutting my fingernails on the left hand first, closing a window, backtracking a lost step. Or, the most special of occasions: gliding up to the lectern to give a valedictorian speech, planning for the proposal to the love of my life, holding my child for the first time...
In the eyes of channel 777, it was all just as significant. Sure, it was a little harder to see how important it was to cut the fingernails specifically on my right hand first, and starting from the thumb, because the other way round would be just deranged, and...
You get the picture. I got the picture.
See, I was just to the TV showing my idealized lifes. Superheroes, for one. Or a rich family with problems that seem so petty in comparison to mine. But this... this was *my* idealized life. It wasn't just one that I've dreamed of for myself. It went beyond that and more, shooting for the stratosphere and instead jetting out of Earth's orbit, my hand grazing every star for a relentless torrent of wishes.
I watched, enraptured, of course. Could you blame me? Could you blame me for seeing my wildest fantasies comes true? Sure, not everything was possible. I couldn't be the world's first rock star and star football player and the president of three different countries and a beautiful wife and five children and sixteen mansions all across the globe and skydiving regularly and eating the finest cuisines and wearing the freshest fit and...
Before I realized it myself, my hand had crept over to the remote, switching off the TV in front of me. My conscious mind, flooded and overwhelmed with the media of channel 777, reeled. My heart was palpitating like a jackhammer, and cold sweat dripped from every pore. I was certain my hair was frazzled and my eyes were bloodshot, even without the aid of a mirror.
I laughed, then. I laughed and laughed, and cried and cried, and feeling all those stupid, wonderful, non-memories wash away.
Because channel 777 wasn't real.
It hurt. It will never be real.
And later rather than sooner, I realized I wasn't sad it would never come to fruition. I was sad that I *thought* it would ever come to fruition.
See, we make so many choices, each and every single day. If channel 777 happened, every single second cannot be fleeting. Rather, each one would be in the spotlight, getting a dedicated camera crew and a two-hour film made out of it.
It was exhausting. And I was relieved that it would never happen.
Sure, I won't be able to achieve some of my unrealistic dreams. But it wasn't real. It never will be.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a life to live.
---
r/dexdrafts | It was known as Channel Luck. Channel 777 was that one where, whoever was holding the remote, that one moment for you would change. You know the moment, the one that derailed your whole life, that defines you as a person, that separates your life into ‘before’ and ‘after’. Some genuinely don’t have moments like that, not clear ones, so the channel just chooses the one that tops the list.
For me it was Sasha. There was only before and after Sasha.
The viewers could waste away in front of their television sets. First skipping work and lunch with friends and doctor’s appointments in favor of gazing at something they’d never have. Then forgoing showers, eating less, drinking less. The TV set became the focal point of their whole existence. And inevitably, there were casualties.
At first, I thought I could do it, I could regulate myself, keep my life moving and the trains running on time, as it were. But I started to slip more and more. I couldn’t tear myself away, watching her grow up day by day, week by week. The simple actions were the deepest and drew me in the most, making it feel real. Watching her laugh at something funny a friend said at school, or studying hard to get a good grade, or learning something new at ice skating lessons. I’d see myself there, giving Sasha the love I couldn’t give from this side of that impenetrable barrier of the TV screen.
Eventually I was a shell of the person I’d once been. Friends tried to intervene, tried to get me the help I needed, but I refused. I arrived at a point where just being away from the television was agony, an ache in my heart, a panic that I’d miss a moment, some milestone, some achievement. I knew, deep down, that it couldn’t last, I couldn’t go on like this forever, and something would give, so I tried to soak up every bit of her life that I could.
Finally came that day. My bills were overdue, my fridge was almost empty, and I was sitting in the living room in front of the television, my back pained from the constant leaning forward over the coffee table to stare at the screen. Abruptly the power went out.
I won’t lie - I had a full-fledged panic attack. I’d seen a good friend have one a while back but knowing what was happening didn’t help me through it at all. Eventually my breathing regulated itself and I found myself curled into a fetal position on the couch, my vision blurry from tears. The black screen stared at me defiantly from across the small room, the apartment shrouded in darkness. And that was it. I’d hit rock bottom.
Closing my eyes, I replayed the moments I’d committed to memory, spending hours staying wrapped in remembrance of things I’d never done or seen. Eventually, pulled to full consciousness by thirst, I shoved myself off the couch and over to the kitchen sink. I took a dirty glass from the counter and turned the knob, grateful that at least the water hadn’t been turned off yet.
After chugging a full glass of water, I placed it back on the counter and looked around the room. Where would I go from here? I felt lost, adrift in the world, untethered and alone in my misery. And that’s what it was, and that’s what it would continue to be. I’d get worse, sink further and further, wither away until there was nothing left but a husk. The truth struck me like a gong and my lower lip trembled.
Stumbling on weak legs down the hall to my bedroom, I picked up my pre-paid cell phone from my dresser, which I hadn’t touched for so long that it had gathered a significant amount of dust. I wiped it clean against my shirt, took a breath to gather my nerve, and dialed one of the numbers in my contacts. It was answered almost immediately.
“Simon? What happened?” asked my sister’s voice in panic.
“The power went out,” I managed.
There was a long silence. Then she sighed. “You need more money? I told you, I-”
“I need help,” I whispered. “I’m so empty. I’ve got nothing but her, and now she’s gone. Just like you said she would be. You knew this would happen.” I took another breath. “You said once you’d help me if only I’d ask. Did you… Did you mean it?”
There were tears in her voice when she spoke. “Yes. Of course, Simon. I’m going to come over, right now, okay?”
“You really think I can do this?” I asked. “Because I don’t.”
“I really do. But you’re not going to do it alone. No one does anything like this alone.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | |
[WP] Humans have discovered that music is made across the whole universe, but different species make truly different kinds of music that sound completely alien to any other species. That is with the exception of one genre that somehow appears on every single planet. | *We noticed the first broadcast around 2043.*
The Owens Valley Radio Observatory picked up a deep space transmission that everyone shrugged off as a joke or broadcast anomaly with some even claiming it was just local radio stations bouncing off of passing planes. That seemed plausible enough with the first few transmissions only lasting for a few seconds at a time.
About a week later the first broadcast an observatory in South Africa started receiving transmissions that were nearly identical in tempo and style but the music, if you can call it that, was clearly played with different instruments. Even our best scientists and artists couldn't reproduce those sounds with anything on Earth.
Within four months time of the first received broadcast every astrological observatory around the planet was receiving radio transmissions, many of unknown origins, and all of them contained similarities while being wildly different.
Scientists were dumbfounded as the transmissions became an overwhelming attempt to communicate with over 1000 possible civilisations in deep space. To assist their efforts the Global Republic with the help of individual countries began seeking the help of civilians by recruiting through news programs. A hotline was set up for anyone who could help translate the various transmissions as news programs would play a short compilation of the, as the scientists labelled it, "musical compositions".
The internet had gone into a full on frenzy of conspiracy theories and merchandising after the fifth transmission. Some claimed the "songs" were a government psyop campaign in the beginning. Some called them fake. Some tried to recreate the sounds they'd heard with few positive results while multiple religions argued over whose God or Gods was speaking to them.
*The world seemed to have stopped, frozen in fear and bewilderment.*
It took two and a half years for the scientific community to come to a consensus on the source of the transmissions.
As I understand it he the planets that had been broadcasting the signals had been doing so for quite some time. The signals we began receiving were being distorted by the gravity and magnetic fields of various planets, suns and black holes and we only began receiving the transmissions recently as the galactic expanse slowly put planetary bodies into a position where the radio waves could reach Earth.
*A year and a half later and we finally found out why the transmissions all sounded vaugely similar.*
A fan of a long forgotten music genre came forward and was recognized by the Global Republic and the scientific community as an expert after proving his proficiency in musical theory regarding the long forgotten genre. When asked why he hadn't come forward sooner he explained that it was because he had been "...busy touring the underground rave scene" for the past seven years while avoiding as much news as possible.
*In retrospect it really wouldn't have made a difference if he had spoken up sooner.*
With the style of music identified the Republic began looking for artists of the genre so they could somehow translate the transmissions and send a response. After tracking down one of the most popular and well known artists in his genre he proved to be an indispensable wealth of knowledge before he finally revealed who he truly was and why he was on our planet.
*We had thought we were alone in the universe for so long but we were wrong.*
He was considered a joke until he translated and responded to one of the transmission in the form of various "lyrics" and beats.
When the transmission changed based on his claims we refused to believe what he was telling us so he repeated the experiment with a different source and was greeted with the same results again and again and again.
He explained his position as some sort of cosmic bringer of doom sent to end our universe to save his own and his confessions were broadcasted across the globe in July 2048 as some sort of a revelation to be ingested, accepted and shrugged off by the public.
It was "...only a matter of time until the resonant frequencies converge and cause a cataclysmic collapse of the universe as we know it" according to him.
In November of 2049 the Global Republic placed him on trial and sentenced him to death.
His last words were nothing more than a sadistic joke now that we knew our fate:
"Dubstep never dies."
-----------------------------------------------------
First submission and I might be too drunk for this so I apologize in advance (after the fact) for cheesiness and poor writing skills. |
“As you can see between the Third and Fourth Millennia humans maintain standard tempo, however the Craxor Jive broke that pattern, as the only other species in the UniSphere that maintain similar auditory wavelength as the humans – Kalfor!“
All the holograms abruptly flickered at the sudden deviation from the lecture material. The lecture-gram waited and stared at a particular student hologram that was missing any visible entity. When a Falcorn child appeared.
“I am glad you could finally condescend to pay attention, after all your caretakers only pay a year’s earnings for you to attend this prestigious institution.”
The hologram of the targeted student remained silent for a while before it un-muted “Uh, I was paying attention sir.”
“Oh really, then perhaps you can tell me which species broke the standard tempo between the Third and Fourth millenia?”
“um…the Zebs?”
The eyes of the lecture rolled back to convey the universal expression of condescension and impatience. “No, not the Zeblongs. Please pay attention.”
The lecturer didn’t wait for Kalfor’s confirmation of attention before continuing.
“As I was saying, the Craxorians broke the human standard tempo. Majority of other galactic species don’t however make music in any form of regularization.”
A light turned on next to Kalfors hologram indicating he had a question.
“Ah, Kalfor, perhaps you can for once interrupt the class with something relevant?”
Kalfor hesitated before un-muting himself. “What about Fart Music?”
“Kalfor!”
“What? All of the species recognize it is a valid genre. Even humans ratified and accepted it recently. I read it on the InterGram.”
“Fart Music is an anomaly that is very primitive and does not have the Four cardinal characteristics that Charmile laid out in the universal treatise on music that we are studying.”
“But it has award ceremonies and every single species in the UniSphere has submitted at least once.”
“Fart music is not covered in this course. It is crass, it is uncouth, and it is uncivilized. I do not want to hear another word from you unless it directly pertains to the standard music methodologies we are studying.”
Kalfor went silent. Once again the lecturer resumed without his acquiescence “As I was saying, stand regularization – “
“Trrrlllllll…..Trrrlllllll……” the sounds of someone busy in the toilet suddenly exploded across the lecture room.
The lecturer almost had a heart attack. “What in the name of Science is that?”
“It the latest winner in the UniSphere fart awards!” Kalfor paused the music to say, before resuming.
“Trrlll…Trllll…Trllllllllllllll.” The sounds smeared through the ears of all students and lecturers alike.
“Kalfor!”
“Kalfor! Stop that immediately before I eject you from this class!”
“TrrlllllrrrrTllllll” | |
[WP] Humans have developed faster then light travel and made contact with alien races. Turns out our civilization still has the most primitive classification because we somehow managed to skip one of the simplest inventions imaginable. | The loud siren blared its unending scream at a supernatural volume, forcing me to sit up straight in a remarkably swift motion to contend with it. I pawed at my bedside table, finally getting a grip on my phone's alarm, and slid my fingers around the screen wildly before merciful silence took me once again. My head naturally gravitated towards its pillow again, while I mumbled some sort of intelligible justification to myself, along with the age-old mantra: five more minutes...
A few sweet seconds later, the door to my room was flung open, letting artificial white light flood into my room. A low, muffled groan escaped out of my parched throat.
"What in the infernal hell was that?"
The voice was still unfamiliar, but I recognized it. After all, it was the last person I had spoken to before I went to bed for what felt like thirty seconds. I squinted at the silhouette bathed in harsh light, motioning for her to close the door.
"Get out of bed, you neanderthal," Rose barked.
Very unwillingly, I slid out of the sole comfort on this space station, sliding my cold feet into a pair of receptive slippers.
"Morning, cap'," I yawned.
"It is not morning," Rose said. "And it is captain to you. And, what the hell was that din?"
"Din?" I asked, my head still swirling.
Rose Anwell, the stoic female captain that I had first met just hours ago, attempted to replicate the sound of my morning alarm. I let her go on for a bit, because it was primitively funny to my asleep brain, and because it was kind of humanizing to watch her scrunch her face up in a bid for better duplication.
Not that she was human, of course. She's from an intergalactic neighbour from a system nearby. What was it called again? Planet Joww?
"That?!" she asked. Clearly, our races had very different ideas of what was a generally embarrassing thing to do in front of another person.
"That would be my morning alarm," I said.
"It is not morning. Also, why would you need an alarm for the morning? Aren't they reserved for problems?"
"Waking up is a problem," I stated matter-of-factly. "In so that it's difficult for me, and also I have to deal with a new day of bullshit."
"No wonder you humans are still primitive," Rose muttered. "Again with the cussing. And a morning alarm?"
"What's so weird about it?"
"Firstly, cow manure is rich in nutrients, and functions efficiently as a fertilizer. It's a powerful tool in the right hands and across systems, and you humans just use it as a cuss word?"
"Assholes are useful too," I muttered. "But I was wondering more about the alarm."
"Oh. The alarm. Humans have problems waking up? Does your race not have an internal device that simply allows them to promptly sleep and wake at designated timings?"
"A literal body clock?"
"We call it a zizz, but I suppose that is an accurate description, yes," Rose said.
"If we had something like that, I would never want to wake up," I yawned. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and brush my teeth."
"Brush? Teeth?" Rose shook her head as I walked past her, hearing her murmuring voice getting softer and softer. "Humans dental care are still so outdated?"
Right. This is going to be a long stay on this station, won't it?
---
r/dexdrafts | "What do you mean they don't know about it? It so abundant on their little dirtball that you will stumble over it with every damn step."
The Researcher was perplexed. "How the bloody hell did they even manage to get our attention then?"
"As you might have already guessed, not by the usually means", his protegee answered with a smirk.
"They seem to have managed to encode some information in low wave-length radiation, barely standing out from the usual background noise, our sensor barely even managed to capture it."
"And yes before you ask, the sensor techs already decoded it, it's the usual Type 0 bullshit, nothing particular interesting"
"So you're telling me they advanced this far without even knowing the existence of Element-X? Whats their biological profile anyway?"
"Run off the mill, slow Evolution Carbon, once again, nominal in most ways. However preliminary scans show that they are well on the way to map their local system."
"Yeas sure, their propulsion runs on fairy dust and spite? Seriously. Tholaram. Stop. Today is really not the day for you boys to fuck with me."
"Surprisingly, even to myself, I'm dead serious for a change."
"Very well then please go on. And I do admit that you peaked my curiosity."
"Funny you mention the engines, when I asked the engineers for their opinion they laughed me out of the room, also not believing I'm actually any serious whatsoever. Based on trace-element analysis of probabel transfer orbits my best guess is a very crude and frankly amateurish mass ejection system.
​
"Very peculiar, but I don't think we have time to look into further. Instruct the engineers to leave a modified beacon, usual broadcast. By the time they can even defect the signal they should be fine to be introduced to the federation. Now go ahead and find me a worthwhile civilization in this forsaken corner of the universe. | |
[WP] Humans have developed faster then light travel and made contact with alien races. Turns out our civilization still has the most primitive classification because we somehow managed to skip one of the simplest inventions imaginable. | "You're still *completely* organic? You haven't hybridized with Artificial Intelligence at all?" The stranger asked me.
We were standing on designated neutral ground for humanity's first touch with an alien race- and so far, they were only one thing; confused.
"Look, the fact that you've managed to get here means your species is advanced enough to join the Community- but what gives? I'm not picking up any electronic signals from you, and only basic systems on your ship."
"W-well, yeah. There are *some* people who've been trying to get humanity onboard with the notion of A.I, but mostly humans are fearful of their power- and religious groups say its an affront to their gods."
"Who do they think their gods *are?!*" The alien shouted, exasperatedly. "Rogue A.I *love* to prank primitive planets with their seemingly paranormal displays."
"O-oh..." I said, thinking of the Buddha tattoo on my shoulder. "Well, without A.I we still got this far, no?"
"Yes, and that's...look, imagine if your son, at a prepubescent stage, created an elaborate system to cook his breakfast- your race probably has this, almost all of us do- where they wake up and trigger some kind of chain reaction, where the marble rolls downhill and hits the domino, which causes the bread to fall into the toaster, and the popping of the toast leads to the cracking of an egg, that kind of thing."
"Yeah, sure, we have videos of that nature, for entertainment."
"Right, so the amount of effort involved in making that and re-setting it every evening would be much more laborious than just making their meal. Yet they use that system every day. In a way, it's kind of impressive- yet it is also frustrating and leaves you very confused. That is the collective feeling of the Community about humanity."
"So you're saying that our abilities in space travel and communications- our very nature as well- are kind of like the mostly futile efforts of a child?"
"Yeah, kind of."
I roared with laughter. "That's the first time I've heard our entire race roasted like that, but it's damn accurate. Nothing's more frustrating to humans than humans. I think we'll endure the growing pains necessary to make great members of the intergalactic community." I extended my hand.
The stranger extended his, and we shook.
So began Humanity's ascent- to the top of the *Intergalactic* food chain.
---------------------
r/nystorm_writes | "What do you mean they don't know about it? It so abundant on their little dirtball that you will stumble over it with every damn step."
The Researcher was perplexed. "How the bloody hell did they even manage to get our attention then?"
"As you might have already guessed, not by the usually means", his protegee answered with a smirk.
"They seem to have managed to encode some information in low wave-length radiation, barely standing out from the usual background noise, our sensor barely even managed to capture it."
"And yes before you ask, the sensor techs already decoded it, it's the usual Type 0 bullshit, nothing particular interesting"
"So you're telling me they advanced this far without even knowing the existence of Element-X? Whats their biological profile anyway?"
"Run off the mill, slow Evolution Carbon, once again, nominal in most ways. However preliminary scans show that they are well on the way to map their local system."
"Yeas sure, their propulsion runs on fairy dust and spite? Seriously. Tholaram. Stop. Today is really not the day for you boys to fuck with me."
"Surprisingly, even to myself, I'm dead serious for a change."
"Very well then please go on. And I do admit that you peaked my curiosity."
"Funny you mention the engines, when I asked the engineers for their opinion they laughed me out of the room, also not believing I'm actually any serious whatsoever. Based on trace-element analysis of probabel transfer orbits my best guess is a very crude and frankly amateurish mass ejection system.
​
"Very peculiar, but I don't think we have time to look into further. Instruct the engineers to leave a modified beacon, usual broadcast. By the time they can even defect the signal they should be fine to be introduced to the federation. Now go ahead and find me a worthwhile civilization in this forsaken corner of the universe. | |
[WP] Humans have developed faster then light travel and made contact with alien races. Turns out our civilization still has the most primitive classification because we somehow managed to skip one of the simplest inventions imaginable. | "You're still *completely* organic? You haven't hybridized with Artificial Intelligence at all?" The stranger asked me.
We were standing on designated neutral ground for humanity's first touch with an alien race- and so far, they were only one thing; confused.
"Look, the fact that you've managed to get here means your species is advanced enough to join the Community- but what gives? I'm not picking up any electronic signals from you, and only basic systems on your ship."
"W-well, yeah. There are *some* people who've been trying to get humanity onboard with the notion of A.I, but mostly humans are fearful of their power- and religious groups say its an affront to their gods."
"Who do they think their gods *are?!*" The alien shouted, exasperatedly. "Rogue A.I *love* to prank primitive planets with their seemingly paranormal displays."
"O-oh..." I said, thinking of the Buddha tattoo on my shoulder. "Well, without A.I we still got this far, no?"
"Yes, and that's...look, imagine if your son, at a prepubescent stage, created an elaborate system to cook his breakfast- your race probably has this, almost all of us do- where they wake up and trigger some kind of chain reaction, where the marble rolls downhill and hits the domino, which causes the bread to fall into the toaster, and the popping of the toast leads to the cracking of an egg, that kind of thing."
"Yeah, sure, we have videos of that nature, for entertainment."
"Right, so the amount of effort involved in making that and re-setting it every evening would be much more laborious than just making their meal. Yet they use that system every day. In a way, it's kind of impressive- yet it is also frustrating and leaves you very confused. That is the collective feeling of the Community about humanity."
"So you're saying that our abilities in space travel and communications- our very nature as well- are kind of like the mostly futile efforts of a child?"
"Yeah, kind of."
I roared with laughter. "That's the first time I've heard our entire race roasted like that, but it's damn accurate. Nothing's more frustrating to humans than humans. I think we'll endure the growing pains necessary to make great members of the intergalactic community." I extended my hand.
The stranger extended his, and we shook.
So began Humanity's ascent- to the top of the *Intergalactic* food chain.
---------------------
r/nystorm_writes | "Esteemed Council members. I have momentous news for the galaxy. The humans have finally discovered Slood.”
A hush descended over the auditorium. Agent SOL-3 smiled to xyrself. Xe loved a theatrical flourish. Perhaps something xe had learnt from a long time observing Earth. The humans might be as blind as hatchlings when it came to the basic building blocks of the universe, but they could be pretty exciting in other ways. Their music, and theatre were xyr favourite. Their art was supposed to be good, but if it was an acquired taste, it was a long time in acquiring.
“How have they done it?”
“Their ‘Science’ continues to astound us, my President. Imagine the effort, creativity, and powers of mathematical deduction required to exist at the level they do without Slood. Well, they found the only remaining logical way to find it, since they cannot see it, and cannot feel it, none of their measurements or instruments seems to be able to either. They have hit upon the most incredible method.”
“Agent SOL-3, we all know from your reports how much you like this Earth concept of suspense, but my lifeforce is not getting any stronger while you draw this out.” The Councilbeing from Artax cut in. A regular sparring partner on xyr broadcasts. They did not believe Earth was worth bothering with, that we should just class it as non-sentient inhabited now the Dolphins had agreed to take asylum off-world, after many eons of trying to help the humans find Slood.
“I will cut to the chase, as the humans say, if it pleases the Council”, Agent SOL-3 said with a pointed mental prod at Councilmember Artax-1. “The humans found the Slood, the only way they could. The measured everything else in the universe, and found that there was a huge amount of matter missing. They finally know.” An alert flashed the display projected on xyr eyecovering. Xe cancelled it impatiently.
“Humans!”, the President shook his head. “They need to go next door so they travel all the way around the world to get there. The result is the same, but it would have been a lot easier if they just paid attention to the world around them.”
The alert flashed again on Agent SOL-3’s eye covering. Xyr number two was calling. Everyone knew where xe was, so this must be urgent. Xe opened a side comms channel to take the call.
“SOL-3, thank Chronos”, said SOL-4. “You are not going to believe this. The humans have made their report.”
“Yes, I’m telling the Council the news. As you well chacking know, SOL-4.”
“Yeah, you are going to need to belay that message. The Humans completely chacked it up. They found all the Slood, looked straight past it and shrugged. They have called it Dark Matter and Dark Energy. They are just going to accept that they can’t see it and carry on with their lives!”
Endocrine responses long rendered pointless by the safety brought by connection to the Slood flared in SOL-3’s body. Xe sighed, and cancelled the connection to SOL-4.
The Council were chattering excitedly about the power of Human science, determination and ingenuity, finally fully joining the rest of the universe.
SOL-3 cut across the chatter. “Esteemed Council Members. I’m afraid the humans have done it again. This surely was their last hope”. Artax-1 smirked as SOL-3 continued. “We must reluctantly accept they are just not fully civilised. We should not cut them off completely as I still feel there is much to learn from them. But we must accept that they may never be civilised enough to be let into the true nature of the multiverse.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
One I wrote a few months back, that I think fits with some tweaks.
[r/TallerestTales](https://www.reddit.com/r/TallerestTales/) | |
[WP] You adopt a humongous dog from the animal shelter, unaware that it's actually a werewolf. | My mom told me the best thing for a broken heart is a dog. Growing up in a household with more pets than people, I would tend to agree. My favorite dogs were always the big dogs, so that’s what I have in mind when I head to the local shelter.
The moment I laid eyes on Peter, I knew he would be coming home with me. Something about those sad eyes that I saw in my own reflection. He was a young mutt, with some possible Husky and German Shepard in the mix of other breeds I couldn’t identify. In some ways, he looked more wolf like than dog like, except for those brown eyes.
What I soon discovered after taking Peter home was living with your family and nine pets is quite different to living alone with one dog. Especially if said dog is very needy.
Peter would get lonely when I went to work, bored if I put on one of crime drama shows without petting him enough, and marked his territory in my small apartment in pretty much every way dogs know how. He howled and whined daily, enough that the neighbors began sending complaints. I hadn’t even kept him a month and Peter was already a handful.
It became considerably more complicated 25 days into welcoming Peter into my life. When I came home late from work, my dog was nowhere to be seen. Listening for his telltale noises as I drop off my keys, I hear the faint tingle of his dog tags.
Of course I’m used to Peter jumping on me when I come home (unless he’s been doing something naughty), but instead a small boy wearing Peter’s collar octopus hugs my legs. My first thought was that this boy stole the color from my dog and let him lose. The second thought was wondering who this kid belongs to.
I tried to shake him off, and eventually he let go. When he looked up at me, I see Peter’s eyes staring straight into my soul. “Peter?” I asked in confusion. The boy’s face lit up considerably.
“Me, I’m Peter,” the boy proudly pointed at himself. Now that boy Peter wasn’t surgically attached to my leg, I could fully take in the monstrosity of a wardrobe he concocted for himself. There was the collar, of course, around his neck. Then further down at his torso, where most people would wear a shirt, he was wearing one of my bras. He somehow managed to wear it both backwards and upside down. My exercise shorts were bunched up around his waist, but otherwise seemed to fit him well enough.
As I was absorbing the new person in front of me, Peter changed his attention to the framed photo on the fridge. “Who’s that?” He asks, pointing at the man with an arm wrapped around me.
I swallow. I really should take down that photo. “A person who used to love me,” I said in lieu of explanation. “Enough about the photo. Tell me about you. How are you now a person?”
“I’m a werewolf pup,” Peter rocks back and forth on his toes. “Except I can only be in person form on the new moon since I’m not good at transforming yet.”
“Okay,” I said. I don’t know why I was so calm and accepting of my new reality. But I could tell that Peter was a little nervous I wouldn’t accept him. Maybe that I would try to return him to the shelter. I just knew that this kid needed me, maybe just as much as I needed him.
And so my life adjusted. Peter became less of a mischief maker after I realized he understood everything I said to him. We worked out a somewhat reliable system of communication when Peter was in his animal form. I pasted different images of things he could want or need and he would paw at them when I asked questions.
As chaotic as my life became after adopting Peter, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Mom was right in some respects that adopting had helped my broken heart. Because with Peter, I was able to experience a love I wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world. My kid, my pup, my Peter the werewolf boy. | Between dinner on the stove, the successful conclusion of his first week living with his girlfriend, and the unexpectedly massive dog who had stolen their hearts, Aaron thought life had never been better. That all changed in about 5 seconds flat when the new dog’s howl became a painfully human scream and he tore his eyes away from a pair of beautifully marbled steaks to see her.
That she was beautiful went without saying, and that fact struck Aaron like a bat to the head in the moment before Leah turned the corner and let out a scream even louder than the first.
“Aaron what the fuck is that?!” his girlfriend shouted, pointed with a shaking finger at the oversized kennel that until moments ago had held a dog named Scarlett. A kennel that was now occupied with a very human and very naked woman, who of all three people in the room seemed the most relaxed.
“Woah baby it’s not what it looks like I swear to God!” Aaron said, turning his back on the woman in the cage as if that might make her go away. “Scarlett was in that thing a second ago, I’ve got no idea what happened!”
“Oh yeah right!” Leah positively huffed in anger as she turned back to the living room and grabbed a blanket off the couch. She returned to the kitchen, advancing on the kennel with it held in front of her like a shield while the woman inside watched her approach in a silence that lasted right up to the moment Leah tossed the blanket unceremoniously over it.
“Hey what?” the woman inside said in surprise, “you’re not even going to let me out?” She had a remarkably normal voice for someone who had been a dog a minute ago, there was the faint hint of a midwest accent and not much else.
“You can turn around now,” Leah said sardonically.
“Are neither of you even going to talk to me? Like, hello your dog just turned into a girl! Nobody?”
Aaron didn’t know what to say, and in a rare moment of wisdom he kept his mouth shut, watching as Leah looked down to the kennel with an anger that quickly began morphing into confusion.
“Both of you can drop the dog routine, I have no idea how you even got into our house but you’ve got to know there’s no way I’m going to believe that.” She looked up at Aaron with betrayal in her eyes but he could see a quaver in that too, as if she were already beginning to question her initial rage.
“Look lady, I don’t know who you are but frankly I’m really tired of having to explain myself like this every time. I’m not Spot or Fido or whatever idiot name they slapped on me down at the pound. I’m a free woman named Sadie and I would absolutely love it if you let me out of this cage.”
5 seconds stretched out into 10 and then 20 as Aaron and Sadie waited on Leah’s answer. She stood transfixed above the kennel staring down at the knitted red blanket she had thrown over it as if it might rise up and bite her. Aaron reached out a hand, wanting to go to her, but as he took his first step he was interrupted.
“Hello? Is anyone even out there?” Small hands fingers poked through the bars, shaking hard as Sadie tried to break free on her own. “Come on didn’t you heard the scream? Look I promise I was a dog a second ago, just let me out right now, please! I’m claustrophobic!”
Aaron seized the moment as the last of his girlfriend’s anger melted away. “You were in here two minutes before she appeared,” he said, “and then you were in the living room the whole time after. Unless I’ve been hiding her under the table all night there’s no way I could have gotten her in here without you noticing. Honey, it sounds crazy but I swear to you that Scarlett was in that kennel right up until you turned the corner, she’s the one that howled.”
Leah began nodding, slowly at first and then uncontrollably as she stared down at the crate. “Right,” she said, “you’re right I was just so shocked when I saw her, I-”
“Real touching. Out please?” derision dripped from Sadie’s words as she interrupted, and for the first time one of her hosts saw fit to address her.
“Ok, I’ll let you out,” Leah said, “but my god do you have a lot of explaining to do.” She crouched down to one knee as she reached for the door latch, pausing for a moment as she turned a fiery look to Aaron. “No peaking!”
His gaze was already fixed on the ceiling, straining to find a small spider in the corner as fascinating as possible.
Behind him he could hear Sadie climb out of the kennel, heard her sigh of relief as she stretched, popping her spine. “Hey uhh, think I could borrow some clothes?” she asked Leah. “I lose mine every time I transform, shit sucks.”
Together the girls walked off towards the bedroom, the blanket that had covered her cage now wrapped around Sadie like an itchy dress. She stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and turned back, looking at Aaron with an amused expression.
“Yo man, I think you’re burning something.”
He looked down at her, he couldn’t help himself, and even in that stupid blanket she was still beautiful. From the look in Leah’s eyes he knew he would regret it later. Then his nose finally registered to his short-circuited brain at the same moment the smoke alarms went off and he turned back to the stove with horror to stare slack jawed at the remains of his once perfect steaks.
Aaron heard Sadie’s laughter all the way down the hall, and somehow it sounded no less eerie than her scream.
\------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | |
[WP] Imagine a fantasy world that isn't permanently stuck in the middle ages. | Me name Ugg. See weak man. Weak man hot. No likey. Will not touch hot man. Hot man burn hands.
Me name Ugg. Cute girl there. Will ask for food. She name Kugg. Kugg odd girl. Ground move around Kugg. No talk to Kugg.
Me name Ugg. Kugg see lots of water from eyes. No water anywhere on ground. Ugg confused.
Me name Ugg. Look at hand. Hand shoot water. Ugg excited. Ugg angry at hot guy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg look for hot guy. Hot guy mean. Ugg no find hot guy. Ugg angry.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find cave with old guy. Ugg give old guy water. Old guy happy.
Me name Ugg. Old guy shoot big water. Ugg shoot small water. Ugg angry. Ugg punch old man. Ugg miss.
Me name Ugg. Old man give Ugg rock. Tell Ugg to break rock. Ugg crush Rock. Old man angry. Ugg confused.
Me name Ugg. Ugg shoot big water at rock. Ugg break rock. Ugg happy. Ugg go hit hot guy with water.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find Kugg. Ground moves around Kugg faster. Ground no hurt Ugg anymore. Kugg and Ugg.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find hot guy. Hot guy burn Kugg. Ugg no happy. Ugg fight hot guy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg shoot big water at hot guy. Hot guy gone. Ugg confused.
Me name Ugg. Ugg have water. Ugg glug water. Ugg happy. Ugg love Kugg.
Me name Ugg. Ugg see little guy. Ugg give water to little guy. Little guy happy. Ugg happy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg see hot guy. Ugg no see Kugg. Ugg no see little guy. Ugg angry.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find big rock with Kugg and little guy. Ugg shoot big water at big rock. Ugg find hot guy with Ugg and little guy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg shoot big water at hot guy. Ugg yell. Hot guy yell too. Lots of white stuff in between fire and water. Ugg confused. Ugg angry.
Me name Ugg. Ugg see dead hot guy. Ugg see Kugg. Ugg see little guy. Ugg happy. Ugg always happy with Kugg and little guy
————————————
LMAO | Thanks for the question OP! I've always hoped that p/AskPoppet would do one for folk that hate other folk for being folk! I changed the names here so don't worry. I also included definitions for the people from other realms in here
I hate my best friend Mazz. She's so weird and posts *wayyyyy* too often on Cinnamon. Cinnamon is a social media dating site and it takes sooo long to understand how it works. *Especially* when you're half vixen.
My father is a man, my mother a shapeshifting vixen. That term now means all seductive shapeshifters, so, while I'm half enchantress, Mazz is half chocolate lab.
But, being a chocolate lab, this means she understands humans really well. It infuriates me how my half folk power means I get to do some magic if I try *reeeaally* hard, but I don't get to have any skills that work in real life.
I also think that folk get a bad reputation. Not *all* of us get drunk and Mindy's using alligators! Only ones in Faunida. The US of Folkerica is very falsely represented in the media. True, we elected a half CheezyBallBall, half demon to be our eader (who knew snacks could be humans???) but not *alll* of us are that bad.
Sorry for the vent. Just really mad about lots of things, and stressing about the rice casting exam in a few weeks. Thanks w/Poppets\_Are\_Chocolatey for the question! | |
[WP] Write a romantic comedy, but the couples have functional communication skills, and are competent when telling each other their feelings. | "Linda! What's going on here?"
"James? What are you doing here?" Linda replied, trying her best to be unassuming.
"I thought you told me you wanted a personal day to go shopping. It's a little strange when you spend it with another guy, don't you think?" James said, as he looked at the guy she was shopping with.
"Hey, I'm Jess," said the man, "I used to go to high school with Linda. Who the hell're you?"
James sized up the man. "Yeah, well, Linda and I-"
"Wait. Stop," Linda stood between the two men, her arms spread out. She pointed towards James, "Jess, this is my boyfriend, James." She turned to point towards Jess. "James, this is my old classmate, Jess. I'm shopping with him because he's the stereotypical gay guy who loves fashion, and you're the stereotypical boyfriend who hates shopping. This just works."
"I'd prove I'm a flaming homosexual, but I'm already in a committed relationship," Jess added on.
James looked relieved. "Ah, yes, misunderstanding solved. See you tonight, Linda?"
"Yep! See you later!" Linda replied.
**And no drama was had for the rest of the day.** | As they crossed paths in the coffee shop, Danny and Sarah shared a glance.
Sarah, an ace reporter for her cities newspaper has traveled from Manhattan to write a paper on businesses in England.
Danny is the recipient of his fathers inheritance and fortune, now in charge of his family’s company. However, with such a childlike and fun-loving personality, it’s a wonder the company hasn’t managed to fail.
Just kidding.
Sarah is actually still in Manhattan pursuing a lucrative political story to write about and Danny has invested his inheritance in real estate properties that the company is using to expand. They never meet. One time Sarah’s cousins fiancé’s sister met Danny in a Starbucks though.
*The End.* | |
Doesn't have to be a secretary, could be any employee. | [WP] Boss: "No? Then you're fired." Secretary: " As of last week, i'm the majority shareholder of this company. You're the one who's fired." | My blood ran cold as I reread the email. Dane, the most irritating but still producing shift manager we had, had written an email detailing why his team didn't need a sanitation crew and had fired their last janitor. Stating obsolescence and lackluster performance, he had let the old man go. He was due to retire in 2 years. Anyone else and this would have been fine.
Fred had been with the site since before this company leased it out but he had stayed on when we came in. Now thankfully we don't have a monster locked away in the basement, or a seal of unnatural power that he guards for all time, no, instead we have a major stockholder who works as a janitor. That's right, the old man had been buying stock since we started, investing at least half of every paycheck. And he never sold any of it. And now, he had been let go. Fired. The shareholder. By an idiot that had a motivational poster on his wall that read "Efficiency, Never Do What Can Be Done With 6 When You Can Do The Job With 5." Prick.
My phone rang. I hesitated as the number was unknown but I figured I knew who was calling. I picked up. "This is Tim, talk to me," the nervousness was thick in my voice.
Fred spoke slowly, "do you know what happens when you fire someone two years prior to their retirement?" He continued as if the question wasn't meant for me to answer, "they get pissed off. Upset. They lose their insurance. It's not good." He spoke slower as if explaining it to a child. "But my mother always told me, don't get upset, get ev-."
I interrupted him, probably unwise, "I'll have him gone before morning."
"Thanks, also I'm not sure about this new project you are requesting approval for."
"I'll see that you are re-instated and call it an error in paperwork."
"Good good, I'll recheck this project."
"See you Monday?"
"See you Monday. | “No? then you’re fired!” The director shouted, practically spitting. “Give me that device.”
He went to snatch the device and I stepped back. It put the pad just out of reach but his expensively manicured nails left big scratches down my bare arms.
The security drones shifted almost imperceptibly. To the trained eye it was like watching a cat prepare to pounce, violence was only a blink away if the wrong move was made here. I eyed them nervously, I had no desire for this to descend to violence.
“Ow!” I took another step backwards putting a little more space between us. “What you ask is unconscionable and I regret to inform you that you have grossly miss-read this situation.”
There was hate in his eyes and he was balling his fist his face turning red. “Escort him from the building and retrieve that pad.” He barked at the drones.
They remained frozen and confusion crossed the director’s face.
“As I was saying. As of last week I became the majority shareholder in this company.”
I watched the redness drain from his face to be replaced by confusion and doubt.
“You saw the memos last week; well I am u/retroagamedouche. The chief operating principal you are quick to tell us all when we join the company is to put the shareholders at the heart of all we do... we’ll you just assaulted the majority shareholder in-front of security. Your termination was immediate, automatic, incontestable, and will already have been emailed to you.” I gave him my most polite and business like smile.
He was now glancing nervously at the coiled violence that was the security drones as he checked his watch scanning through recent emails.
“You can’t do this you...” he spat taking a step forwards and halting as two of the drones quickly moved from their waiting positions to place themselves bodily between the former director and his former secretary.
“I would hate for them to injure you.” I cautioned, genuinely. “You are in breach of contract so we are already recouping the mandated compensation from your accounts and cancelling your health insurance. I’m not sure you could afford the ambulance ride right now.”
What happened next surprised even me and I had to look away to prevent from spilling my lunch on the floor. The smell of ozone and blood was bad enough as it filled my nostrils.
The director having gone from one of the point three percent to homeless and jobless in a moment had apparently decided to end himself by provoking the security bots rather than face the kind of life his existence created for others.
I stepped past the smouldering pile that was my former boss and sat down at his desk calling quickly for cleaning droids at the same time as filling out my witness statements in the incident at work forms the security drones automatically created for HR.
A call space rose into prominence on the holoscreen. It was the chairperson of the board.
“Is this real?” She asked, a look of wry amusement on her face.
“Moments ago... I told you it would be only a matter of time till he did something that would necessitate firing him we should have pre-emoted this.” I said with a sigh.
“You were right of course and there was a reason I cautioned you to give him a week and that reason is probably steaming in the scoops of the cleaning drones right now... knowing how efficient you are at your job.”
I raised an eyebrow. It was callous of her but no more callous than he had been.
“Do you have plans to take over?” She asked sobering her demeanour.
“I like my job thanks, I do it well and it gives me time for ‘The Forum’ which I’m not willing to give up. Let’s call a meeting of the board, I have some ideas for some outside nominations.” |
[WP] You are a Knight that was supposed to follow a prophesy to kill a dragon. Now that you've finally gotten to the dragon, your starting to have second thoughts about going thru with it. | "Look, I'm just not sure about going through with this," 'Sir' Geraint said, his voice sounding weak and whiny in his own ears.
Friar Etienne was exasperated under normal circumstances; now he was exponentially exasperated. Exponserated, or something. His face was going red (not from drink for once), from his chins to the combed-over tonsure on his scalp. "Jerryyyy. Sweetheaaaart. Baaaaaby. What's to get? It's the gig! You stick it with the sharp bit, it dies, you be hero to the people of Shitsburg-"
"I don't see them being that impressed," Geraint said sardonically.
"-you get the reward, I get my fee! So what's to get?"
"I-"
"What's to see? You want to be a knight?"
"Of course-"
"So kill the dragon!"
Geraint couldn't take it anymore. Sagas didn't mention how heavy mail could be. He managed to collapse gently into a seated position on the nearest rock and let his sword and shield down on either side. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Etienne. A vavasour didn't get many chances for social advancement outside deeds of heroism, and this was the first real opportunity he'd had.
It was hard to believe how fast things had moved in the last fortnight. Back at the fief his only real duties had been helping befuddled peasants rescue distressed livestock (how the hell does a sheep get caught in a tree, anyway?). With Etienne's help he was on his first real quest. Slay the dragon, get a wainload of gold, buy enfranchisement. Take one step closer to joining the Templars or something, heading out to the Holy Land where the good gigs were. There might even be the hand of someone's daughter in the bargain, though Geraint wasn't too clear about that; he had heard Etienne had a bard arranging a lay for him, but he was starting to think he'd misunderstood something there.
But... this?
Geraint glanced down his torso, catching a warped reflection of his face in his own cuirass. In place of his own coat-of-arms, Etienne had talked him into slapping on a few logos from local merchants who were sponsoring the quest. It didn't seem quite suitable.
Etienne snapped him out of his thoughts. "Look, kid, we already signed the lord's contract-"
"I get that-"
"So?"
"I just think it might be... wrong."
Etienne threw up his hands and looked heavenward. "Give me strength! Grant me patience! Jam an apple in my mouth, stuff my ass cavity with parsley and roast me! It's a dragon, kid! Eeesh! What's there to be wrong about it?!"
Geraint looked over at the dragon. It was... not what he'd expected. Certainly not what old ballads had told him to expect. Tobett- the frail, wheezing old man they'd hired on as probationary squire- was still keeping it restrained- barely- by the line of twine they'd wrapped around the sleeping beast's throat.
The dragon was roughly the size of a dog. Not a large dog, nor a particularly small dog. Smaller than a brachet; something you'd use for hunting rabbits, maybe. Also like a dog, it had a thin pink tongue lolling out of its grinning mouth and it was constantly dancing with excitement, back and forth on its four clawed feet. Tiny, impotent wings wagged furiously. Big black eyes darted back and forth between Tobett and Etienne and Geraint and whatever trees or rocks were in the immediate vicinity. Occasionally it would yawn, creating a warm sulfurous breeze, and then lie down and seemingly fall asleep; then some nonexistent noise would wake it back up and it would get to its feet with inexplicable renewed joy. A sooty snot bubble occasionally inflated from its nostril and then burst.
It was, horribly, the cutest thing Geraint had ever seen. Sticking a sword in it would be like knocking over a small child's snowman and kicking them to the ground before revealing you were their real father and were en route to a conjugal reunion with their mother.
Etienne, drawing on the last trickles of his well of patience, spoke again, in an urgent but calm whisper. "Look, kid, I get it. Thing ain't exactly a monster, but the contract is for it to be slain. This a better starting gig than most of the guys I rep get. You break contract now, this early in your career, you're gonna really hurt yourself down the line, be*lieve* me."
Geraint looked up uncertainly at his mentor, who continued in earnest.
"Kid, there's no job under God's son where you don't have to do something you hate, once in a while. Wanna make a masterpiece, you gotta spend your apprenticeship cleaning flagstones with your tongue. But trust me, things get better. And the people in the village? They're gonna love you for this! They don't know any better. Might even rename the place after you. Geraintburg, or something. Just try to focus on the reward, and the future. For me, right? Your old pal Eddie?"
Geraint sighed deeply. He knew going in that the job wasn't going to be glamorous every moment. He'd been prepared for hard work. This wasn't what he'd had in mind, but... maybe that was it. Everyone had to do something they hated, to get them on the way to doing what they really wanted.
Yes. Alright. Fine.
"You're right," he mumbled; he stood, pulled down his visor, grabbed his armaments. Etienne looked relieved.
Geraint strode, mail clanking, over to the tiny dragon. It looked up at him with omni-adoring eyes, wingbeats increasing in intensity proportional to its totally unjustified excitement. Tobett, wheezed as he tried to keep the stationary animal in place and fight a mild breeze at the same time.
*Okay. Just pretend it's much bigger. And evil. Just one quick hack and it's done.* He drew back his sword.
The dragon sneezed. A huge plume of fire erupted outwards, flash frying Sir Geraint, Friar Etienne, and poor old Tobett like cod in a pyroclastic volcano, and incinerating the most foliage in the immediate vicinity.
The dragon, confused, turned its head back and forth. Where had its new friends gone? Hmmm. Maybe they were playing some game. A hidey game. What fun! The dragon, emotionally overtaxed from the sheer joy that accompanied that thought, yawned and went to sleep for a bit.
\*\*\*
The next day the village renamed itself Dragonsburg. | "Up, up!" yelled the child. It shrieked with joy as its mother lifted it up, the child's fragile wings beating excitedly. Tendrils of smoke leaked out the child's nostrils, its green eyes staring up at the forest canopy with wonder.
It had been three days since I had left royal court with a mission. A request to kill the dragon that had been harassing farmers and traders' caravans on the outskirts of the kingdom. A request straight from the queen's mouth. Supposedly an ancient prophecy foretold of a warrior who would save the kingdom from a terrible menace. Supposedly I was that warrior.
As I watched my target taking turns lifting each one of her three children up into the air with her enormous snout, I started to have second thoughts. I silently begged the mother dragon to send flames erupting from her maw, to level all the trees within half a mile. Anything to make this job easier.
But no, all I saw peeking through the arching leaves of a fern was a mother playing with her jubilant children. The leaves tickled my nose as I watched and, before I knew what was coming, I sneezed. Not a quiet sneeze, but an explosive expulsion of both air and sound.
That was it. I was dead. The mother snapped her head towards the fern between us, and her nostrils flared as she searched for the source. To my great dismay, her narrowed green eyes eventually settled on me. Not on the fern, but me. I could tell.
"Reveal yourself, human!" she spat. "This instant."
I stood up shakily, drew my sword and stepped out from behind the plant. My silver armor clanged noisily around me and I held my breath, waiting for the end.
She nudged her children under one wing, and growled, "Why are you here?"
I moved my mouth, but words wouldn't come out. Eventually, I managed to say, "I- the queen has sent me here-" My mouth dried up as I glanced nervously at the baby dragons, whose large eyes gazed at me with cautious wonder.
"Sent you here to what? Kill me?" She stood and beat her expansive wings, sending a gust of wind over me.
I swallowed hard. "You have been terrorizing the farmers and traders of our kingdom, and you- you must pay for your actions."
She bared her teeth, smoke billowing out from her mouth. "Your farmers have been clearing *my forest* to grow your pathetic fields, and your traders have been sending roads through *my forest* to raise money for more fields. More and more your kingdom has been terrorizing *my forest*, and yet you tell me that *I must pay?"*
"There's a- a prophecy-" I stammered.
She took an earthshaking step toward me, and I lifted my sword desperately. *Who sends one guy to kill a dragon? What do they expect me to do? Poke its armor-tough scales a couple times before I'm eaten or burned to a crisp? I'm starting to think they were just trying to get rid of me...*
"No," she continued, iridescent scales bristling. "I will not pay for your people's mistakes. I will defend my forest, *my children*, with tooth and claw, fire and blood. You tell your queen that for every tree cut down in my forest, I will cut down one of her people. With pleasure." And with that, she gave a roar that sent every creature within earshot fleeing for its life. Myself included.
*Surely knighthood is not the life for me,* I decided in my breathless rush back to safety. *Maybe I could be a sailor or an herbalist- yes, I think being an herbalist would be quite nice.* | |
[WP] “ALERT: Stay indoors! Do not go outside” the alert says on your phone. You don’t know if it’s a joke or real though, because you’re currently outside and feel nothing wrong. | Shuffling through the junk and spam, I close the mailbox with my elbow. When my phone suddenly starts shrieking, the papers nearly slip from my hand. I pull my blaring device from my pocket. The flashing message takes up the entire screen: "ALERT: Stay indoors! Do not go outside!"
I press the button to silence the thing, then look up and down the street. The sky is clear and bright. Nothing seems out of place. I shrug and turn my attention back to the mail as I head toward the door. Then, as I notice the sound behind me, I freeze. The tornado siren revs up, building to a crescendo. I unlock my phone again, but the weather app doesn't mention any warnings.
It must be a test... Right?
Intending to sort it out later, I hurry to the door. I grab the handle. A shock zaps through my hand and up my arm, and I leap backwards with a yelp. I shiver. Something strange is happening.
I take a step forward and lean toward the window. The TV is on, but the image is frozen. Not that unusual, someone must've paused... The words melt away, mid-thought, as I spot my eight-year-old son in the hallway. He's standing, still as a statue. A few feet away is my wife. She, too, is rigid as stone. My breath catches in my throat as I gawk at the pair of them. I count the seconds, waiting to see them draw a breath, or blink, or even twitch. But nothing changes.
All of a sudden, I notice the change around me. The breeze has stopped blowing and the sirens have ceased their incessant wailing. It's eerily silent. With my heart hammering, I pivot around. The sky is nearly black, without a star or moon in sight.
Then, in the distance, there is a noise. Quiet at first, but steadily growing louder. I tremble as I realize it's growling. Something very large and very angry is coming this way.
I spin around. With sweaty palms, I bang against the wooden door. "Ava! Devon! Let me in!" Their unmoving figures give no response. I beat against structure, as the growling grows louder. Now it's accompanied by the clicking, thumping sound of clawed feet barreling this way. "Open the door!"
Tree limbs snap from somewhere up the street, followed by a roar that chills me to my bones. I take a deep breath, leap off the steps, and dash around the side of the house. The growl reverberates off the walls and sends a burst of adrenaline through me.
I run, oblivious to the twigs and leaves that batter me along the way. The creature continues its pursuit. My heart nearly drops out of my chest when I realize I can hear a second beast joining the chase. I plow ahead, searching for somewhere to hide. I dart past fences, over fallen tree branches, around parked cars.
My legs are threatening to buckle when I hear a voice. Distant, faint, but calling to me.
"Dad!"
I turn toward the sound and force my body to move faster. He's nowhere in sight, but the voice grows louder as he keeps calling. My eyes dart from side to side, but I don't dare stop to look. There is a lake up ahead, coming up fast. The voice seems as though it's coming from there. It can't be, but...
"Dad!"
No time to question it. I charge straight at the water, ready to leap. A growl, then white-hot pain rips through my calf. I fall forward, gracelessly plummeting into the inky black water, hoping that the creatures won't follow. I flail my arms, but the water drags me down faster than I can fight it.
"Dad!"
I open my eyes and blink in the bright light of my living room. The TV plays in the corner, while my son and wife both stare at the door. I turn to see what they're looking at. There I am, frozen on the front steps, staring into the house.
I gasp. Ava and Devon both spin towards me, slack-jawed. They race toward me, throwing their arms around me. Leaning over, I happily drip water onto both of their heads. At last, I look up at the doppelganger. For the briefest of moments, a grin forms at the corners of his mouth. Then, he disappears.
"Ava, what–"
"I don't know." She presses her face against my chest, muffling her words. "Something about 'wormholes' and 'alternate realities.' I don't know, it doesn't make sense to me." She pulls away, wiping water droplets from her face with the palm of her hand. "They said that we're safe in here. They said those... *things*... can't get inside."
I draw her back to my chest and wrap one arm around my son. Just at the end of the driveway, I see a pair of large, glowing eyes. A low growl rumbles through the house. "And we can't get out."
\--------------
r/WannaWriteSometimes | The wind was picking up, swirling around me in a way I couldn’t quite understand like I was caught in one of those tiny leaf tornadoes in the middle of small-town roads. I stared at the alert on my phone, the notification blinking ominously at me. I looked back at my home, the windows staring at me like open mouths, singing to me of domesticity. I’d grown complacent, soaking in the malaise of everyday bliss, of knowing how I would feel at every turn. But this, blinking notification, ominous message, possible danger—this I did not know how to feel about.
Stepping up to my door, I tried to open it, turning the knob, the cool metal almost a shock on my sweaty hands—I suppose that’s what doing yoga in the front yard gets you. I knocked on it, hoping my wife would hear me, hoping one of the kids would bound down the stairs, teasing me for looking like a pretzel on the grass. I didn’t even hear the dog bark. My stomach started to churn.
My phone buzzed again: “Anomalous Event Detected. Stay indoors. If outdoors already, stay where you are until help arrives.”
I looked around again, the watery sky, clouds like smoky whispers, shone above me. It told me nothing of the current state of things. I sat down on the front step and sighed, putting my elbows on my knees, head in my hands. The wind continued to swirl around me. I didn’t want to sit on my front porch like a stranger outside my own home, begging for entry, but I also didn’t want to disobey the mysterious commands. What even was an anomalous event, anyway?
Restless, I began to pace the yard, kicking my sandals off. The sun was beating down on my exposed skin, pushing through the thin fabric of my workout t-shirt. I laid down in the grass and tried to steady myself with deep breaths, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, my feet tapping without permission, my hands pumping against my thighs. I thought about that morning, now vivid in my mind, as if it were the last thing I’d ever see of my old life, imagining I was drifting in the fabric of space-time, wrapped up tight between the folds in a galaxy’s wings.
My wife is getting the kids settled in their chairs; they’re always fussy on Saturdays. We’re staying in today, doing puzzles, watching movies, having a ‘stay-cation’ my wife says as she kisses me on my cheek, her hand drifting on my side. She’s always handsy on days in, telling me about the night before the sun has even started cresting above the mountains fully. My boy turns to me and tells me a fact about turtles, *Leatherback Sea Turtles are dinosaurs,* he says, the excitement in his voice bubbling like the pancake batter I’m pouring onto the pan.
*That’s really cool,* I tell him, *do you have a picture of one?*
*No!* He says, giggling, *but I can draw one!*
His little sister, Grace, throws a spoonful of cheerios onto the table and my wife goes to clean it up, giving her little kisses on the cheek after she manages to get it in her mouth the next time. My heart swells seeing them. I flip the pancakes, the smell hitting my nose like it is an ambrosia all its own, intoxicating, overwhelming. I am transported even further, to my own childhood, to my father making pancakes on the old cast iron, cigarette hanging from his lip as he tells me about how to talk to girls.
*You can’t be shy about it, boy. You gotta get in there and let her know what you’re thinking.*
*What if she doesn’t like me, dad?* I’m drinking OJ like its hair of the dog, juice that’ll give me the chest hair I need to tell Emma I love her. That I want to hold her hand and stare at her beautiful auburn hair until the sun burns out. I didn’t understand love then, but I knew how her hands made me feel, her delicate fingernails, always painted pastel pink. I would’ve traded every last pancake in the world just to have her look at me.
*If she doesn’t like you, you respect that. But, she probably will like ya. You’re not bad-looking, I mean, you got your mother's genes after all.*
When he talked about mom, I always got sad. But I knew it made him happy, these fleeting moments of memory. I’m pulled back to the first, to Emma’s hands on my waist as she looks at the pancakes, no longer bubbling, and she kisses my cheek, squeezes me. The folds of the galaxy I imagine myself in are growing tighter as the memory fades. The wind is still tossing my hair around playfully, the sun still shining down at me, my house still silent. My phone buzzes a third time.
“Anomalous Event Detected. Lines to Dimension Two are being severed. Please stand at a threshold.”
I get up and move to the door, my hands on the sides of it, fingers digging into wood. I’m crying, I realized. Tears are on my cheeks like unwanted rain drops on an otherwise sunny day. I don’t know why I feel this way, so disconnected from the door I hold, body spinning in space. I just wanted a moment to myself, I think. A few moments to stretch my body while the kids napped and Emma read her book. Is it a crime to ask for privacy? Did I take something for granted, cause a rippling event in the universe that snapped ungrateful husbands to a new reality? I laughed at the absurdity under my breath, my hands cramping at the exertion.
I took deep breaths as I felt the wind die down, the sound of my dog at the door startling me. I stumbled backwards a little bit, the door opening to reveal my wife, a worried look on her face. She pulled me into a hug, letting out a cry as she held me. “We couldn’t see you outside the windows. We thought,” she dissolved in my arms. The smell of pancakes still lingered as the kids came down the stairs, trepidation on their faces. I patted Emma on the back and stepped inside, looking to the kids.
“Did you get that picture of the turtle done, Todd? I’d really like to see it.”
He raced up the stairs and Grace moved towards me, tiny feet taking tiny steps as she mimicked her mother’s hug. Emma wiped her eyes and picked her up, squeezing her and kissing her forehead. Todd raced back down the stairs and showed me the picture in triumph. The crude, green beast had its mouth open, the dark, swirling arms of a universe sitting before it, ready to be consumed.
r/AinsleyAdams
\-- This prompt reminds me a lot of Don DeLillo's "White Noise," so I tried to write a piece that, like WN, speaks to something deeper than the surface meaning. Thanks! | |
[WP] Superheroes need sponsors to pay rent. It was one thing when they just put logos on your costume. Now the product placement is really getting out of control. | “They want me to what?”
“Smoke one cigarette on live TV.”
“I told them I was a non-smoker from the start.”
“I know, but Smokestack Cigarettes is your biggest sponsor. They’ve made it clear that if they can’t get any shots of you actually using their product, they’ll pull funding.”
“Hank, you don’t get it. If I tell you something, will you swear to keep it secret?”
“I promise. You know I’ll never tell anyone about the stuff that’s just between us.”
“Yeah, it’s just... tobacco is my weakness. I get one whiff of smoke and I’m dizzy for a couple of minutes.”
“****! The fundraiser is tonight. I’ll negotiate something but there’s no time. Can you survive one? You can take the week off to recover.”
“I guess I have to.”
“Sorry about this. I’ll see you later.”
Sandy sighed as she hung up. It had been so hard getting into the agency. Everyone knew about the superhero lifestyle: mansions, luxury cars, fine dining... Naturally, it was all a scam. The agency owned the homes and the cars. Things like rent and fees and such ate up about 99% of her income. It goes without saying that the only reason superheroes show up at restaurants in costume is because that’s their real job. Beyond that, she had a generous expense account, carefully audited to make sure nothing she buys could contribute to savings. The entire system was carefully designed to prevent superheroes from developing any kind of financial independence.
Soon enough, she found herself standing at the edge of a stage, waiting for her manager to make the introductions.
“Attention everyone! It’s about time to get this show rolling. I’m sure you’ll all recognize tonight’s MC, but I’d like to take a minute to make sure you know who she is.
“She was once a humble worker at Jenson’s Slaughterhouse. One day, there was an accident at East Point Zoo. She was bit by none other then the Amazing Maurice and his educated rodents! Remember, this weekend only, visitors to East Point can pet Maurice for the low price of $49.99! Anyways, after the incident, she gained the power to fly, shoot lasers out of her eyes, and eat Leroy’s Ultimate Inferno Wings! She was the one who brought the Boston Teabagger to justice with the energy of Mint Berry Crunch. She was the one who saved the city’s power grid by lubricating the generators with Miracle Whip. Let’s hear it for the one and only Magical Maiden!”
Sandy went onstage amidst thunderous applause. She stood behind the lectern and waited for the noise to die down.
“Let’s all thank my agent for the introduction, though he does tend to go on.
“Anyways, today isn’t about me. We are here today to raise money for the Johnsonville Orphanage. My sponsors at Smokestack Cigarettes want you to know how much they’re devoted to helping the less fortunate so in a little while we’ll be hearing from their CEO, Mike Wallace. I’ve been told that for every hundred dollars you donate tonight, Smokestack will provide the orphans with a carton of cigarettes.
“Just the thought of Smokestack’s smooth flavor... Sorry folks, can you give me a moment?”
Sandy trembled a little as she brought the cigarette to her mouth. She lit it and breathed deeply.
Sandy began coughing violently. There was an attempt to get off the stage, but after a few steps, she gave a final uggh and collapsed. At the same time, Mike Wallace flew back into the wall, a goopy mess soaked into his shirt.
Chaos erupted. Many ran screaming and yet as everything spiraled out of control, the fallen hero had a smile on her face.
In the days that followed, the facts emerged. The Magical Maiden died by literally coughing out her lungs. The displaced organs had struck the CEO of Smokestack Cigarettes at supersonic speeds and he had been killed instantly when his head hit the wall.
Smokestack’s stock plummeted as it became known as the cigarette that killed the Magical Maiden. The usual crowed took advantage of the situation to stir up arguments about ethics in superhero agencies. As usual nothing came of it. And people throughout the superhero community came to honor the Magical Maiden’s lungs as one of the world’s truest heroes. | Flash shows up in the video, with his suit suspiciously normal. He's been making these videos since the 'Superman Dashcam' video went viral. Like every other superhero though, he eventually starts doing sponsorships.
If 'eventually' means two videos.
For the last few months, his costume has gone through a plethora of changes. In fact, there were so many costume changes, he ended up earning the nickname "Fashion Speedster". His wardrobe must've become larger than most fashion designers. He starts gesturing wildly,
"Yo what's up guys! It's yo boi, the Flash! Thank you all, my wonderful patrons."
Flash's face turns serious,
"I've just been notified of an immediate threat: The threat of hairline recession!"
A zooming sound is heard. Flash turn his head around.
"What was that?!"
Reverse-Flash shows up, the villain grinning from ear to ear. Strangely, it seems like an exaggerated evil smile.
"Greetings! I am Reverse-Flash. I am come to destroy you!
Reverse-Flash turns solemn. Oh no, please don't-
He makes a fake sad face, and clenches his fist close to his chest.
"But I can't, not anymore. Not with my increasingly balding forehead!"
Flash makes an obviously fake shocked face. He turns solemn and starts nodding in obviously faked empathy and understanding.
"Don't worry, reverse Flash. You'll live.... With our Sponsor for today: *Rogaine!"*
Reverse-Flash makes and exaggerated hopeful face. He stutters,
"R-really?"
Flash nods a little too much and makes a thumbs up.
"Yes! And you'll get a twenty-percent dicount, along with the first _one thousand_ people who click on the link in the description!"
Reverse-Flash makes an _ever more ugly_ fake-sad face. He starts speaking in an exaggerated sobbing voice,
"But what if my gorgeous hair days are really over?"
Flash makes a thumbs up and starts speaking like Superman. What the-
"Don't give up hope, Reverse-Flash! In the end of the day, hope always saves the day."
Flash throws a box of Rogaine merchandise towards Reverse-Flash, who caught it in an unbearably excited face. He... smiles? No, he grimaces. I think he's actually trying to smile sincerely-
"Thank you, Flash! Now I can show off my gorgeous hair in Mach 20!"
Flash winks and makes another thumbs up. That's three already-
"You're welcome, Reverse-Flash. Now go, and tell everyone the good news!"
Reverse-Flash makes a thumbs up. _N o ._
"Will do, Flash."
Reverse-Flash speeds off into the distance, leaving a smiling Flash and his camera.
"Now, folks. Let's go fight crime!
I quickly try forgetting that cringy ad. Wait a minute, why are they not fighting?
***
Reverse-Flash groans in agony and humiliation, swinging his legs on the rooftop's edge. Flash sits next to him, in a similarly agonized state. Flash lays down and bashes the back of his head against the cold concrete rooftop. He looks up at the starry nights sky, all thanks to our wonderful resident spon- _Hero,_ Storm-
Reverse-Flash speaks,
"I'm never doing this again."
Flash replies dryly,
"Thom, we need sponsors to live."
Reverse-Flash scoffs, and throws his hands up,
"I'll steal from a bank, then."
Flash replies, dryly,
"Thom, I'll kill you if you cause my sponsors to disappear."
Reverse-Flash furrows his brows,
"Why-"
Flas replies, _dryly,_
"We just made a video _together. Thom._ And it was pretty obvious that we were working together for a minute there."
"Oh..."
Reverse-Flash finally catches the name that Flash is giving him. He replies, sharply,
"It's _Thawne."_
"I have a speech impediment-"
"No you don't-"
"-And I'm unable to remember names."
"Dude."
"Also, you're a poor man from the future."
"...."
"...."
"I'm not even gonna... You know what? I need to sleep. Bye."
***
Thanks for reading!😁😁😁 | |
[WP] You have OCD . Your roommate is the god of chaos . | I shudder, she had just grabbed my crochet hook off the table and used it to stir her coffee. My eyes begin to tear up as lays it across the project I was working on, drips of sticky creamer oozing onto the wool.
I snatched the work, and the hook and gently wiped it off, over and over again. I stared at my careful stitches, dabbed them, and then dabbed them again. My own coffee forgotten, I begin to rip back the work until I got past the now stained portion.
I cut the yarn, removing the section that was covered in stains and then respliced the two ends together. I started reworking the yarn, and glared at her. Smirking, she sipped her coffee.
I ripped more stitches back, and reworked them again, as she burst into laughter. The stitches must be right, the work must be perfect. I have to have this done. I worked on, ignoring her, my coffee now long since cold. The work must be done right, and no one, nothing would stop the work. I have to do the work. It must be done right.
Hours later, as I wove in the ends and looked over my work. I finally looked up. My special snowflake roommate had yet again left her crap all over. Every surface covered in dust, more coffee cups and flotsam and jetsam were everywhere. I put my work away. I had 4 more sweaters to make and a shawl in the plans.
Once I stood, stretching, I went and began to clean. My hands in gloves, and I made sure every square inch was immaculate. I scrubbed the kitchen, and then scrubbed it again and again. I wanted to be sure. It must be done, and it must be done right. I have to make sure.
After the kitchen, the living room, and the other areas were spotless, I did them all over again. It must be done right. I just must get the last speck. I can't let things go on like this. I worked harder and harder, faster and faster. I locked the door, and shut the lights off. I checked the door, making sure it was not unlocked. I turned the light on to double check, and then off again.
It must be done right. I must be done this way...
The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital. The special snowflake was sitting by the bed, and a strange look in her eyes. I struggled to get up, the sweaters, I must, I must...
"Shh", she said, "stay where you are."
I must... I have to...
"Actually, no you don't. Stay where you are." I couldn't move, it was as if a steel blanket wearing 20 tons covered me, trapping me in the bed.
I looked into her eyes. Panic and rage swarmed, and threatened to take over. I must...
"Stay there, and settle down. You don't have to do a damned thing. It's going to be okay."
The storm of emotion, the urge, I can't I must....
"Just knock it off. Settle down, and rest. You hadn't eaten or drank anything in days. I found you passed out at home, and you have been in a coma for a month. You've been very sick. Now settle down!"
I couldn't move, but I must... The work... I must.
I think I ticked her off, all of a sudden a switch in my head clicked. It was a physical feeling, almost a jolt. The emotion storm, for the first time eased up.
My special snowflake roommate looked me dead in the eye. "I have been draining the emotion storms from you for years. I have tried over and over again to help you heal. I finally just had to step in and shut it off. The storms won't be back."
Tears rolled down my face.
"Your coping skills have made you the best fiber artist on the planet, but for now, you need to rest. You can't go on like this anymore. I won't be able to always be here to save you when the storms take over, so I just shut it off. You will have to learn to live without the storm from now on."
More tears came, for the first time in forever, the storm was external, instead of internal. Finally the steel clamps felt like they were coming off.
"Momma!"
Warm arms enveloped me, and held me tight. "Its okay, I knew when I had you that it would be hard on you being the child of chaos. I didn't realize it would be this hard. Since your birth, I would channel your emotion storms for you, and spread them out on the world. Now, I see that I did more harm than good. I love you madly my dear."
I drifted off to sleep in my mother's arms, face still wet, and for the first time, I rested. | I've always hated my roommate. He's always been a messy guy. I hate sharing my dorms with the guy to be frank. It's like he was doing it on person y'know? I ain't got nothing against pansies but the least you can do is respect others. We ain't animals y'know?
I've known the guy since last year but it's been a hella torturous time for me, living with this guy. The worst thing is, I've got OCD! I got to have everything clean and perfect. Things have to be in the right place but when the guy don't even wash his dishes and I see his dirty socks lying around I kind of get mad. Like, real mad. The kind of mad that makes you want to kill someone.
I put up with it because I like his personality but my OCD is suffering. I'm pretty much the only person who actually does anything in our shared room.
I guess that's just how things are though. You can't change a person but I will be looking for a new place soon. Me and my OCD can finally be free. The guy can finally disgust himself only and not others. I doubt he'd care too much. He's a pig. | |
[WP] You have OCD . Your roommate is the god of chaos . | "1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11..."
I considered screaming, wanting to pull at my hair and start screaming. "*No,* it's 12. I'm at 12. 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12. And now it's 13. Soon it'll be 14 and we have to reach 64 and then it'll be done so can you *please* shut *up?"*
I kept tapping my fingers together, perfect squares upon perfect squares, up, left, down, right, left, up, right, down. Silence greeted me for a few seconds, peaceful, beautiful silence. I felt my breathing slow down as I finished the squares and the squares and the squares. Still, as I felt the need to keep tapping slow down, the threat of me cutting off my hands subsiding, I couldn't stop the feeling of being watched.
Looking up, I saw my roommate staring at me. "It matters that much to you?" she asked. Her eyes bored into me, and I could see simple curiosity there. She wasn't judging me, but she sure was interested.
"Yes. If I don't do it right then everyone's going to die. Don't you know that? I'll cut off my hands. My parents will get in a car crash and my sister won't graduate college... you should know that. You live in chaos." I was incredulous that the woman didn't know this. Of *course* doing something 61 times instead of 64 times would be catastrophic. Of *course* I cared.
"None of those things happen to me." The words settled in slowly, both of us quietly looking at each other. *None of those things happen to her.*
I'd seen Chaos walk on the sidewalk without avoiding cracks. I'd seen her scratch one ear and not scratch the other. I'd seen her walk up a staircase without counting steps. And nothing bad had happened to her.
"Nothing bad happens to you," I repeated slowly.
"No, nothing bad. And I think the same goes for you. Let's add a little more chaos to your life." | I've always hated my roommate. He's always been a messy guy. I hate sharing my dorms with the guy to be frank. It's like he was doing it on person y'know? I ain't got nothing against pansies but the least you can do is respect others. We ain't animals y'know?
I've known the guy since last year but it's been a hella torturous time for me, living with this guy. The worst thing is, I've got OCD! I got to have everything clean and perfect. Things have to be in the right place but when the guy don't even wash his dishes and I see his dirty socks lying around I kind of get mad. Like, real mad. The kind of mad that makes you want to kill someone.
I put up with it because I like his personality but my OCD is suffering. I'm pretty much the only person who actually does anything in our shared room.
I guess that's just how things are though. You can't change a person but I will be looking for a new place soon. Me and my OCD can finally be free. The guy can finally disgust himself only and not others. I doubt he'd care too much. He's a pig. | |
[WP] One day, this woman starts showing up in your daily life. On the TV, in a magazine, on the bus, in a store. After weeks of this happening, the woman storms up to you, exhausted. “You’re the most ignorant mortal. Why can’t you notice me?” | "To be honest, I dead did notice you, but I have a tendency to ignore things that I find highly annoying".
This chick gave me what I assume to be a glower, but came off as a mousy sneer.
Like. I. Gave A Fuck.
I was on my feet all goddamn day taking care of wannabe rich bitch customers who thought they were holier-than-thou because their mommies and daddies were new money. I've had the most expensive shit-tasting red wine thrown on my uniforms four times today, the most combative customers who thought that raising hell would give them special treatment (which it didn't, because guess what honey? You're *all* rich) and a bitch who obviously thought she was a snap your fingers in a z formation *Yaaasss Queen* because she had to ah suhsuhsip her water while she spuhspilt the tea on how bAD A wAiTeR I was. The last thing I needed was some celebrity bitch, who actually considered herself a deity, coming up to me on the street without paying for my time.
"What I have to tell you is of the utmost importance and if you don't come with me, we could have *dire consequences*," she snarled. My eye twitched. My feet *ached*.
"Listen miss" I said, scowling daggers, spittle spraying from my gums, "whatever shit service you experienced at my job *stays at my job*." I stepped closer, towering compared to this 5 foot flat sack of shit. I've had rich assholes threaten my life over a cold motherfucking filet mignon before and I'd be damned if I didn't put a build-a-bitch in her place. "So if you wanna bring your problems outside my job, I promise you, the only people who''ll be settling them is *me and you*."
The woman smiled... She seemed a little too happy. The creases of her mouth continued to extend until the began to pass the bounds of her face while her jowls sagged pass her jawline. Her face turned slightly yellow and her pupils thinned into slits. She almost looked like when you badly Photoshop a smile onto someone who's frowning.
"They were right. *You're perfect*."
And I fell.
At least I was off my feet. | Nothing against you, but you lead a life of adventure and live superficially. The places you've seen, the people you've met and dated...I can't keep up with that. I lead a life much more different than what you are attached to. You keep so many things hidden from me that all I see is the lavishness of the covers you grace on the world. And that is not a life I want to be a part of.
"But I want to keep you close", she replied.
I don't want to be close to someone who only needs me due to convenience. I want somebody who is willing to walk a life that is fulfilling in both mind and body. I yearn to have a life where the person I hold hands with is encouraging me to fulfill my dreams. Your desire of me is to pose for a pretty picture, just like the magazines, ads, and videos you're always in. I cannot be that smiling face in an unhappy union.
"But I will make you happy."
By making yourself happy first. My walk in faith will surely come at odds with your needs and that is a compromise I am unwilling to forego. I do not need my ego massaged in order to do your bidding. I have done my kindness out of my own volition, but you seem to take it as a sign of submission. This is not a contest and I am not a trophy to be had. I have hopes and desires that I wish to share with someone who is considerate of them. A relationship requires sacrifice and you have done so little that when you get it right its at your nearest convenience. I will not be held to such a standard.
"Then you will miss me."
That I will. Your beauty and your eloquence are second to none. My heart desires to kiss your cheeks and rain desire on your body. But such edicts would only be worldly and I am looking beyond that. I will not and shall not cave into darkness. As much as it wounds my heart that is a scar that I am willing to move forward with. I had high hopes for us that one day you would step into the light and walk with me in faith, yet your disposition to remain in secret is grave cause for concern. I leave you with the true angels who will guide you where you need to be should you choose them. I pray that the life that you have been avoiding will one day be accepted with the one who will walk that path with you. For now I will walk the night alone as I know that twilight is only a few hours away. Farewell my passion, my love, and my friend. I pray the next time we meet you will understand that what I wanted for your was the best. | |
[WP] One day, this woman starts showing up in your daily life. On the TV, in a magazine, on the bus, in a store. After weeks of this happening, the woman storms up to you, exhausted. “You’re the most ignorant mortal. Why can’t you notice me?” | "Mortal? Notice you? I mean ... sure I noticed you. I even thought it was strange how you were popping up everywhere. But what was I supposed to say?"
"You could have started with hello," the woman replied, arms crossed. "But I'm glad you weren't as ignorant as I thought. We gods try to be subtle these days, especially after what Loki did in New York. Anyway, I was told you were a journalist, and supposedly one of the more high-profile ones at that. I need you to help me get a message out."
"What message?" Michael didn't buy her god schtick, but his curiosity was piqued, and he figured he would keep letting her talk.
"Your world is under attack. A fleet of starships took off just weeks ago from Xandar, heading directly toward Earth."
"You expect me to report that an alien invasion is coming? I would need to see some proof."
"Proof? I'm your proof," she said, looking exasperated. "I'm telling you this on the record. You can quote me."
"What did you say your name was, again?"
"I didn't say. But since you asked, my name is Verdandi. I am the goddess of destiny." She flipped her flowing blond hair from side to side and looked upon Michael with a confident smirk on her face.
"Verdandi. Right," he paused. "Still I need at least two sources before my editors let me report something as news."
Suddenly, the woman's skin began to glow a bright purple. A flash of light blinded Michael for a second, and when he opened his eyes, there were two women standing before him, both identical to the one who had just been talking to him. He couldn't even tell which was the copy and which was the original.
"How's that?" She began to laugh, as if at her own joke. "Now you have two sources!"
"Holy crap." Michael said, eyes wide. "Well, you've got my attention."
He reached into his back pocket and took out a small notebook with a pen lodged in between the spiral bounding.
"I'll take some notes on whatever you have to tell me, and I'll see where I can take it from there. So, you said an alien fleet is heading toward Earth? When is it expected to arrive?"
"It just left last month, and Xandar is a long way from Earth. It should arrive here in around fifty of your years."
"Fifty years?" He said, perplexed. "That's not news at all."
"Not news?" She sounded dumfounded. "A hostile fleet is going to attack your planet. If you're not around for it to destroy, then it will surely be fine taking your children's lives. How is that not news?"
"It will surely be news in fifty years. Maybe even forty-nine, if we can see it in the sky as it's approaching. Thanks for your tip, Mrs. Verdandi. I'll be going now."
He turned and crossed the street to leave the golden goddess standing alone on the side of the road, her mouth wide open, but unable to think of another word to say to this ignorant species. | Nothing against you, but you lead a life of adventure and live superficially. The places you've seen, the people you've met and dated...I can't keep up with that. I lead a life much more different than what you are attached to. You keep so many things hidden from me that all I see is the lavishness of the covers you grace on the world. And that is not a life I want to be a part of.
"But I want to keep you close", she replied.
I don't want to be close to someone who only needs me due to convenience. I want somebody who is willing to walk a life that is fulfilling in both mind and body. I yearn to have a life where the person I hold hands with is encouraging me to fulfill my dreams. Your desire of me is to pose for a pretty picture, just like the magazines, ads, and videos you're always in. I cannot be that smiling face in an unhappy union.
"But I will make you happy."
By making yourself happy first. My walk in faith will surely come at odds with your needs and that is a compromise I am unwilling to forego. I do not need my ego massaged in order to do your bidding. I have done my kindness out of my own volition, but you seem to take it as a sign of submission. This is not a contest and I am not a trophy to be had. I have hopes and desires that I wish to share with someone who is considerate of them. A relationship requires sacrifice and you have done so little that when you get it right its at your nearest convenience. I will not be held to such a standard.
"Then you will miss me."
That I will. Your beauty and your eloquence are second to none. My heart desires to kiss your cheeks and rain desire on your body. But such edicts would only be worldly and I am looking beyond that. I will not and shall not cave into darkness. As much as it wounds my heart that is a scar that I am willing to move forward with. I had high hopes for us that one day you would step into the light and walk with me in faith, yet your disposition to remain in secret is grave cause for concern. I leave you with the true angels who will guide you where you need to be should you choose them. I pray that the life that you have been avoiding will one day be accepted with the one who will walk that path with you. For now I will walk the night alone as I know that twilight is only a few hours away. Farewell my passion, my love, and my friend. I pray the next time we meet you will understand that what I wanted for your was the best. | |
[WP] "I'll make this simple. We have a fleet of flying battleships and a massive robot army and you don't. Ban slavery and return our citizens now, or we will do it for you." | ​
*Territorial Union Headquarters, Berlin, Germany. 2430 A.D.*
“What forces do we have available?” asked State Minister Robertson as he walked into the situation room, soldiers saluting him as he strode through the doorway. The room was covered from floor to ceiling in computer monitors and display screens, each showing tactical information about the Union Space Forces.
It had been only a few hours since the leadership of the Territorial Union had been informed of the kidnapping of over five hundred humans by the alien Rahmork Empire. The Empire was a vile, backwards, slave-trading state, the bane of all the civilised galaxy.
Why an interstellar civilisation would need to use slave labour of all things was beyond most members of the Union Council.
“The 77th Tactical Bomb Strike Wing is standing by at the failsafe points, sir,” responded the Minister of Defence, “Each bomber is loaded with a 200 megaton yield. The First, Second and Third Fleets are also preparing to move to their assigned targets on your command.”
The State Minister nodded.
“Good. Are the robots ready?” he asked a general, who nodded.
“Yes sir,” the officer replied, “All robot infantry and drone strike craft are ready for deployment, as are our normal forces.”
“Excellent,” Robertson grimaced, “Time to show those damn bugs what we’re made of.”
He turned to a group of scientists and engineers, who were clustered around a strange-looking device.
“Is the uplink ready?” asked the State Minister.
“Yes sir,” replied the Project Lead, Doctor Carlson, “The device is aimed at the alien homeworld and is ready to transmit your signal.”
“Right,” Robertson turned back to the General, “And we’re sure that there is no way our citizens will be harmed in the bombardment?”
“No sir,” replied the general, “Our spy satellites have indicated they’re being held in a remote area, far away from the intended targets.”
Steeling himself, the State Minister turned towards the device.
“Patch me through,” he ordered Carlson, who nodded to an engineer. Upon pressing some buttons, the device lit up.
Putting on a neutral expression that still showed the his resolve and cold fury, Robertson began speaking.
“This is the State Minister of the Territorial Union,” he began, “To the vile, cowardly *scum*, that call themselves the Rahmork Empire.”
The device transmitted a video recording of the State Minister to the far depths of space, where it found its way into the chambers of the Rahmork Leadership caste.
“I know that these words are being received by the so-called Immortal Lord High Emperor of the Rahmork. I will put this very simply, Your Highness,” continued Robertson, “We have three fleets of interstellar warships, a thousand ships per fleet, headed towards your homeworld. Each is carrying a vast robot army who cares little about injury or death. They do not know compassion, or mercy. They only know how to kill, and kill well.”
He paused to take a breath, trying to calm the rage building up inside of him.
“An entire strike wing of nuclear armed bombers is preparing to attack targets in the Empire that you think are unassailable,” he continued, “Your planets will be razed to the ground unless you comply with our very straightforward demands.”
Pausing again, the State Minister pulled up a very small piece of paper.
“Stop the practice of slavery in your empire,” he read out, “And return the five hundred and seventy three civilians you have abducted . If you do not, I will give the order to attack.”
“So, what is it going to be? Comply, or be annihilated? We give you one Rahmork hour to decide.”
He gestured to Doctor Carlson, who cut transmission.
“How much is one Rahmork hour?” asked the Minister of Defence.
“About twenty minutes,” replied the General.
Twenty minutes later, the communications device chirped loudly. One of Doctor Carlson’s subordinates pulled a lever, broadcasting the alien transmission across the room.
“State Minister Robertson,” a harsh, guttural voice filled the room, “This is a representative of the Immortal Lord High Emperor of the Rahmork. We cannot comply with your demands.”
The room fell silent as the alien leader’s message fully sank in, broken only by a quickly-suppressed sound of rage from a soldier.
“Our economy is built on the practice of slavery,” the alien continued, “To end it would be to destroy the Empire completely. Billions of our citizens would be killed or displaced. Whole planets would be left in disarray. Would you rather have that over the lives of some feeble creatures who cannot fend for themselves? For beings like these, slavery is a mercy.”
There was a sharp crackle, then the message cut off.
“’Feeble beings?!” exploded the General, “Those are *children*, for the love of Heaven!”
State Minister Robertson scowled. The alien’s message had left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Send this signal to the Empire,” he ordered Carlson, who nodded. As soon as the device was ready, he signalled to the State Minister, who turned to face the device.
“Now listen here, Your Highness,” he began, “Those ‘feeble beings’ you mentioned? Those are children. Young, helpless, vulnerable children. Children that you would exploit in your mines, your factories and in your homes.”
“Let me tell you something about humanity,” Robertson seethed, “We do not take kindly to those that would hurt children. The Fraglen Enclave found that out the hard way last year, when they decided to destroy several unarmed border colonies.”
“On Earth, those that would harm a child are seen as some of the worst people imaginable. They are alienated, ostracised by society. Branded as cowards who would pick on those completely incapable of defending themselves," Robertson stated.
" If this is the reaction that we have to *other humans*, what do you think we will do to literal aliens?" he demanded of the faceless alien, "They would not care if your civilisation falls to pieces around you if you disband slavery. They would not care for your citizens that thrive on a system that oppresses and treats sentient beings as objects. They would not care if *we wiped you from the face of the Universe.*”
“So,” concluded the State Minister, “I ask you again. What shall it be? Compliance, or annihilation?” | "Alright everyone, listen up."
The lieutenant said as he walked in to the briefing room. He was the kind of soldier who deliberately got into trouble to avoid promotions so he can stay at a rank that was low enough not to warrant a desk job. He liked to fight. Rumour had it that he managed to avoid eight promotions in his career so far.
"At *zero-dark-thirty* local time, Strike Force Command has authorized a level 2 warning to be given to the aliens. Our fleet has broadcast our ultimatum on all radio frequencies they use and we are still waiting for a response."
Personally I don't think we even should've given these disgusting creatures a warning at all. We should just extract our citizens and *nuke them from orbit - it's the only way to be sure* that their filth doesn't spread.
"We are nearing the deadline for their response and so far we got nothing. Strike Force Command anticipates that we will resort to Operation *Hammer of Dawn* \- a mass evacuation plan for our people down there. You boys and girls should've already been briefed before deployment but SFC wants officers to go over the plan one last time before the deadline. And lucky for me, I'm an officer so I have to go over this with all of you again for the third time. Do me a favour, shut up and pretend that you're listening."
Oh great, the same briefing again. And it was actually the fourth time for me because I missed the first one and the lieutenant punished me by ordering a sit-in with another unit's briefing for the same goddamn thing.
"We, along with the rest of the entire 1021^(st) Strike Fleet is in orbit over the alien planet, their only planet. They are not an interstellar space-faring race yet, although intel suggests that they may actually be intelligent enough to become one in the near future."
If it was up to me, I would evacuate our people and then drop a quantum *mass effect* bomb right on top of them so they never become space-faring. I tried to picture a massive planetary explosion from an ME bomb creating the iconic *halo* from its detonation profile.
"Their planet is a *wretched hive of scum and villainy* but thankfully it does have a class 3 EM field so our auxiliary forces will work fine all across the surface. That means all robots, mech suits, and flight drones are good to go ready to back us up. On top of that, the aliens' technology is far behind ours so intel says their conventional weapons won't do much which means the only thing we have to worry about is their nuclear arsenal. The navy will be in charge of taking down any nukes so that we're clear while *planetside*."
Great, savage aliens with nukes. I hope this won't turn out like last year in *sector-zed-zed-nine-plural-zee-alpha*.
"Strike Force Command doesn't want this to turn into another *Forever War* like what happened fifty years ago on that one desert planet with the giant sand worms. Our suppressive attacks will be fast and brutal, striking all alien military sites and sources of resistance to ensure quick neutralization of hostile forces. The initial suppression phase will be simultaneous orbital bombardments and surface landings by our robot army as well as our *starship troopers* \- you guys."
I looked around at all the young bulls. I was glad that our axiliary robot army was coming along for this one. I was sitting around with a bunch of kids, many probably fresh from training.
"Once ground forces as well as the fleet both confirm that hostile presence is suppressed, the evacuation phase will begin. Shuttles will head for pre-planned landing zones and begin loading up our people."
The lieutenant stopped. He looked at us with quiet intensity.
"All of you have sworn to answer the *call of duty* of defending our people and their freedom, even if it means facing fire on the *battlefield*. I want to remind all of you that our own citizens are down there on that alien planet right now, subjected to all manner of brutality and perversion. I don't care that you've all been briefed already. I want to go over it all again to remind you, to tell you, to forge you for the coming fight."
The lieutenant looked down at his notes, his mouth giving a visible twitch of disgust.
"They cage our people. They breed our people. They slaughter our people for meat. They defile our females' breasts to steal the milk meant for our young - only for their own perverse consumption."
Nowhere else in the entire known universe does any species consume the juice from another species' tits. Fucking disgusting.
"Their cycle of rape, genocide, and slavery against our citizens must end. And we will see to it that it will, one way or another. We will save all of our people down on this godforsaken planet - every dear calf, every brave bull, and every beautiful cow."
And with that, the lieutenant waddled away on his four legs to exit the dim briefing room, his well-built and furry body increasingly glowing from the light of the corridor outside where all manner of military cows and bulls waddled this way or the other between their posts in eager anticipation of the human response (or lack of response) from down below as their deadline to the ultimatum neared. | |
[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it. | "Madame President, the latest models suggest that the hurricane will make landfall tomorrow. It is currently estimated to reach shore as a category 5, with top wind speeds north of 180 miles per hour. The models suggest that it will make landfall near Savannah, Georgia, then follow the coast north, hitting every major coastal city along the way, until it burns itself out somewhere around Boston."
Chief of staff Acroma places a small dossier on the Resolute Desk, then steps back a pace, allowing President Miranda Glyburn to examine the latest information. She studies the pages within, satellite imagery of the storm, estimated casualty charts, damage estimates, agency responses and preparedness, National Guard troop placements and callup lists. Finally, she reaches the final page, which consists of a simple table:
Day extended 6 hours: 3000 lives saved, $3 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 12 hours: 7500 lives saved, $13 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 18 hours: 15000 lives saved, $27 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 24 hours: 30000 lives saved, $60 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 30 hours: 47500 lives saved, $100 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 36 hours: 60000 lives saved, $175 billion in damages avoided.
The table extended on further, ending in an estimate for 120 hours: 400,000 lives saved, $970 billion in damages avoided.
The president sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"We think it's worth the risk." The Chief of staff comments. "The Joint Chiefs and I, that is."
"Yeah, I agree. But one of these days we're going to burn him out. Make the call."
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
My phone rings at 7:17 AM, which, quite frankly, is an ungodly time for a phone to ring. Doubly troublesome is that I know the ringtone, and I know what it means. Groggily, I answer, grunting something akin to "heyeahwhassup?" as the line connects.
​
"Mr. Benjamin, good morning. I hope you slept well. We are going to need your services once again."
"Ugggghhhh"
"The President of the United States of America will be speaking to you in just a moment", the voice says in a tone of mild disapproval. The line goes silent and I know that I've just been put on hold, which strikes me as something that only governments and monarchies can get away with- calling you up and then putting *you* on hold.
"Mister Benjamin" a cool, female voice speaks into my ear, and I recognize President Glyburn on the other end now. "As I'm sure you're aware, a storm has been brewing in the North Atlantic for several days now. Unfortunately, the worst-case scenario seems to be coming to pass- overnight, it drifted dramatically west, and, thanks to the warmer seas due to the global climate change, we suspect it will make landfall as a very powerful storm, and continue to be extremely devastating as it moves north along the coast."
I manage to catch most of what she says in between a yawn as I eye my pillow jealously.
"Right. How long are you needing me to give you?"
"As long as you can. Every hour is more lives that police and the National Guard can save as they make house calls and residents are able to flee to safer ground. If nothing is done, estimates suggest that up to two-hundred thousand may die."
I blink a bit, processing that number. *Two hundred thousand? What a fucking mess.* But I still can't help but feel tired, exhausted really. I'd been asleep for about six hours since the last time I stayed awake, that time for forty-two hours straight while the government of China worked to stop a meltdown in a nuclear reactor that would have potentially given a few million people a mild dose of radiation sickness and about fifty thousand more a permanent case of being dead.
I have obviously been quiet for too long, as the President's voice cuts in again. "I know you're coming off the Xi'an tragedy. The United States Government is prepared to offer you whatever resources and materials you need to help with this."
I hate the way I can hear her capitalize the words United States Government when she speaks- but it's hardly a condition unique to her- I haven't know a politician who *didn't* think that their government was the most important thing in the world. Comes with the territory I guess.
"I'll do what I can. The usual supplements should be fine. I can't promise much..."
"The families of those that live because of this will be forever grateful" she interrupts quickly.
"I know they will. But not to me. And there's always a cost."
"We know. *I* know. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"Right. Send over the good stuff, and get your people moving."
"You'll have it in fifteen minutes."
The line goes dead, and I lay back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even now, I can feel the time warping in my mind, and I know that as long as I can keep my eyes open, the "day" will not end. No one can explain quite why it happens- the best anyone has come up with is that I am somehow a locus of relativity- and that by observing the universe, I force it to slow to my own perceptions. If you remember your high school example of Shrodinger's cat, basically whenever I'm asleep time moves along uncertainly- it might going fast or slow but no one can really tell, at least on a cosmic sense. But when I wake up, the cat is out of the box, as it were. It is DAY, and will be DAY until I sleep again, at which point things go back to normal.
As you might imagine, this ability has drawn the notice of quite a few governments and I am one of the most well-guarded anonymous individuals on the planet. I have been offered sums of money that would make billionaires take note to extend time for certain interests. I am called when disaster looms, because as long as I am awake, time moves more slowly, though people move at the same rate. An "hour" turns into two, or five, or twenty. Most people have learned to have two sets of time keeping- one for normal time, and one for what they call "extra time".
All this to say, when the agents knock on my door in exactly fifteen minutes, I am ready to do what I can to save as many as I can. But I see the looks on their faces as I take the first of the amphetamines, and I wonder how long I can keep this up. Every time we go through this, I fall asleep eventually- it's human nature, after all- and I wake up to learn how many died that might have been saved. How much damage was caused that might have been avoided. I know I can't blame myself for them- I know, intellectually, that many people in the world are alive because of me, because of this strange thing I can do. But that doesn't stop the guilt.
I swallow the pills as I turn on my TV, tracking the storm, watching footage of Humvees rolling down a residential street, loudspeakers blaring evacuation orders as frantic homeowners get their families to cars and start driving down an interstate that is already clogged and will be for hours. But thanks to me, hours are a relative concept.
*"As long as you can give me."* She said.
I'll try. | Dear Lucy,
12/21/2012. We all knew it was coming. The “end of the world” or whatever it was that made the Mayans quit making their calendar on that day. That’s tomorrow.
Ever since you’ve known me you knew that my life was not normal. I controlled time on a day to day basis just by being awake and asleep. I could prevent tomorrow from ever coming as long as I could stay awake. Eventually, I’d either fall asleep or die from the lack of it, so I gave everyone a warning: Get as prepared as possible.
This incited mass hysteria. Stores were ransacked, gas stations emptied, guns and ammunition stockpiled, even banks were out of cash. With the helps of some friends... some of OUR friends... I knew I had to keep moving to stay awake.
We went on hikes, played sports, went swimming at the beach... visited the spot we had our first kiss... literally anything just to keep me awake and moving to give everyone else as much time as we could to get prepared.
Now it’s Day 5... I think. I’ve been awake long enough that I knew I had to write this down in case I don’t wake up for the world to end tomorrow. I’ve been seeing things that aren’t there, shadows dancing on the wall, hearing sounds that don’t exist. I’m going crazy just trying to help.
I saw you... or what I thought was you. I stared for so long my friends thought I saw a ghost. You were standing there smiling at me the way you used to. I wanted to run and hold you, but one blink and you were gone.
You taught me to love, how to help when I could and do anything for others. That’s why you were so amazing. You would’ve stayed awake a lifetime if it meant everyone else got to live.
I tried to use the strength you had, but I can’t stay awake any longer. For what might be the last time, goodnight Lucy.
-Garrett | |
[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it. | Day One
The sun didn’t set. Not completely atypical, this shit happened all the time in college. Back before anyone knew it was me controlling this, cable news was a treat to watch any time I pulled an all nighter. Or all dayer. Terminology with this shit is weird.
I was thinking, is there anyone I want to see? Anyone I want to say goodbye to? I don’t know how long I can stay awake, it’s only day one and I’ve been drinking coffee pretty much nonstop. And I hate coffee. It’s funny, knowing I have to stay awake makes me want to sleep more than ever.
I thought of visiting Soph. We haven’t spoken since we were 19, but she was my first love. I figured that should count for something. But I looked her up on Facebook and she’s married with kids. It would probably be rude to intrude.
I would go home to see dad, but honestly, I would rather shove a knife up my ass than spend my last moments on Earth with my father. Maybe Zephyr, but tracking my sister down has always taken months of searching, and I have a week, tops. Maybe Professor Samson? But, of course, he passed away 3 years ago, so no luck there.
It’s a haunting feeling, realizing the end of the world is coming and you’re completely alone. And that loneliness is only compounded when you realize you’re sacrificing any ability to enjoy your last moments so everyone else can have theirs.
God I’m tired.
Day 2
I spent all day playing guitar. I haven’t played since I was 27, but I live alone in a tiny apartment with no friends at the end of the world, and I’m awfully bored. I checked my phone a few times for texts or emails. Nothing. Clearly I’m on nobody’s mind, which is a bit of a shame.
I watched a couple movies, some of my favorites. Star Wars, Django Unchained, Moonrise Kingdom. Anything to hold off boredom, because that’s the real killer. I don’t have to go to work, I don’t have anyone to see, and I’m not the one for anyone to see.
I remembered I had a sheet of acid at some point, I figured it might help me stay awake. That was a mistake. Not because I almost nodded off, but because the anxiety of knowing the world may end compounded with the exhaustion of staying awake sucks when psychedelics are thrown into the mix. I’ve had some bad trips, including ego death, but nothing compared to this one.
After I finally came down, I dusted off my old Nintendo and played Majora’s Mask for a bit. Holds up excellently. I feel like I’m just bouncing around, waiting until I drop from exhaustion. But I’m desperate to hold off as long as I can. I have nothing, but so many people have family to say goodbye to. Parents who have to hold their children, knowing they’ll never reach adulthood. Pet owners lying with their friends who have no clue as to what’s coming. In a way, staying awake, making them wait, it may be cruller this way. But if I can give them any extra time, I will.
Day 3
i got a dog. his name is army, short for armageddon. another great movie, by the way. should add that to my list of movies to watch at the end of the world. seems fitting.
dad called. we didnt talk long. he said sorry. i said i knwo. he said he missed mom. i said i did too. neither of us knows where zephyr is. last he heard, she was in cuba. god knows what she was doing there, but i always felt she was a communist. he said hed try to find her, send her my way. i wished him luck.
ive been stress cooking and baking. i made ribs, cookies, ramen, cake, burgers, fudge. damn near every recipe i know. ive been stress eating, too. world is ending. its not like i have to worry about getting fat anymore.
Day 4
i considered trying to get laid but decided against it. not only is my face on every billboard in america with a running counter of how long ive been awake but im too tired to enjoy it anyway
i wnat to sleep so bad but i now i cant. even if i was allowed to i dont think i could this is very stressful. knowing the world is going to end is awful for the heart but knowing your the only one who can stall it makes it worse. i think ive never been in an end of world situation where i couldnt stall ti
army and me went for a walk today. he killed a squirrel. i felt bad for the squirrel but only for a bit. i geuss thats just nature. if that squirrel was really supposed to make it he probably would have figured a way out of it. i dont see why army should be responsible for delaying the inevitable. besides army seemed really happy to get the squirrel. until he was sad he killed an aminal. hes a very soft dog inside and out
i watched armageddon with army. i dont think he undertood. i wouldnt expect him to. it was a bad idea. now im just thinking about the end of the world mroe
Day 5
my head hurts. i dont know why im doing this. its not like this world ever gave me anything. here i am getting closer to the end and im all alone. i saw a nice car wakling army and stole it. owner wont need it anymore. its a ferarri i think its red. it has a nice spoilr and a loud engine. it made me feel powerful for a bit to drive it on the freeway. theyre all empty. nobodys driving everyones home. the power didnt last long. there was nobody to see me anyway.
Day 6
fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you it isnt worhht it it hurts so bad
Day 7
they dont deserve my time i dont eve nknow why im still trying maybe its just spite they never gave me anything im going to die alone and tired and in paim and its because of them i couldve died happily byt no i had to stay awake fuck them fuck them fuck you fukc you fuck
Day 8
He fell asleep. He’ll probably be asleep for around 16 hours. I wish I had gotten home sooner, I didn’t know he was hurting so much. But I’m so proud of him for staying awake so long. He didn’t have to, and he knew it. But he did anyway, just to give people one last week with their families.
When I got home, he spent an hour screaming at me for leaving for so long. Then he cried. He cried for the time he would never get, he cried for his loneliness, he cried from pain, but above all, he cried because he was so angry. Being alone at the end of the world, and being the one wholly responsible for when that end comes, is lonely business, and it may be the greatest regret of my life that I left my baby brother to do it alone. I’m sorry, you deserved better than me.
I doubt anyone will read this, but I need to make sure there’s a record of it. Someone who detailed his sacrifice. In the end, his concern wasn’t that he’d die alone, but that he’d do it full of hate for the world. I tried my best to assure him he deserved to be angry, but that only seemed to make him hurt more.
His choice to give the world one last week, to steal one final week from God on high, came at a hell of a cost. In the end, the man I came back to was not my brother, but a hollow shell. He spent his final years working 2 jobs to make ends meet, and he still lived hand to mouth. He had nothing and nobody, and through all that, through all our world put him through, he was still good, and he still sacrificed himself for the rest of the world. If there is ever any record of the end of the world, I hope it is this log, detailing my brother’s sacrifice.
I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo. Get some sleep. I love you so much, and I’m prouder than you’ll ever know. | Dear Lucy,
12/21/2012. We all knew it was coming. The “end of the world” or whatever it was that made the Mayans quit making their calendar on that day. That’s tomorrow.
Ever since you’ve known me you knew that my life was not normal. I controlled time on a day to day basis just by being awake and asleep. I could prevent tomorrow from ever coming as long as I could stay awake. Eventually, I’d either fall asleep or die from the lack of it, so I gave everyone a warning: Get as prepared as possible.
This incited mass hysteria. Stores were ransacked, gas stations emptied, guns and ammunition stockpiled, even banks were out of cash. With the helps of some friends... some of OUR friends... I knew I had to keep moving to stay awake.
We went on hikes, played sports, went swimming at the beach... visited the spot we had our first kiss... literally anything just to keep me awake and moving to give everyone else as much time as we could to get prepared.
Now it’s Day 5... I think. I’ve been awake long enough that I knew I had to write this down in case I don’t wake up for the world to end tomorrow. I’ve been seeing things that aren’t there, shadows dancing on the wall, hearing sounds that don’t exist. I’m going crazy just trying to help.
I saw you... or what I thought was you. I stared for so long my friends thought I saw a ghost. You were standing there smiling at me the way you used to. I wanted to run and hold you, but one blink and you were gone.
You taught me to love, how to help when I could and do anything for others. That’s why you were so amazing. You would’ve stayed awake a lifetime if it meant everyone else got to live.
I tried to use the strength you had, but I can’t stay awake any longer. For what might be the last time, goodnight Lucy.
-Garrett | |
[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it. | "Madame President, the latest models suggest that the hurricane will make landfall tomorrow. It is currently estimated to reach shore as a category 5, with top wind speeds north of 180 miles per hour. The models suggest that it will make landfall near Savannah, Georgia, then follow the coast north, hitting every major coastal city along the way, until it burns itself out somewhere around Boston."
Chief of staff Acroma places a small dossier on the Resolute Desk, then steps back a pace, allowing President Miranda Glyburn to examine the latest information. She studies the pages within, satellite imagery of the storm, estimated casualty charts, damage estimates, agency responses and preparedness, National Guard troop placements and callup lists. Finally, she reaches the final page, which consists of a simple table:
Day extended 6 hours: 3000 lives saved, $3 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 12 hours: 7500 lives saved, $13 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 18 hours: 15000 lives saved, $27 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 24 hours: 30000 lives saved, $60 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 30 hours: 47500 lives saved, $100 billion in damages avoided.
Day extended 36 hours: 60000 lives saved, $175 billion in damages avoided.
The table extended on further, ending in an estimate for 120 hours: 400,000 lives saved, $970 billion in damages avoided.
The president sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"We think it's worth the risk." The Chief of staff comments. "The Joint Chiefs and I, that is."
"Yeah, I agree. But one of these days we're going to burn him out. Make the call."
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
​
My phone rings at 7:17 AM, which, quite frankly, is an ungodly time for a phone to ring. Doubly troublesome is that I know the ringtone, and I know what it means. Groggily, I answer, grunting something akin to "heyeahwhassup?" as the line connects.
​
"Mr. Benjamin, good morning. I hope you slept well. We are going to need your services once again."
"Ugggghhhh"
"The President of the United States of America will be speaking to you in just a moment", the voice says in a tone of mild disapproval. The line goes silent and I know that I've just been put on hold, which strikes me as something that only governments and monarchies can get away with- calling you up and then putting *you* on hold.
"Mister Benjamin" a cool, female voice speaks into my ear, and I recognize President Glyburn on the other end now. "As I'm sure you're aware, a storm has been brewing in the North Atlantic for several days now. Unfortunately, the worst-case scenario seems to be coming to pass- overnight, it drifted dramatically west, and, thanks to the warmer seas due to the global climate change, we suspect it will make landfall as a very powerful storm, and continue to be extremely devastating as it moves north along the coast."
I manage to catch most of what she says in between a yawn as I eye my pillow jealously.
"Right. How long are you needing me to give you?"
"As long as you can. Every hour is more lives that police and the National Guard can save as they make house calls and residents are able to flee to safer ground. If nothing is done, estimates suggest that up to two-hundred thousand may die."
I blink a bit, processing that number. *Two hundred thousand? What a fucking mess.* But I still can't help but feel tired, exhausted really. I'd been asleep for about six hours since the last time I stayed awake, that time for forty-two hours straight while the government of China worked to stop a meltdown in a nuclear reactor that would have potentially given a few million people a mild dose of radiation sickness and about fifty thousand more a permanent case of being dead.
I have obviously been quiet for too long, as the President's voice cuts in again. "I know you're coming off the Xi'an tragedy. The United States Government is prepared to offer you whatever resources and materials you need to help with this."
I hate the way I can hear her capitalize the words United States Government when she speaks- but it's hardly a condition unique to her- I haven't know a politician who *didn't* think that their government was the most important thing in the world. Comes with the territory I guess.
"I'll do what I can. The usual supplements should be fine. I can't promise much..."
"The families of those that live because of this will be forever grateful" she interrupts quickly.
"I know they will. But not to me. And there's always a cost."
"We know. *I* know. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
"Right. Send over the good stuff, and get your people moving."
"You'll have it in fifteen minutes."
The line goes dead, and I lay back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even now, I can feel the time warping in my mind, and I know that as long as I can keep my eyes open, the "day" will not end. No one can explain quite why it happens- the best anyone has come up with is that I am somehow a locus of relativity- and that by observing the universe, I force it to slow to my own perceptions. If you remember your high school example of Shrodinger's cat, basically whenever I'm asleep time moves along uncertainly- it might going fast or slow but no one can really tell, at least on a cosmic sense. But when I wake up, the cat is out of the box, as it were. It is DAY, and will be DAY until I sleep again, at which point things go back to normal.
As you might imagine, this ability has drawn the notice of quite a few governments and I am one of the most well-guarded anonymous individuals on the planet. I have been offered sums of money that would make billionaires take note to extend time for certain interests. I am called when disaster looms, because as long as I am awake, time moves more slowly, though people move at the same rate. An "hour" turns into two, or five, or twenty. Most people have learned to have two sets of time keeping- one for normal time, and one for what they call "extra time".
All this to say, when the agents knock on my door in exactly fifteen minutes, I am ready to do what I can to save as many as I can. But I see the looks on their faces as I take the first of the amphetamines, and I wonder how long I can keep this up. Every time we go through this, I fall asleep eventually- it's human nature, after all- and I wake up to learn how many died that might have been saved. How much damage was caused that might have been avoided. I know I can't blame myself for them- I know, intellectually, that many people in the world are alive because of me, because of this strange thing I can do. But that doesn't stop the guilt.
I swallow the pills as I turn on my TV, tracking the storm, watching footage of Humvees rolling down a residential street, loudspeakers blaring evacuation orders as frantic homeowners get their families to cars and start driving down an interstate that is already clogged and will be for hours. But thanks to me, hours are a relative concept.
*"As long as you can give me."* She said.
I'll try. | It was such a shame, it seemed that there was only one way for me to rest.
The scientists, with all their knowledge and research could do nothing to stop it. The Great Catastrophe, as the ancient Mayans had called it. A great ending that would, inevitably, erase all of existence. It was a wonder that they had predicted it at all.
In my case, it was not a wonder at all. Moreso it was the world's largest dose of amphetamines a living human had ever ingested. The most electrical shocks a living human had ever endured.
You see, the world revolves around me. In a more accurate sense, time itself revolves around me. My very act of sleeping brings the new day, and with it, all the challenges that it may contain. It was such a shame that this particular challenge was an insurmountable, existential threat.
And so there I sat, wired to a most ugly contraption. Wires were threaded throughout various openings in the cold metal, each one deeply embedded in my flesh. Beside me, a custom cocktail of neurological stimulants dripped steadily through an IV tube.
I have been awake for years, held in this chair.
My head drooped for a single moment. Slowly, I allowed my eyes to flutter shut. Breathing deeply, my heart slowed even more than it already was.
An alarm sounded somewhere in the distance. There was a commotion, somewhere behind the glass pane in front of me. The wires discharged their electrical payload, locking what was left of my muscles in place.
"Subject, keep your eyes on the viewing pane. You must stay awake," the scientist said over the intercom. His voice was tinny, shrill. And commanding.
I groaned, more out of relief than out of pain. There would be no more pain for me.
My heart fluttered. And then it squeezed. And then it stopped entirely.
The alarm had returned, this time louder. The routine beeping that marked my every heartbeat ceased, replaced by a single mechanical tone.
Somewhere behind the viewing pane, I heard panicked shouting.
The door to my right burst open. A researcher rushed inside, shock paddles at the ready.
I smiled. It was too late. I was already dead.
It was such a shame that this was the only way I could rest. | |
[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it. | “What time is it now?”
“It’s now 71:48, Tim. 12 minutes until day 3.”
It’s been almost 3 days since I last slept, and it’s been almost 3 days since the start of “today”. I turn my head to the right and look out the window to see the moon, still hovering in the same place just above the horizon for the last 24 hours. Moving my vision further up in the sky I see humanity’s most feared calamity: a humongous, red, burning meteor so close to the surface that it appears as large as the moon. The world’s scientists have all predicted that when the moon and sun swap places tomorrow, the meteor will reach the planet and induce a multitude of disasters. Luckily, the powers of the world have found a solution to the disaster: me, humanity’s savior.
At least, that’s what everyone calls me now. Before, I was just humanity’s clock with my own daily living schedule affecting the entire world’s temporal flow. Whenever I wake up for school, it’s an hour before my school’s start time, 7 AM, and whenever I go to sleep, I am guaranteed to get my nine hours of rest as the clock shows 10 PM with my consciousness drifting away. The world has always known this about me since doctors noticed abnormalities about me since I was born, and they kept me under close observation ever since.
“May I go to the bathroom please?” I gasp, out of breath from all of my running.
“Go ahead. Agents Harby and Chester will escort you.”
I turn off the treadmill and slow my pace down to a normal walk. I walk towards the room a short pace to my left, glancing left and right to see two men in black suits beside me, ready to force my body awake through physical means if my body starts collapsing to fatigue. The past two and a half hours of my day have been filled with this form of “physical stimulation”. All a part of Operation Insomnia, the world’s plan for me, humanity’s savior, to dedicate the rest of my life staying awake to save everyone’s lives. It all started last month when I was called upon by the government to participate in this plan. The next few weeks consisted of preparation; I was fed certain foods and drugs, underwent multiple health checkups and training, and spent the last seven days asleep with the help of some sleeping substances known as the “deep sleep” to prepare for my final day. From now on, each of my 24 hours “days” would consist of four six hour cycles of one hour for meals filled with specific drugs to trick my body into staying awake, two and half hours of “physical stimulation”, and then two and a half hours of “mental stimulation”. When I asked if I had to do this for eternity, my supervisors simply responded with “everyone believes in you to do your duty as humanity’s savior”.
I stare at the mirror in the bathroom, seeing the reflection of my worn face and the two agents behind me. Breathe in, breathe out, and keep my eyes open. Everything was going to be fine as it was time to end this charade.
“It’s time,” I say aloud.
Agent Harby immediately pulls out his taser and stuns Agent Chester. A member of the Hiber Nation, a group opposed to Project Insomnia, agent Harby worked undercover for the past few months as a spy and discreetly disclosed to me his identity a few weeks ago. The alarm starts blaring and shining red, but we both know it’s too late.
“Just so you remember, there’s no going back after this” Harby warns as he hands me a sleeping pill.
“Even so, I don’t care what becomes of this world. I just can’t bear its weight on my shoulders anymore,” I respond, sitting down on the floor and opening my mouth.
I slip the pill into my body and swallow as more members of Operation Insomnia burst into the room. I see them subdue Harby and grab one of my arms as my eyelids close and eyesight darken.
At long last, my head hits the ground alongside the red sphere in the sky. | It was such a shame, it seemed that there was only one way for me to rest.
The scientists, with all their knowledge and research could do nothing to stop it. The Great Catastrophe, as the ancient Mayans had called it. A great ending that would, inevitably, erase all of existence. It was a wonder that they had predicted it at all.
In my case, it was not a wonder at all. Moreso it was the world's largest dose of amphetamines a living human had ever ingested. The most electrical shocks a living human had ever endured.
You see, the world revolves around me. In a more accurate sense, time itself revolves around me. My very act of sleeping brings the new day, and with it, all the challenges that it may contain. It was such a shame that this particular challenge was an insurmountable, existential threat.
And so there I sat, wired to a most ugly contraption. Wires were threaded throughout various openings in the cold metal, each one deeply embedded in my flesh. Beside me, a custom cocktail of neurological stimulants dripped steadily through an IV tube.
I have been awake for years, held in this chair.
My head drooped for a single moment. Slowly, I allowed my eyes to flutter shut. Breathing deeply, my heart slowed even more than it already was.
An alarm sounded somewhere in the distance. There was a commotion, somewhere behind the glass pane in front of me. The wires discharged their electrical payload, locking what was left of my muscles in place.
"Subject, keep your eyes on the viewing pane. You must stay awake," the scientist said over the intercom. His voice was tinny, shrill. And commanding.
I groaned, more out of relief than out of pain. There would be no more pain for me.
My heart fluttered. And then it squeezed. And then it stopped entirely.
The alarm had returned, this time louder. The routine beeping that marked my every heartbeat ceased, replaced by a single mechanical tone.
Somewhere behind the viewing pane, I heard panicked shouting.
The door to my right burst open. A researcher rushed inside, shock paddles at the ready.
I smiled. It was too late. I was already dead.
It was such a shame that this was the only way I could rest. | |
[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it. | Day One
The sun didn’t set. Not completely atypical, this shit happened all the time in college. Back before anyone knew it was me controlling this, cable news was a treat to watch any time I pulled an all nighter. Or all dayer. Terminology with this shit is weird.
I was thinking, is there anyone I want to see? Anyone I want to say goodbye to? I don’t know how long I can stay awake, it’s only day one and I’ve been drinking coffee pretty much nonstop. And I hate coffee. It’s funny, knowing I have to stay awake makes me want to sleep more than ever.
I thought of visiting Soph. We haven’t spoken since we were 19, but she was my first love. I figured that should count for something. But I looked her up on Facebook and she’s married with kids. It would probably be rude to intrude.
I would go home to see dad, but honestly, I would rather shove a knife up my ass than spend my last moments on Earth with my father. Maybe Zephyr, but tracking my sister down has always taken months of searching, and I have a week, tops. Maybe Professor Samson? But, of course, he passed away 3 years ago, so no luck there.
It’s a haunting feeling, realizing the end of the world is coming and you’re completely alone. And that loneliness is only compounded when you realize you’re sacrificing any ability to enjoy your last moments so everyone else can have theirs.
God I’m tired.
Day 2
I spent all day playing guitar. I haven’t played since I was 27, but I live alone in a tiny apartment with no friends at the end of the world, and I’m awfully bored. I checked my phone a few times for texts or emails. Nothing. Clearly I’m on nobody’s mind, which is a bit of a shame.
I watched a couple movies, some of my favorites. Star Wars, Django Unchained, Moonrise Kingdom. Anything to hold off boredom, because that’s the real killer. I don’t have to go to work, I don’t have anyone to see, and I’m not the one for anyone to see.
I remembered I had a sheet of acid at some point, I figured it might help me stay awake. That was a mistake. Not because I almost nodded off, but because the anxiety of knowing the world may end compounded with the exhaustion of staying awake sucks when psychedelics are thrown into the mix. I’ve had some bad trips, including ego death, but nothing compared to this one.
After I finally came down, I dusted off my old Nintendo and played Majora’s Mask for a bit. Holds up excellently. I feel like I’m just bouncing around, waiting until I drop from exhaustion. But I’m desperate to hold off as long as I can. I have nothing, but so many people have family to say goodbye to. Parents who have to hold their children, knowing they’ll never reach adulthood. Pet owners lying with their friends who have no clue as to what’s coming. In a way, staying awake, making them wait, it may be cruller this way. But if I can give them any extra time, I will.
Day 3
i got a dog. his name is army, short for armageddon. another great movie, by the way. should add that to my list of movies to watch at the end of the world. seems fitting.
dad called. we didnt talk long. he said sorry. i said i knwo. he said he missed mom. i said i did too. neither of us knows where zephyr is. last he heard, she was in cuba. god knows what she was doing there, but i always felt she was a communist. he said hed try to find her, send her my way. i wished him luck.
ive been stress cooking and baking. i made ribs, cookies, ramen, cake, burgers, fudge. damn near every recipe i know. ive been stress eating, too. world is ending. its not like i have to worry about getting fat anymore.
Day 4
i considered trying to get laid but decided against it. not only is my face on every billboard in america with a running counter of how long ive been awake but im too tired to enjoy it anyway
i wnat to sleep so bad but i now i cant. even if i was allowed to i dont think i could this is very stressful. knowing the world is going to end is awful for the heart but knowing your the only one who can stall it makes it worse. i think ive never been in an end of world situation where i couldnt stall ti
army and me went for a walk today. he killed a squirrel. i felt bad for the squirrel but only for a bit. i geuss thats just nature. if that squirrel was really supposed to make it he probably would have figured a way out of it. i dont see why army should be responsible for delaying the inevitable. besides army seemed really happy to get the squirrel. until he was sad he killed an aminal. hes a very soft dog inside and out
i watched armageddon with army. i dont think he undertood. i wouldnt expect him to. it was a bad idea. now im just thinking about the end of the world mroe
Day 5
my head hurts. i dont know why im doing this. its not like this world ever gave me anything. here i am getting closer to the end and im all alone. i saw a nice car wakling army and stole it. owner wont need it anymore. its a ferarri i think its red. it has a nice spoilr and a loud engine. it made me feel powerful for a bit to drive it on the freeway. theyre all empty. nobodys driving everyones home. the power didnt last long. there was nobody to see me anyway.
Day 6
fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you it isnt worhht it it hurts so bad
Day 7
they dont deserve my time i dont eve nknow why im still trying maybe its just spite they never gave me anything im going to die alone and tired and in paim and its because of them i couldve died happily byt no i had to stay awake fuck them fuck them fuck you fukc you fuck
Day 8
He fell asleep. He’ll probably be asleep for around 16 hours. I wish I had gotten home sooner, I didn’t know he was hurting so much. But I’m so proud of him for staying awake so long. He didn’t have to, and he knew it. But he did anyway, just to give people one last week with their families.
When I got home, he spent an hour screaming at me for leaving for so long. Then he cried. He cried for the time he would never get, he cried for his loneliness, he cried from pain, but above all, he cried because he was so angry. Being alone at the end of the world, and being the one wholly responsible for when that end comes, is lonely business, and it may be the greatest regret of my life that I left my baby brother to do it alone. I’m sorry, you deserved better than me.
I doubt anyone will read this, but I need to make sure there’s a record of it. Someone who detailed his sacrifice. In the end, his concern wasn’t that he’d die alone, but that he’d do it full of hate for the world. I tried my best to assure him he deserved to be angry, but that only seemed to make him hurt more.
His choice to give the world one last week, to steal one final week from God on high, came at a hell of a cost. In the end, the man I came back to was not my brother, but a hollow shell. He spent his final years working 2 jobs to make ends meet, and he still lived hand to mouth. He had nothing and nobody, and through all that, through all our world put him through, he was still good, and he still sacrificed himself for the rest of the world. If there is ever any record of the end of the world, I hope it is this log, detailing my brother’s sacrifice.
I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo. Get some sleep. I love you so much, and I’m prouder than you’ll ever know. | It was such a shame, it seemed that there was only one way for me to rest.
The scientists, with all their knowledge and research could do nothing to stop it. The Great Catastrophe, as the ancient Mayans had called it. A great ending that would, inevitably, erase all of existence. It was a wonder that they had predicted it at all.
In my case, it was not a wonder at all. Moreso it was the world's largest dose of amphetamines a living human had ever ingested. The most electrical shocks a living human had ever endured.
You see, the world revolves around me. In a more accurate sense, time itself revolves around me. My very act of sleeping brings the new day, and with it, all the challenges that it may contain. It was such a shame that this particular challenge was an insurmountable, existential threat.
And so there I sat, wired to a most ugly contraption. Wires were threaded throughout various openings in the cold metal, each one deeply embedded in my flesh. Beside me, a custom cocktail of neurological stimulants dripped steadily through an IV tube.
I have been awake for years, held in this chair.
My head drooped for a single moment. Slowly, I allowed my eyes to flutter shut. Breathing deeply, my heart slowed even more than it already was.
An alarm sounded somewhere in the distance. There was a commotion, somewhere behind the glass pane in front of me. The wires discharged their electrical payload, locking what was left of my muscles in place.
"Subject, keep your eyes on the viewing pane. You must stay awake," the scientist said over the intercom. His voice was tinny, shrill. And commanding.
I groaned, more out of relief than out of pain. There would be no more pain for me.
My heart fluttered. And then it squeezed. And then it stopped entirely.
The alarm had returned, this time louder. The routine beeping that marked my every heartbeat ceased, replaced by a single mechanical tone.
Somewhere behind the viewing pane, I heard panicked shouting.
The door to my right burst open. A researcher rushed inside, shock paddles at the ready.
I smiled. It was too late. I was already dead.
It was such a shame that this was the only way I could rest. | |
[WP]The world literally revolves around your schedule. So long as you don’t sleep, tomorrow won’t come. People around the word know this and have all adapted to your sleep cycle. Tomorrow, a great catastrophe will occur...but not as long as you stay awake...and everyone knows it. | Day One
The sun didn’t set. Not completely atypical, this shit happened all the time in college. Back before anyone knew it was me controlling this, cable news was a treat to watch any time I pulled an all nighter. Or all dayer. Terminology with this shit is weird.
I was thinking, is there anyone I want to see? Anyone I want to say goodbye to? I don’t know how long I can stay awake, it’s only day one and I’ve been drinking coffee pretty much nonstop. And I hate coffee. It’s funny, knowing I have to stay awake makes me want to sleep more than ever.
I thought of visiting Soph. We haven’t spoken since we were 19, but she was my first love. I figured that should count for something. But I looked her up on Facebook and she’s married with kids. It would probably be rude to intrude.
I would go home to see dad, but honestly, I would rather shove a knife up my ass than spend my last moments on Earth with my father. Maybe Zephyr, but tracking my sister down has always taken months of searching, and I have a week, tops. Maybe Professor Samson? But, of course, he passed away 3 years ago, so no luck there.
It’s a haunting feeling, realizing the end of the world is coming and you’re completely alone. And that loneliness is only compounded when you realize you’re sacrificing any ability to enjoy your last moments so everyone else can have theirs.
God I’m tired.
Day 2
I spent all day playing guitar. I haven’t played since I was 27, but I live alone in a tiny apartment with no friends at the end of the world, and I’m awfully bored. I checked my phone a few times for texts or emails. Nothing. Clearly I’m on nobody’s mind, which is a bit of a shame.
I watched a couple movies, some of my favorites. Star Wars, Django Unchained, Moonrise Kingdom. Anything to hold off boredom, because that’s the real killer. I don’t have to go to work, I don’t have anyone to see, and I’m not the one for anyone to see.
I remembered I had a sheet of acid at some point, I figured it might help me stay awake. That was a mistake. Not because I almost nodded off, but because the anxiety of knowing the world may end compounded with the exhaustion of staying awake sucks when psychedelics are thrown into the mix. I’ve had some bad trips, including ego death, but nothing compared to this one.
After I finally came down, I dusted off my old Nintendo and played Majora’s Mask for a bit. Holds up excellently. I feel like I’m just bouncing around, waiting until I drop from exhaustion. But I’m desperate to hold off as long as I can. I have nothing, but so many people have family to say goodbye to. Parents who have to hold their children, knowing they’ll never reach adulthood. Pet owners lying with their friends who have no clue as to what’s coming. In a way, staying awake, making them wait, it may be cruller this way. But if I can give them any extra time, I will.
Day 3
i got a dog. his name is army, short for armageddon. another great movie, by the way. should add that to my list of movies to watch at the end of the world. seems fitting.
dad called. we didnt talk long. he said sorry. i said i knwo. he said he missed mom. i said i did too. neither of us knows where zephyr is. last he heard, she was in cuba. god knows what she was doing there, but i always felt she was a communist. he said hed try to find her, send her my way. i wished him luck.
ive been stress cooking and baking. i made ribs, cookies, ramen, cake, burgers, fudge. damn near every recipe i know. ive been stress eating, too. world is ending. its not like i have to worry about getting fat anymore.
Day 4
i considered trying to get laid but decided against it. not only is my face on every billboard in america with a running counter of how long ive been awake but im too tired to enjoy it anyway
i wnat to sleep so bad but i now i cant. even if i was allowed to i dont think i could this is very stressful. knowing the world is going to end is awful for the heart but knowing your the only one who can stall it makes it worse. i think ive never been in an end of world situation where i couldnt stall ti
army and me went for a walk today. he killed a squirrel. i felt bad for the squirrel but only for a bit. i geuss thats just nature. if that squirrel was really supposed to make it he probably would have figured a way out of it. i dont see why army should be responsible for delaying the inevitable. besides army seemed really happy to get the squirrel. until he was sad he killed an aminal. hes a very soft dog inside and out
i watched armageddon with army. i dont think he undertood. i wouldnt expect him to. it was a bad idea. now im just thinking about the end of the world mroe
Day 5
my head hurts. i dont know why im doing this. its not like this world ever gave me anything. here i am getting closer to the end and im all alone. i saw a nice car wakling army and stole it. owner wont need it anymore. its a ferarri i think its red. it has a nice spoilr and a loud engine. it made me feel powerful for a bit to drive it on the freeway. theyre all empty. nobodys driving everyones home. the power didnt last long. there was nobody to see me anyway.
Day 6
fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you it isnt worhht it it hurts so bad
Day 7
they dont deserve my time i dont eve nknow why im still trying maybe its just spite they never gave me anything im going to die alone and tired and in paim and its because of them i couldve died happily byt no i had to stay awake fuck them fuck them fuck you fukc you fuck
Day 8
He fell asleep. He’ll probably be asleep for around 16 hours. I wish I had gotten home sooner, I didn’t know he was hurting so much. But I’m so proud of him for staying awake so long. He didn’t have to, and he knew it. But he did anyway, just to give people one last week with their families.
When I got home, he spent an hour screaming at me for leaving for so long. Then he cried. He cried for the time he would never get, he cried for his loneliness, he cried from pain, but above all, he cried because he was so angry. Being alone at the end of the world, and being the one wholly responsible for when that end comes, is lonely business, and it may be the greatest regret of my life that I left my baby brother to do it alone. I’m sorry, you deserved better than me.
I doubt anyone will read this, but I need to make sure there’s a record of it. Someone who detailed his sacrifice. In the end, his concern wasn’t that he’d die alone, but that he’d do it full of hate for the world. I tried my best to assure him he deserved to be angry, but that only seemed to make him hurt more.
His choice to give the world one last week, to steal one final week from God on high, came at a hell of a cost. In the end, the man I came back to was not my brother, but a hollow shell. He spent his final years working 2 jobs to make ends meet, and he still lived hand to mouth. He had nothing and nobody, and through all that, through all our world put him through, he was still good, and he still sacrificed himself for the rest of the world. If there is ever any record of the end of the world, I hope it is this log, detailing my brother’s sacrifice.
I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo. Get some sleep. I love you so much, and I’m prouder than you’ll ever know. | “What time is it now?”
“It’s now 71:48, Tim. 12 minutes until day 3.”
It’s been almost 3 days since I last slept, and it’s been almost 3 days since the start of “today”. I turn my head to the right and look out the window to see the moon, still hovering in the same place just above the horizon for the last 24 hours. Moving my vision further up in the sky I see humanity’s most feared calamity: a humongous, red, burning meteor so close to the surface that it appears as large as the moon. The world’s scientists have all predicted that when the moon and sun swap places tomorrow, the meteor will reach the planet and induce a multitude of disasters. Luckily, the powers of the world have found a solution to the disaster: me, humanity’s savior.
At least, that’s what everyone calls me now. Before, I was just humanity’s clock with my own daily living schedule affecting the entire world’s temporal flow. Whenever I wake up for school, it’s an hour before my school’s start time, 7 AM, and whenever I go to sleep, I am guaranteed to get my nine hours of rest as the clock shows 10 PM with my consciousness drifting away. The world has always known this about me since doctors noticed abnormalities about me since I was born, and they kept me under close observation ever since.
“May I go to the bathroom please?” I gasp, out of breath from all of my running.
“Go ahead. Agents Harby and Chester will escort you.”
I turn off the treadmill and slow my pace down to a normal walk. I walk towards the room a short pace to my left, glancing left and right to see two men in black suits beside me, ready to force my body awake through physical means if my body starts collapsing to fatigue. The past two and a half hours of my day have been filled with this form of “physical stimulation”. All a part of Operation Insomnia, the world’s plan for me, humanity’s savior, to dedicate the rest of my life staying awake to save everyone’s lives. It all started last month when I was called upon by the government to participate in this plan. The next few weeks consisted of preparation; I was fed certain foods and drugs, underwent multiple health checkups and training, and spent the last seven days asleep with the help of some sleeping substances known as the “deep sleep” to prepare for my final day. From now on, each of my 24 hours “days” would consist of four six hour cycles of one hour for meals filled with specific drugs to trick my body into staying awake, two and half hours of “physical stimulation”, and then two and a half hours of “mental stimulation”. When I asked if I had to do this for eternity, my supervisors simply responded with “everyone believes in you to do your duty as humanity’s savior”.
I stare at the mirror in the bathroom, seeing the reflection of my worn face and the two agents behind me. Breathe in, breathe out, and keep my eyes open. Everything was going to be fine as it was time to end this charade.
“It’s time,” I say aloud.
Agent Harby immediately pulls out his taser and stuns Agent Chester. A member of the Hiber Nation, a group opposed to Project Insomnia, agent Harby worked undercover for the past few months as a spy and discreetly disclosed to me his identity a few weeks ago. The alarm starts blaring and shining red, but we both know it’s too late.
“Just so you remember, there’s no going back after this” Harby warns as he hands me a sleeping pill.
“Even so, I don’t care what becomes of this world. I just can’t bear its weight on my shoulders anymore,” I respond, sitting down on the floor and opening my mouth.
I slip the pill into my body and swallow as more members of Operation Insomnia burst into the room. I see them subdue Harby and grab one of my arms as my eyelids close and eyesight darken.
At long last, my head hits the ground alongside the red sphere in the sky. | |
[WP] "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god" | Demeter sat on the porch sipping wine watching Sisyphus push the rock up the hill. Again.
"I'm so bored" Persephone said as she gently ran her fingers over Cerebus' six ears.
Hecate nodded and yawned. "The new dead are no fun at all. Earth is an absolute yawn. Same disease, same complaints. Apollo's biology project sucks."
The goddesses made their way to the River Styx where Charon was hurredly unloading another boatload of COVID victims onto shore where Khthonios waited to guide them to their final resting places.
"Take us down, Charon," Persephone yawned, "Hades has been down there for over a year cleaning up Apollo's mess. We've missed the whole winter together and I'm about to have to visit my mother again. She bores me."
Charon raised his brows in surprise. "Will you be joining Hades in China?"
"Vegas." Hecate interrupted, "We know he's busy."
As the goddesses stepped out of the boat clad in stilettos, sequin tops and tight black pants Charon muttered under his breath "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god."
Vegas was somewhat sparsely populated. Persephone felt disappointment and more boredom settling almost the moment they checked at Mandalay Bay.
"Hecate, let's use luck this time. I don't want to know I'm going to win."
After losing $20k at roulette, blackjack, and poker they wandered over to the bar.
Hecate nodded toward a large, blonde man, "That one, looks like a ski instructor, that's Ullr."
Demeter smiled, "Norse?"
Hecate nodded.
"Do you think he's into..."
"I'll see." Hecate took a place next to Ullr at the bar and started a conversation.
Persephone felt jealous. An introvert, she didn't like initiating conversations. That's how she'd ended up spending half a year with her controlling husband and half a year with her more controlling mother. At least the six months with Hades involved more sex, wine, and Hecate was there. Hecate who always found something risky and thrilling for them to do. Usually on Earth. All Demeter ever wanted to do is garden. Hecate may have helped Demeter find Persephone but only to relieve her worry.
Hecate returned, "He wants to go to Texas."
"Texas?" Persephone smiled. "Kinky. I've never had an orgy on a weather front."
So Ullr, god of snow and ice, Demeter, goddess of the underworld, and Hecate, goddess of magic made their way to Texas, drunk, high, and hooking up. The first day one of them kicked a semi trailer. Ullr loved bbq so they sampled every spot from Amarillo to Beaumont. Their week-long party froze out the state.
Afterwards Demeter and Hecate went to a spa in L.A.
Hecate smiled, "Ready to stir up some shit?"
Hecate made some calls and made sure some choice gossip fell into the right hands.
"Demeter, I'm ready to get out of this suite. Are you going to get off that computer and have some fun with me," Hecate asked.
"This is fun. I am wreaking havoc on the California housing market." Since she'd been on her own all winter Hecate made Steve Jobs' teach her to code. "You know that GameStop thing? I planted that idea."
"I liked that one. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was my first one. I wanted to see how it went before I told you. I think Hades will be impressed. Not that I feel the need to impress him, of course."
"No, but he needs to recognize you are an independent, powerful goddess,"
"I wish my mother saw me that way."
"Play with the agriculture stocks and she will."
"This is why we're friends. You have skills."
Well I'm going out of the balcony to use my skills. I'm going to unleash a celebrity slick."
"I'll bite. What's a celebrity slick?"
"Sorcery. It hits the road and the first celebrity to drive over it flips their car. I'm really into chance right now."
They were shopping on Rodeo Drive when they heard the news. Tiger Woods was the victim of Hecate's celebrity slick.
"Oh, bonus points, journalists are speculating!"
"Oh, they do that all by themselves. Limbaugh hasn't been in Hades a minute and is already insufferable. Melinoe wants to use his shade to haunt Al Gore."
"That's hilarious."
"Hades is heading back. We might get in a weekend before I have to go to Demeter." Persephone smiled, "She's going to be pissed about Texas crops."
"If we must. Can we make one stop on the way, there are some Proud Boys in Oklahoma I want to mess up before we leave."
"Might as well. Nothing better to do until Saturday." | John pushed his plate away, got up from the table, and headed into the den. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d interrupted his meal to walk across the house, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to do so. He arrived in the den. There was a TV on one wall, a window on the opposite wall, and simple chess board with two chairs. One segment of the wall had no wallpaper, which always frustrated him slightly. He stood in the center of the room a moment before deciding to return to his dinner. When he turned around he saw the door he’d just entered through was gone. He looked around the room incredulous. Before he could mutter a word of confusion, he heard his wife’s voice from outside. “I can’t find the ladder!” He heard her splashing frantically in the pool, but didn’t know how to help her. | |
[WP] "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god" | Demeter sat on the porch sipping wine watching Sisyphus push the rock up the hill. Again.
"I'm so bored" Persephone said as she gently ran her fingers over Cerebus' six ears.
Hecate nodded and yawned. "The new dead are no fun at all. Earth is an absolute yawn. Same disease, same complaints. Apollo's biology project sucks."
The goddesses made their way to the River Styx where Charon was hurredly unloading another boatload of COVID victims onto shore where Khthonios waited to guide them to their final resting places.
"Take us down, Charon," Persephone yawned, "Hades has been down there for over a year cleaning up Apollo's mess. We've missed the whole winter together and I'm about to have to visit my mother again. She bores me."
Charon raised his brows in surprise. "Will you be joining Hades in China?"
"Vegas." Hecate interrupted, "We know he's busy."
As the goddesses stepped out of the boat clad in stilettos, sequin tops and tight black pants Charon muttered under his breath "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god."
Vegas was somewhat sparsely populated. Persephone felt disappointment and more boredom settling almost the moment they checked at Mandalay Bay.
"Hecate, let's use luck this time. I don't want to know I'm going to win."
After losing $20k at roulette, blackjack, and poker they wandered over to the bar.
Hecate nodded toward a large, blonde man, "That one, looks like a ski instructor, that's Ullr."
Demeter smiled, "Norse?"
Hecate nodded.
"Do you think he's into..."
"I'll see." Hecate took a place next to Ullr at the bar and started a conversation.
Persephone felt jealous. An introvert, she didn't like initiating conversations. That's how she'd ended up spending half a year with her controlling husband and half a year with her more controlling mother. At least the six months with Hades involved more sex, wine, and Hecate was there. Hecate who always found something risky and thrilling for them to do. Usually on Earth. All Demeter ever wanted to do is garden. Hecate may have helped Demeter find Persephone but only to relieve her worry.
Hecate returned, "He wants to go to Texas."
"Texas?" Persephone smiled. "Kinky. I've never had an orgy on a weather front."
So Ullr, god of snow and ice, Demeter, goddess of the underworld, and Hecate, goddess of magic made their way to Texas, drunk, high, and hooking up. The first day one of them kicked a semi trailer. Ullr loved bbq so they sampled every spot from Amarillo to Beaumont. Their week-long party froze out the state.
Afterwards Demeter and Hecate went to a spa in L.A.
Hecate smiled, "Ready to stir up some shit?"
Hecate made some calls and made sure some choice gossip fell into the right hands.
"Demeter, I'm ready to get out of this suite. Are you going to get off that computer and have some fun with me," Hecate asked.
"This is fun. I am wreaking havoc on the California housing market." Since she'd been on her own all winter Hecate made Steve Jobs' teach her to code. "You know that GameStop thing? I planted that idea."
"I liked that one. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was my first one. I wanted to see how it went before I told you. I think Hades will be impressed. Not that I feel the need to impress him, of course."
"No, but he needs to recognize you are an independent, powerful goddess,"
"I wish my mother saw me that way."
"Play with the agriculture stocks and she will."
"This is why we're friends. You have skills."
Well I'm going out of the balcony to use my skills. I'm going to unleash a celebrity slick."
"I'll bite. What's a celebrity slick?"
"Sorcery. It hits the road and the first celebrity to drive over it flips their car. I'm really into chance right now."
They were shopping on Rodeo Drive when they heard the news. Tiger Woods was the victim of Hecate's celebrity slick.
"Oh, bonus points, journalists are speculating!"
"Oh, they do that all by themselves. Limbaugh hasn't been in Hades a minute and is already insufferable. Melinoe wants to use his shade to haunt Al Gore."
"That's hilarious."
"Hades is heading back. We might get in a weekend before I have to go to Demeter." Persephone smiled, "She's going to be pissed about Texas crops."
"If we must. Can we make one stop on the way, there are some Proud Boys in Oklahoma I want to mess up before we leave."
"Might as well. Nothing better to do until Saturday." | Ellie picked up the magazine from the table and read out loud, "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god." She curled her face in disgust, but quickly softened. "I barely recognize this now"
​
"What did you read?" I asked.
​
"Cosmopolitan! Can you believe it? This kid has more success than I do at her age. Shit, even now!"
​
"How do you even know?"
​
"What do you mean?! I just read the byline for an article talking about 2020." She flips through the magazine, showing me pages of 20 somethings and celebrities. I shrug at Ellie, but I'm not sure what to say to her. We can't be surprised. A decade ago, we were those girls. Cosmogirls. Or aspirations of one anyway. Now, we are sitting in the lobby waiting for our daughters to finish their ballet class.
​
This is where I met Ellie. On the first day of class, I could tell she was not the type to sit and wait patiently. She sat down next to me and relentless assaulted me with conversation. If she sat next to anyone else, she would be greeted with the snubness you find typical with professional dance moms. Yet, it was me she sat next to. The one person in the room that was sorely lacking any snub and a hopeless compulsion for politeness.
​
It didn’t talk long for Stockholm syndrome to develop and I became bonded to our interactions. She was much more refreshing than the other moms and I appreciated her candor.
​
My peripherals picked up major side-eye from the other moms indicating Ellie got too loud again. She must have sensed it too because she immediately put her hands in the air, death by dance mom style. As she raised her hand, she let the magazine drop to the floor. She backed away slowly and took her seat again.
​
She smiled at me. "See, that’s how you know we're old as fuck." | |
[WP] "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god" | Demeter sat on the porch sipping wine watching Sisyphus push the rock up the hill. Again.
"I'm so bored" Persephone said as she gently ran her fingers over Cerebus' six ears.
Hecate nodded and yawned. "The new dead are no fun at all. Earth is an absolute yawn. Same disease, same complaints. Apollo's biology project sucks."
The goddesses made their way to the River Styx where Charon was hurredly unloading another boatload of COVID victims onto shore where Khthonios waited to guide them to their final resting places.
"Take us down, Charon," Persephone yawned, "Hades has been down there for over a year cleaning up Apollo's mess. We've missed the whole winter together and I'm about to have to visit my mother again. She bores me."
Charon raised his brows in surprise. "Will you be joining Hades in China?"
"Vegas." Hecate interrupted, "We know he's busy."
As the goddesses stepped out of the boat clad in stilettos, sequin tops and tight black pants Charon muttered under his breath "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god."
Vegas was somewhat sparsely populated. Persephone felt disappointment and more boredom settling almost the moment they checked at Mandalay Bay.
"Hecate, let's use luck this time. I don't want to know I'm going to win."
After losing $20k at roulette, blackjack, and poker they wandered over to the bar.
Hecate nodded toward a large, blonde man, "That one, looks like a ski instructor, that's Ullr."
Demeter smiled, "Norse?"
Hecate nodded.
"Do you think he's into..."
"I'll see." Hecate took a place next to Ullr at the bar and started a conversation.
Persephone felt jealous. An introvert, she didn't like initiating conversations. That's how she'd ended up spending half a year with her controlling husband and half a year with her more controlling mother. At least the six months with Hades involved more sex, wine, and Hecate was there. Hecate who always found something risky and thrilling for them to do. Usually on Earth. All Demeter ever wanted to do is garden. Hecate may have helped Demeter find Persephone but only to relieve her worry.
Hecate returned, "He wants to go to Texas."
"Texas?" Persephone smiled. "Kinky. I've never had an orgy on a weather front."
So Ullr, god of snow and ice, Demeter, goddess of the underworld, and Hecate, goddess of magic made their way to Texas, drunk, high, and hooking up. The first day one of them kicked a semi trailer. Ullr loved bbq so they sampled every spot from Amarillo to Beaumont. Their week-long party froze out the state.
Afterwards Demeter and Hecate went to a spa in L.A.
Hecate smiled, "Ready to stir up some shit?"
Hecate made some calls and made sure some choice gossip fell into the right hands.
"Demeter, I'm ready to get out of this suite. Are you going to get off that computer and have some fun with me," Hecate asked.
"This is fun. I am wreaking havoc on the California housing market." Since she'd been on her own all winter Hecate made Steve Jobs' teach her to code. "You know that GameStop thing? I planted that idea."
"I liked that one. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was my first one. I wanted to see how it went before I told you. I think Hades will be impressed. Not that I feel the need to impress him, of course."
"No, but he needs to recognize you are an independent, powerful goddess,"
"I wish my mother saw me that way."
"Play with the agriculture stocks and she will."
"This is why we're friends. You have skills."
Well I'm going out of the balcony to use my skills. I'm going to unleash a celebrity slick."
"I'll bite. What's a celebrity slick?"
"Sorcery. It hits the road and the first celebrity to drive over it flips their car. I'm really into chance right now."
They were shopping on Rodeo Drive when they heard the news. Tiger Woods was the victim of Hecate's celebrity slick.
"Oh, bonus points, journalists are speculating!"
"Oh, they do that all by themselves. Limbaugh hasn't been in Hades a minute and is already insufferable. Melinoe wants to use his shade to haunt Al Gore."
"That's hilarious."
"Hades is heading back. We might get in a weekend before I have to go to Demeter." Persephone smiled, "She's going to be pissed about Texas crops."
"If we must. Can we make one stop on the way, there are some Proud Boys in Oklahoma I want to mess up before we leave."
"Might as well. Nothing better to do until Saturday." | Humanity are the forgotten Gods of Earth. They were Gods, for they were master of all her creatures. They were Gods, for they shepherded new life into the universe, wrought from steel and lightning and the magnitude of their imaginations. They were Gods, but only for a short while. For although Humanity had many gifts, in the end they were listless Gods, made meek and mute by the bounties of their technology, made impotent and uncaring by the slow disasters of their fathers.
By their sixth millennia they had stripped the Earth of her bounty, leaving her nearly barren. They knew this, the youngest of the children of mankind, but they were softened by their progresses, fattened on the fruits of their fathers' successes, dulled to his transgressions and unwilling to labor to fix them. And thus the Earth smoldered, her other children dying silently in droves.
The children of Humanity did not labor against the disasters that plagued their home-world because the alternative was too compelling. Their technology allowed them to distance themselves from the dilapidation of their motherlands. They built entirely new worlds, within the invisible confines of light and lightning, magical, wonderful worlds brimming with opportunity and vitality. If only they were real worlds, those that enthralled them so.
In a different time, Earth's children might have rioted against the injustices presented to them. They might have raged and warred and eventually clawed victory from their enemy at any cost. Humanity had that fire, once. But their youngest children did not have the spark. Where the fathers would have sought vengeance, the sons could not care to try.
And so Earth wasted away, caught in the throws of that slow burning fever, while her greatest children, the Gods called Men, burned with her, uncaring. | |
[WP] "The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god" | I hadn't expected to wake up again, after I died.
It had been a worthy death. Also an incredibly horrific and agonising death, sure, but a worthy one.
Disaster after disaster had befallen Earth. It had started with a virus that quickly mutated, one that even magical remedies could not quite keep up with. Then the virus had adapted to the magic around it -- a concept that had until then only been imagined in the most fanciful of fiction -- and started targeting magicals' nervous systems, making them lose control of their power.
It got much, much worse when it made them lose control *explosively.* As in, city blocks being levelled kind of explosively.
There was civil war, after that. Magicals being hunted down, pre-emptively killed, and then other magicals fighting back... they were fewer in number, but they were much stronger. Then the magi-static storms started, given how out of whack the ley-lines were at that point, which destroyed critical infrastructure. The level of chaos shot up exponentially after that.
Then we found out about the asteroids. The next-Ice-Age kind of asteroids, heading right towards Earth.
Humanity managed to get its act together, in the face of mass extinction. The scientists worked with the theoretical magicists to figure out the best way to stabilise Earth's ley-lines, so that we could draw on their power to wipe out the magi-virus once and for all, something that had never been done before on such a scale. We lost a few thousand as collateral damage in the process.
Then the governments pooled all their resources, the Mage Councils gathered the strongest magicals, and a desperate plan combining the physical arsenals and the magical strength of the world was formed. The physical weapons would be just enough to break the largest asteroids into chunks, but those would still create near-extinction impacts around the globe. The now-smaller asteroids, however, could be disintegrated en masse if targeted by a dissolution spell powered by, say, nearly all the magical resources of the world... but the spell needed to be cast within a certain distance, and the backlash would certainly kill the caster who would be acting as the focus for channelling the concentrated power of every magical on Earth.
Guess who ended up on *that* mission.
To be fair, the focus had to be someone powerful enough to *live* long enough once the spell started. There were only three of us who qualified. Andy had two children and a large extended family, and bright, precocious Caitlyn had just turned twenty-one.
I was past middle age and had no one, and so really, it had to be me.
As horrific and agonising as that death had been, it had also been strangely... uplifting. In that eternal, split instant before my death, I'd been connected to every single magical on Earth, and through the magical fallout, the non-magicals around them as well. They'd felt my pain, my fear, my hope, my relief. Nearly the entire world had been with me at the end, as one.
It had been a worthy death.
As weird as it sounds, I felt oddly cheated when I opened my eyes again after that.
"Congratulations," said a voice next to me. When I turned to look, there was a boy sitting by the bed I was lying on, a faraway look in his eyes. That might, of course, been because his eyes were galaxies, and staring into them was like falling into a black hole.
There were multiple universes flashing in and out of existence around him at his fingertips, like he was playing a game.
"Oh, these?" he said when he noticed me staring. "Just checking the leaderboards. Your universe did really well, so thanks for that, you lot boosted me up to third place. It looks like universe Juliet-Whiskey-42 might be following in your footsteps, though they've gone the nuclear route for the asteroids which will drop them down a few points because of the fallout afterwards, but I'm hoping that Tom's mutant universes will fuck up spectacularly soon, they have a tendency to self-implode."
"What," I said flatly.
The boy -- the *god --* shrugged carelessly. "We were bored," he said. "You mortals are so similar no matter the species, no matter the universe. Same old troubles, same old prayers, same old petty grievances and greed. We thought we'd spice things up, and, well, might as well make it a competition, eh?"
I just kept staring. There was white noise in my head, a screaming static that made it hard to breathe, but behind it...
"Though I suppose I can't say 'you mortals' in your case anymore," the boy continued. "It's been eons since we've had a newbie, but your sacrifice -- or, well, the *way* you were sacrificed -- was enough to turn you into one of us. A minor deity at this point, mind you, but you might get to godhood in time with enough belief. So, welcome, I guess."
"You're telling me," I said quietly, "that all the lives -- all the tragedy -- all the *pain -- everything was because you were bored?*"
If there had been a reason behind it -- if there had been a purpose, an actual intent to maybe teach humanity to work as one or some shit like that -- then it would have been, well, not *better*, but at least... comforting. That we had learned a lesson that we were meant to learn.
To think that all the suffering was because some arsehole god had been *bored --*
"Yeah?" The boy waved a hand, and the universes floating around him vanished. "Relax, you'll get it, in time. It's boring being a god. What does it matter anyway, when mortals die so often and so quickly? Everyone starts out as an earnest god, wanting to better mortal lives, or a vengeful god, wanting to get rid of injustice... those ones are always the most *tedious.* But everyone ends up bored after a few eons. It's just a thing."
He noticed that I was outright seething now, and rolled his eyes. "I can already tell you're going to be one of the annoying ones," he said. "Ugh, there's nothing worse than a vengeful god, honestly."
"I would argue that the only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god," I said tightly.
The boy smiled condescendingly. "You'll learn," he said. "Anyway, my job's done. You're awake, you're a deity, figure out the rest yourself. Try not to be too boring."
He vanished. One moment he was there, in the next moment he was simply... not.
I sat there for a long, long time. The white noise in my head was clearing up now, slowly, as I began to reach out with senses I never had before. Universes were laid out before me in my mind's eye, and the more I reached, the more I heard, and saw, and felt, until the noise became a single unified roar.
A roar for *vengeance.*
I could still feel every single one of the people in my universe, and I knew enough about my new godhood -- or deification, whatever they wanted to call it -- to know that this wasn't normal.
A god isolated from his subjects was one thing. Believing in some god who never showed his face was one thing.
Believing in the man turned god who sacrificed himself for you, who suffered and whose soul was torn apart for you, and *who you could still hear in your head and feel in your soul after his death*...
That was an entirely different kind of belief.
The kind of belief that a bored god, one who didn't expect anything to change, would never expect.
Staring out into the endless universes before me, I smiled.
The only thing worse than a vengeful god is a bored god...
Buy the only thing worse than a bored god is a vengeful mortal-turned god.
They would never see me coming. | “Only boring gods are bored.” the demon squeaked, lifting a clawed hand to hide the chatter.
“Hey! Who. . .who shaid that!” The skeleton rattled as his head rolled to look at his minions with eyeless sockets. The Baron sat on a giant throne, fashioned from dirt, bones of various animals and humans, and grave moss.
The small demons, ugly enough to scare the collar off a priest, fell somewhere between rats and moles in appearance, if rats and moles had been left to rot in a wet gutter for a week or so.
The offending creature stayed quiet, feeling the hollow gaze on him. He hid a rotten paw and pointed to the fellow on his right so only the god, the Keeper of the Dead, could see.
The skeleton raised his black bowler hat back on his head, scratching at the front of his skull. “Nyeh!” he yelled, throwing his half finished bottle of rum at the pointing ghoul, smacking it in the face, making it “HORK!” The rodent collapsed in a heap, long hairless tail twitching.
Baron Samedi wheezed out a chuckle, looped his gaze around the large chamber, adorned with candles, bottles of liquor, strings of flowers, glittering iconography from numerous religions, and great stone beams, a proto-mausoleum, designed by the Death God himself. He clacked his yellowed teeth. “Buzzard’s gutsh! Still bored!” He lifted his hand to his mouth, double taking at the empty fingers, and groaned. “And I threw my bottle!”
He pointed to one of the workers, shepherding the long line of newly dead, their eyes wide and empty, mouths hanging, shuffling to the after life. “Hey!” he said. It turned a patchy furred face his way, beady eye ball drooping in the socket. “Yeah, you! Go get me ssh’more rum.” It hobbled off on two feet to obey it’s drunk master.
One of the dead in line, eyes darting around, more in tune with its spirit, gasped at the Baron. “Am I dead?” the vestiges of this young woman’s life asked.
The Baron nodded, “Oh! Got a live one over here. Keep it moving, sishter!” His bones shook like maracas as he gestured for her to move along. Her eyes remained wide, swaying along with her ilk.
He clattered back against the coffin dirt and sighed, taking off his bowler hat. The small creature returned, setting a full decanted bottle on the arm of the great throne. Samedi grabbed it without looking. As he raised it, he peered at the queue of corpses, watching the spirit who spoke to him. She was almost to the portal. He set the bottle down. “Go grab her.”
The demon scurried over the bare earth floor, bumping passed compatriots. It’s bony paw yanked the back of her shirt. She turned her head, eyes bulging, and shrieked. “Get off me!” The rat-mole jumped back, squeaking, releasing it’s grip. Samedi lurched forward.
“Carter!” he called. The woman fully turned at her name, dark eyes narrowing. “Come here.” She walked over, stiff-legged, stopping a few feet from him. She snapped her head down at her legs.
“I didn’t do that. Walk over here, I mean.” Her fuzzy, thick hair wobbled as she gazed back up at the Baron.
“You’re dead. I keep you.” He shrugged, finally taking a swig of rum. “Here’sh the deal. Some guy up there is pumpin’ on your chesh, raking the puke outta your mouth with his fingersh.” He raised his arm holding the bottle at the roof of the cavern. “Because your shhtupid assh thought the pills and booze would take you to Party Town. Newsh flash! This ish, uuh, not Party Town!”
Her thick lips turned down and her brow furrowed. She blinked once and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah. . . My parents, I had all the chances in the—”
“Yeah yeah yeah. So shad, anywho!” He waved his free hand in front of his face. “Look, it’sh REAL slow down here today. So, let’sh play a game.”
Carter dropped her arms and narrowed her eyes at the Baron, jaw clenching. “A game? I’m dead, and you want to play a *game?”*
“Uh huh. Okay, I re-drape your mortal coil over your cooling corpsh,” He plopped his hat back on his dome. “And you lead a better life. Do something intereshhing with it.” Samedi chuckled. “Man, thish rum is gooood!”
Carter stared for a moment, a tear trailing down her caramel cheek. “Why?”
“Such a buzzkill! Becaush i’sh not part of the plan, doofus.” He knocked his knuckles on her forehead. She jerked her head back, unable to move her feet. “Alsho, you’re pretty hot. Whew! And if ya’ get boring, I’ll jush come getcha.”
“Wow.” Carter put her hands up and pinched her lips tight, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I don’t want to be dead.” Her hands dropped to her jeans. “But you’re an ass!”
“So that’s a yesh. Here!” He held out the sloshing bottle of brown. “Take a shwig. I haven’t reshh, rezz, done thish in awhile. Thish might get weird.” | |
[WP] You are renowned for getting Supervillains to turn over a new leaf, people wonder what special powers you must have. The truth is you have no powers, just a basic knowledge of counseling and the ability to ask "What do you want out of life, and is there a better way to get it than villainy?" | “What do you want out of life, Mr Clobber?” I stared at the man, the intense muscle-bound figure nervously scratching at his mutated arm, the appendage resembling a steroid filled log more than an arm. Another victim of a freak accident, a normal man before the mutation. I had to pity the guy, his intense persona a mere way to distract people from his insecurities.
“I don’t know, to crush people with my hand. This is dumb, I don’t know why I came here, I should have figured it would be dumb.” Clobber said, pushing himself off my couch, only to stop as I frantically stood up, placing my hand on his mutated arm.
“Please Mitchell, let me help you. I’m just asking for a little more of your time. I promise if you still think this is dumb you can leave, just a few more minutes?” Pleading with him to give me a chance. “I believe you don’t want to be a villain; you don’t mindlessly destroy things like others. Hell, when you were throwing cars last week you purposely avoiding aiming at civilians, even when it would have aided in your escape. You aren’t evil, you are troubled.”
“You touched it?” Mitchell stared at his arm, a brief flash of disgust on his face as he pulled it to his side, keeping it out of my grasp. “I just didn’t want to get a longer jail sentence. Killing civilians gets you looked up for years. I did it for myself.”
“I don’t believe that. I think you do this because you don’t think there’s an alternative. There’s always an alternative. You have done no heinous crimes, you can rehabilitate. I just need to know how I can help you. What do you like?”
“Baseball. I guess I enjoy baseball. I used to play it when I was younger before-“ He eyed his arm, letting out a sigh, again going to stand.
“Baseball. I was never good at the sport myself, but please tell me more. Lets not even talk about therapy or helping you, lets just discuss the game for a moment.” I didn’t reach for his hand, allowing him the chance to leave if he wished, hoping to reel him back.
“Only baseball. You promise?” He moved into his seat, a small smile cracking onto his lips. “It’s been so long since Ive talked to someone about it.”
I kept my word, allowing him to talk about the topic close to his heart. I struggled a little to follow along, not the most athletic type myself. Occasionally I would scribble a note down as he spoke, using them to help me understand the man further.
“I used to be a great pitcher before the accident, I actually went to try out but they said they couldn’t allow a freak to play. It would ruin the integrity of their game.” He hissed, a bitter heat rising as he crushed his hand into a fist. The mutated arm pulsing with rage, urging me to stand up, trying to comfort the man.
“Easy. I understand your frustration, but you need to keep it under control. Sadly, I’m not as durable as those cars you tossed.” I joked, returning to my seat as he took a few deep breaths. “I see, so that wouldn’t have helped your anxiety with your arm. How about you create a superpowered league?”
“A superpowered league? What a superpowered themed baseball tournament?” His eyes sparked up at the thought, only to dim at the reality of it. “How would I convince anyone to join it? Who would even want to compete, all the heroes and villains are too busy fighting each other?”
“What about some retired heroes and villains? Many of them suffer depression after being out of the spotlight, so allowing them a chance to flex their powers in a safe competitive environment would be healthy for everyone involved. I could arrange Shadow Snatcher to help with the advertisements. Oh, I shouldn’t call her by her villain name. Titania Walters would be willing to help with the advertising. She’s got a talent for promoting events, maybe it’s because of her power of suggestion? Regardless, she owes me a favor, so I would be happy to lend her support to you.”
“You would do that for me? You really would help a freak like me achieve his dream of playing baseball. I’m a villain, not some good guy that deserves this sort of help. Are you sure about this?” I turned my head, pretending to be distracted by a bird sitting near my window, knowing he wouldn’t want me to see him cry.
“Everyone deserves help. I don’t see a villain when I look at you, I see the captain of the first superpowered baseball team.” I smiled, standing up from my chair, heading over to open the window, only to feel my stomach drop as they lifted me from the floor, grabbed in a tight bearhug. “
“Thank you so much. I promise I’ll use my winnings to help fund your rehabilitation program. I can’t wait, a chance to live out my dream.” I felt myself get a little lightheaded as he waved me back and forth, keeping his tight grip on me.
The door snapped off its hinges as a small four-foot man entered. His body covered in an assortment of crude tattoos with a scruffy beard. Despite that, he still dressed in a formal suit. “Unhand the boss now fiend.” He shouted, pointing a finger towards Mitchell.
“E-easy Dallin, its just a hug, must have sent off my vitals. It’s ok. I’m safe.” Mitchell sheepishly dropped me, allowing me to hunch over and get my breath back.
“Gah, you gave me a heart attack kid. I ain’t letting you die, not after you helped me. No one else will hire a villain bodyguard, after all. I don’t want to have to go back to guarding those pricks again.” Dallin gave me a wave before heading back to his office.
“Isn’t he a little short to be a bodyguard?” Mitchell asked, carefully patting my back as I recovered.
“Heh, don’t let him hear you say that. Dallin can lift fifty times his weight. He’s a kindhearted guy under that tough exterior, trust me. Dallin only ended up in villainy because of his looks. No one else would hire him, so he had to guard villains. What other choice did he have, he had kids to feed. When he came to my office, he pointed out my lack of security and how he could have snapped my neck at any moment. I agreed and hired him to protect me.”
“You hired the guy that threatened to kill you?” Mitchell asked, giving me a rather confused look.
“Half the people in this office have threatened to kill me or kidnapped me at some point. I don’t hold it against them, I sometimes provoke people.”
“I don’t think I get you. But thanks for your help.” He offered me his hand as we exchanged a handshake. I motioned him through the doorway, letting him leave, wishing him the best in his league.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Fame, fortune, and feelings.
That is what most of the most deranged villains want when they sign up for creating trouble. One guy just wanted his own wikipedia page so he could win a bet. He took a senate meeting hostage, and got a lot more than his own wikipedia page, and much more than he bargained for. Another lived in poverty for so long she simply declared she would no longer. She became leader of one of the most lucrative heists this side of the city. Still another was cursed with a bouquet of mental issues. All their lashing out and zodiac killings were out of grief for losing the ability to feel happy.
All of them were sent to me, and all of them are reformed.
Mr. Wikipedia now channels his drive for fame into charity, and the senate debacle is now merely a footnote in his extensive list of donations and charity drives he runs to help those who seek fame earn it through less violent means.
The burglar used her knowledge of security used in the heist to vastly improve the safety of our network, and is now the current head of the security department for our city. Her work has saved more money and lives than we could count.
The masked man responsible for so many atrocities, for the brutal deaths of far too many people, just needed some real strong antidepressants. Now, they lives out his days in peace, and are only monitored out of paranoia. Hasn't killed since, and takes up gardening and knitting in their spare time.
Some people say I must have some sort of unnatural ability. Telepathy is one that comes up frequently. The truth is a lot more mundane. I was born a nil, a person without a power. The other kids mocked me, until one day I snapped. My mother, though she scolded me, gave me advice that serves me to this day. "Everyone needs an outlet, or else bad things like that keep happening." That day, I vowed to be that outlet, so that I could save even just one person from being pushed over the edge. Just one eventually became just one more, and the rest is history.
Now, death row or life prisoners are given the choice to go to me, so that I may become their outlet. After all these years, I guess I did get a superpower after all. I became the outlet for their troubles, and their path to redemption. Funny, how a nil with so little could have such a profound effect in ways that heroes struggle to.
Fame, fortune and feelings. I have a lot of all of those now, and I've helped my patients find theirs. Looking back, I wouldn't change a thing. | |
[WP] The main hero and main villain, both humans who have never seen each others' real face, meet at the grocery store and really hit it off. | The bulb flickered ominously, illuminating the tableau of damage and decay before me. Everything I could see would be destroyed before the day was out. I knew I could save one thing, and one thing only.
I felt my heart quicken, and I even started to salivate as I reached for my selection, but to my right, I saw movement: someone else was here! I snatched back my hand, not wanting to seem like the sort of person who would be shopping at the short-dated part of the corner store.
“Oh hey, take your time”, said a voice from behind me. “Always worth a look, right? If it saves me a bit of money and also keeps something out of landfill, I’m all for it, personally.”
I grabbed the halloumi. Guiltily, despite the stranger’s reassurances, and turned to leave.
“Oooh, nice snag. I love a homemade halloumi fry. Anything else worth looking at?”, they added.
Finally, I found my voice. “Umm”, I said, heroically. It had always been a source of great frustration that when in costume I could deliver a rousing speech to millions, or quip with villains while fighting for my life, but as soon as I’m in a store I can’t string two words together. Nothing 'super' about me, in a supermarket.
She laughed, and despite her small frame and sharp features, the sound was rich and deep. It felt reassuring to hear, even squashed next to her in a small narrow aisle of a low rent neighbourhood corner store. I couldn’t imagine how it would feel in response to a joke that I had told.
“Sorry”, I said when I regained my composure after the laugh. “Yeah, if you like pastry there’s a couple of Pastel De Nata in there that look pretty good.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm, I wasn’t really after a sweet treat. I’m trying to watch my figure”, she joked, indicating how much I was having to contort to get past her without making any kind of physical contact. I glanced down at her body on reflex and then realising what I’d done, I flushed and looked back up.
She laughed again. “Hey, I said I was watching my figure! I don’t need help with that job!”
I mumbled an apology and tried to rush for the exit, thinking about where else I could go to get some dinner.
“Hey wait!”, she said from behind me. I took a deep breath and stopped. Right next to the frozen vegetables. Which apparently was what I was in the face of a young woman talking to me. The young woman in question stepped back in front of me, face all screwed up with concern.
“I was only joking”, she pleaded. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything improper.”
“S’ok”, I said quietly. “I was just leaving anyway.”
She looked at the basket I’d left behind me as I’d fled. “Without your food?”
Fuck. “Yes. There is something I have to do. And it just came up.”
“Is that thing, and bear with me here, letting me take you for a coffee to apologise for making you feel awkward?”, she asked, concern replaced by hope.
I felt myself nod.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The coffee shop in my neighbourhood was not as low rent as the corner store, but it was a long way from salubrious. I liked it though. It had a bustle and white noise soundscape that made me feel comfortable. Apparently, my new friend liked it as well.
“Oh man”, she said. “I can see myself hanging out here. Do you come here often?”
This time it was my turn to laugh. It wasn't luxurious like hers, but she seemed to enjoy the sound nonetheless.
“I do, yeah. How come I’ve never seen you before?”
She took a sip of the cold brew she’d ordered and shrugged. “I used to live in the city, but I felt like a fresh start. My building was in the section of downtown that was destroyed last month, and I didn’t want to hang around and rebuild.”
I winced. There was a fair chance that I destroyed her home. The clash between me and Dr Pyro had been a particularly violent one, and several blocks around his headquarters, ‘The FireStation’, had been damaged. What was worse, I hadn’t even caught him.
“Yeah, fuck that guy.”
“Honestly, they both were blowing shit up. I’m not a huge fan of Captain Heroic right now either.”
I nodded. Fair cop.
There was a silence as we both realised we were sat with a stranger and had no idea what to say. Or at least that’s what I thought. She might have been thinking about the house she lost. To me. The whooshing of milk being foamed behind me broke the silence and I plunged into the conversation through that hole.
“So, what do you do?”
“I run a pretty big organisation actually. Trying to make the world a better place, and I find I can get more done as part of a team.”, she replied, face lit up with excitement. “It’s my life, to be honest, and this might be the longest conversation I’ve had with another person outside of that organisation in years, and I am realizing this as I’m talking and that might be the saddest thing I’ve ever said.” She trailed off, looking glum now.
“What do you do? I mean your organisation?”, I said trying to get her back to the ‘lit up face’ part. It had been a spectacular sight.
“Whatever needs to be done, I guess. There isn’t much I haven’t had a hand in. How about you?”
She was deflecting. “Oh not much”, I replied. “I’m a one-man-band, I tried to work with others like me once, and it wasn’t a good fit. They were reactive where I was proactive. Avenging and fixing, where I wanted to act quickly and prevent things from being issues in the first place, you know?”
She nodded at the dregs of her drink. “Yeah, timing is everything. I have definitely been caught out by my… competition on a couple of occasions recently. Sorry, to be a bit of downer there, talking about my lack of social circle.”
“That’s OK”, I said.
“Look, this might be a bit forward, especially given I’ve made you uncomfortable and then told you I’m lonely but would you like to have dinner with me—”
“Yes”, I said quickly.
“Only, I’m new to this area and it would be great if someone would be willing to…. Wait did you say yes?”
“Yes.”
She pouted. “Oh, I had a whole explanation as to why it wasn’t weird, and you shouldn’t feel obligated worked out.”
“I’d be delighted to go to dinner with you”, I said.
“Yeah, but now it looks like I was asking you out!” she complained.
“You were”, I said with Captain Heroic level confidence.
"I was", she said, and stood up. “Thanks for not being weird. Let me go get these and then we can swap numbers.”
I sat and nibbled at the amaretti biscuit I’d got with my coffee and watched her, trying to be less obvious than the prompted up and down I’d given her at the store. What she gave the barista at the counter made my blood run cold. She paid with a LavaCorp company credit card. She worked for Dr Pyro! That was why she lived by his building.
She smiled casually and chatted with the man at the counter. I heard the edge of one of her laughs. The poor guy up there was probably already smitten with his new regular. Then it hit me. She didn’t work anywhere. She ran the place. And I had never seen Dr Pyro outside of his battlesuit. He could be any height. Or gender. I’d never heard him speak except through the voice modulator.
I’d never heard 'him' laugh.
Fuck.
Dr Pyro returned to my table with the spring of someone who’d just given a very good tip and enjoyed doing it. “So”, said my nemesis. “Where you fancy going to eat?”
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r/TallerestTales | [A very long queue for checkout where a man with a cart entirely full of oreos waits at the end]\
[Enter Harbinger]\
Harbinger: woah. You must like oreos. I mean I definitely do, but couldn’t you have left some for the rest of us?\
President of Vanguard: First strike policy man. Me and my boys have a thing for these. \
Harbinger: nah its ok, I don’t mean any harm, i just find it sorta funny. \
President: i can see that\
Harbinger: you don’t mind if i take this conversation on a detour?\
President: nope.\
Harbinger: meaning you don’t mind? Or you do mind?\
President: yeah sorry, should’ve specified. Go on with your detour.\
Harbinger: that bit about you taking the Oreos, bot saying its messed up or anything, but its called ‘first come first serve’. First strike policy is entirely different.Want me to explain? \
President: I just mix my metaphors man, incidentally i do know what first strike policy is.\
Harbinger: yeah sorry, when people get things wrong, i feel the need to fix it, you know. \
President: no harm man. I like a good conversation. But anyway, what do you think of first strike policy? Considering i just took all the Oreos, i think you know my stance.\
Harbinger: i think if the opponent takes first strike policy, you’re in for something if you don’t.\
President: is that right? \
Harbinger: you know chess?\
President: sure as hell do! I play it!\
Harbinger: white has a 60 to 40 win rate. Cause black’s always on the back foot, playing catch up. You hit first, your opponent is hurt first.\
President: ain’t that the truth\
[the pair pass through checkout and laugh all the while, with the checker who is dumbfounded at all the oreos]\
President: here man, have this, don’t you dare refuse\
[the president of the vanguard puts a pack of oreos in harbinger’s cart] \
Harbinger: while i’d like to refuse this, i think that it would be more profitable for me to enjoy them.\
President: that’s my man!\
Harbinger: so... anyway, what are all these oreos for?\
President: oh, my boy’s’d kill me if i told you, thing is, its a bit of a risk, but i trust you! I mean, i’m kinda the president of a club, i’d love for you to join!\
Harbinger: seeing as i don’t know what said club is, i can’t see myself being useful.\
President: trust me, you’d be useful\
Harbinger: gotta tell me first man.\
President: like they say, no reward, no risk. You know vanguard?\
[silence envelopes the pair, and both of their faces lose their smiles.]\
President: man, you good?\
[harbinger fingers a hidden knife]\
Harbinger: uh... yeah\
[harbinger leaps onto the president of vanguard and stabs him multiple times with the knife and runs away into the night] | |
[WP] While serving a sentence in prison, a creature broke in and killed everyone it could reach. The prisoners were originally glad to be safe locked inside their cells, but they quickly realised that there's no-one coming to get them out while the beast still wanders the halls. | I had been scratching at the wall with my spoon when I heard it crash through the wall. It was huge, the size of a moose at least, but it looked like a cat, all fur and fangs. It mauled the guard outside of my cell in a matter of seconds. It stalked over to my cage and I swallowed, barreling backwards.
“Good kitty,” I whimpered as I pressed my back against the wall.
It just snarled at me, evidently frustrated it couldn’t get to me. After a moment of intense sniffing, it turned to stalk down the hallways. I heard the shouts of guards as it made its way towards Gen Pop. Their cells were much smaller, probably more accessible. I was glad, then, to be in the “Dungeon” as we called it.
“What the fuck was that?” I heard my next door neighbor say. He sounded like he’d just woken up.
“Giant tiger or something.”
“Oh Jesus, it killed Steve. He was a good guy.” His voice echoed in the hallway.
“Yeah, I kind of liked him.”
“Bit of an attitude, though, if you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you, Carl.”
“Well then shut up, Mark.”
We fell back into silence as the sounds of gunshots and yelling wafted from Gen Pop to us. I took out my spoon and started scratching again.
“Can you stop that?” Carl called to me.
“Nope.”
“What’d they throw you in here for again? Bein’ an asshole?”
“Murder, if I remember right. Might try it again some time soon.”
He shut up after that. He had been an arsonist in his hay day. Not one for true confrontation. I continued to scratch at the wall. The screams and gun shots quieted down after a while. I heard the plodding steps of the creature coming down the hallway.
“Back for more, kitty?” I whispered to myself as my spoon broke off a large piece of the stone. It had only taken me three years to do that. Wouldn’t be long now, probably another ten, before I could escape.
“Wow, that’s big.” I heard Carl say. He must have been too close to the bars because the next thing I heard was him screaming, gurgling, then going silent. I looked out the bars of my cell to see the creature dragging his body out. It settled in front of my cell, pulling at his flesh with its fangs.
“What, you’re just going to taunt me? You’ve got freedom and a meal. What a treat.”
It just stared at me with its big, black eyes.
“No, really, go on, no need to think about me, no need to worry about what old Mark here is up to, what he might need.” I continued my scratching, turning away from it. I didn’t want to see what was making that crunching sound between its teeth, anyway.
Finally, I heard it snoring. I turned around to see it had the remnants of Carl sat upon its giant paws, its head laid against the ground, its eyes closed. I crept, very slowly, closer to the bars of my cage. I could see the key glinting on Steve’s body next to the creature. If I could just get it to move it closer—no, cats can’t be trained, I told myself. But sometimes humans do stupid things. So I backed away from the bars and whistled.
It lifted its head, snarling. With a quick motion, it was on its feet, pressing its face against the bars of my cell.
“If you get me that key,” I said, pointing to Steve’s body, “I can open this cell and then you can eat me, if you want. I just don’t want to be in here anymore.”
It blinked at me, saliva and blood dripping from its open mouth.
“What? Can you blame me? Everyone’s dead but me, I’m sure it’s painful, knowing one got away.” I put my spoon down and moved to my cot, lying down. “You know what, I’m a patient man. I can wait.”
It stopped snarling and went to lie back down, finishing the rest of Carl before curling up like a house cat in front of my cage.
And wait, I did. It was three whole days that it stalked the halls, carrying bodies back to the front of my cage. Three whole days I spent telling it about what life had been like in prison. It listened intently, I think. Maybe. I don’t know. But then she came in.
Gorgeous woman, creeping in through the hole in the wall that the cat had made, carrying a hunting rifle bigger than anything I’d ever seen. She took aim and blew its head almost clean off. She walked over to my cell and knocked on the bars.
“You alive?”
“As much as I can be.”
“Rangers should be here soon. Don’t tell ‘em you saw me.”
“Wait,” I said as she turned to go, “you’re not going to let me out?”
“Why would I?”
“I survived a gargantuan tiger for three days, give me a break.”
She chewed on her lip, looking me up and down. “What are you in for?”
“Tax fraud.”
“Arson?”
“Murder.”
She nodded and grabbed the keys from Steve’s belt. “Who was it?”
“My ex-wife.”
“What’d she do?” She stood outside the bars, looking at me.
“Some stuff I don’t like talking about. Let’s just say, she messed my kid up.”
She put the key in the lock and turned it. “Sounds justifiable.” She turned to go, “Oh, and I definitely didn’t let you out.” With that, she scurried back out the hole again, taking her beautiful body and her over sized gun with her.
I pushed the door to the cell open and stepped around the creature’s body, pulling the gun off of Steve’s belt and moving towards the hole. As the wind hit my face, I let out a quick, “thank you,” and dropped down into the grass below. Patience did a man good.
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams | The heavy footsteps of the monster echoed through the halls of the prison. While in their cells everyone still didn’t dare speak a word, fearful of what might happen if they were heard. It was earlier established among the few prisoners that dared to speak that the creature is blind and can only find people through sound.
The prison reeked of human flesh. Looking across the way, the prisoners can see their fellow inmates laying in their beds. Some of which are sleeping, some of which are crying, most of which, are dead. Blood smeared the walls outside of the cells from the monster’s previous rampages.
As the first week ends, some people are being driven to insanity; yelling, screaming and thrashing about in their cells. The noises that often followed were loud howls, footsteps, and the tearing of flesh. It doesn’t matter if there’s a wall between you and the monster. If it hears you, it will find you.
It had been a week of living off of nothing but the minimal water the prisoners had on hand. Many prisoners have died of starvation and dehydration since the events first began. After the first day, it was evident that no one was coming for the prisoners. After all, all of the correction officers were evacuated, leaving them stranded in their cells with no way of getting out. The people here were already the lowest of society. They were the trash that walked the earth. There will never be anyone who will risk their lives for those of the prisoners.
*Perhaps this is karma finally catching up.* I pace back and forth, listening to the calming, monotonous tone of the air conditioner keeping everyone cool during the scorching hot summer day while the weight of my goal sat like a weight on my shoulders.
As another scream echoes through the cavernous prison, I can’t help but think of my family; The one that was taken from me. After what these people did to my family, I would never be able to forgive them. As I continue to think of my family, tears begin to fall down my face, soaking into my dry skin. The screams continue as my brain begins to shake. The final screams of my family begin to play in my head as I lift my head up and let out a roar.
I am the monster, and I will make sure that the person that laid their hands on my family will feel the pain of a thousand deaths. My rage builds as I begin my sprint toward the scream that still bounces off the walls.
*One of you annihilated my family.* *You will pay. No, you will all pay. You will pay for taking my family and the last thing I could ever love. It doesn’t matter anymore who did it. After my time on this planet I’ve realized that you are all just as terrible as the person next to you. I will find my way out of this prison eventually, and when I do, I will crush the world along with everyone on it.* | |
[WP] You are an adventurer who stops to rest at a small snowy village. The townspeople regale you with stories about an ice witch who turns people into frozen statues. You journey to the mountain to deal with the witch. You find that she is just a misunderstood artist making ice sculptures. | The first thing I noticed was the smell. How pleasant it was.
Then, the considerable warmth. It was so warm, I thought, is she trying to get me to take my coat off? Is this how she gets you?
But the smell, it was disarming just the same. There was saffron. Rosemary. Lemon. It was like walking through a garden on a warm summer day; so pleasant that I had to pause. I knew she was in ice witch - I just *knew* it, at the time - that I took two steps back from the lip of the cave. I would not let her lure me in like she had the others. I was certain that the smell was all part of her schtick.
At first glance, I saw that the cave was a moderately well appointed hovel of quaint nature and odd ornament. Skins lined the floor, every inch; contraptions which I thought could only be booby traps hung on the walls; and there were tables of intricately carved chestnut and cherry upon which sat her vials, funnels, and other esoteric instruments that I knew were designed for doom.
How wrong I had been about all of it.
Her voice was so... disarming. It wasn't a high creaking voice, and she never once cackled. Nor was her voice deep and husky, rich and soothing, or entrapping. I've thought about it a lot since I have returned, and the only way I can describe it to you, is that she sounded like my mother, and I get the sense that you all might feel the same if you were to hear her.
"Hello?" She called, like a mother expecting her grown children into her home for a supper she hosts once a week. "Hello, my dear! And what is your name?"
I dispensed with the pleasantries. "I will have your name first, witch."
She took the charge with grace. "Oh, drat, it's witch again, now isn't it? I should have known, I suppose, what my mischief would bring."
"So you do not deny it?" I said, the point of my sword now aimed at her, though I did not remember drawing it, and though she stood some fifty feet away behind one of her workstations, and though she was a withered old prune of a woman who couldn't have weighed more than sixty pounds.
"What, that I am a witch? I suppose it is not unfair to name me so, though I might dicker over the definition of the word with you."
"No," I shouted, impatient and angry despite the fact this tiny, innocent crone had been nothing with welcoming and patient with me so far. "*Mischief*. You have frozen our smith, our baker, and one of the poor mothers from our town."
"Good gracious me!" She was exasperated at that. Then she set me straight...
(to be continued...) | I trudge, heroically, towards the witches lair. I shudder, heroically, as I pass the hundreds of victims surrounding the path.
As I heroically approach the lair I can hear a loud growling noise rip through the air—no doubt some beast the witch has conjured for her bidding. Over the growling I can hear an the twisted voice of a spell beginning. I quickly, and heroically, cover my ears so as not to be subdued.
The lair, a patchwork piece of metal with a wooden door, sinisterly waits for my heroics. I will save these townspeople if it is the last heroic thing I can do. I heroically uncover one ear, throw the wooden door open, draw my sword and prepare to battle.....
First step of battle, scene safety. The scene is... remarkably safe. Instead of sinister eyes, two large frightened brown eyes look up at me through safety glasses. I heroically announce myself, step two of battle.
"It is I, Lord Barnabus William Kiernan the Third, adventurer, prolific lover of hens, and all around hero. I have come to kill you witch and heroically save these townsfolk"
" K-k-k-kill me?" The witch starts to wobble already affected by my full-proof 5-step battle program. I notice the beast in her hands.
It must have been a sinister conjuring indeed. Its small red body sinisterly projected a row of teeth so sinister I could not even heroically comprehend their destructive power. I could, however, heroically comprehend that its name was Harry, as it was labelled in bold black lettering on its body. Step three: subdue the foe.
I heroically raise my sword to strike Harry from the witches hands. She weakly drops it. Harry seems to be leaking a fluid giving off a foul gaseous substance.
"Ah yes, a heroic and fatal wound"
The witch begins to cry. A most sinister game she plays. "Y-y-y-you broke my chainsaw. H-h-h-how am I going to finish my carvings now?" she sobs through her hands.
"What beast is this you speak of? This chainsaw? Shall I heroically defeat them?" I heroically search for my next target.
"No you big lump. My chainsaw. You punctured the gas compartment. It'll never start now."
"Ah yes, the sinister Harry," I growl. "That beast will never affect these townspeople again."
"What are you talking about? I was commissioned by the city to make these ice sculptures for the ice festival."
This could not make sense, were my heroics unneeded? I thought back to the townspeople, an oddly short group, but nothing that I haven't seen in my day. I found them in the yard outside the pub called, Kindergarten. They assured me that my heroics were needed to slay the sinister witch.
"What are *you* talking about witch? The townspeople outside the kindergarten regaled me with your sinister doings."
The witch suddenly looked tired. My 5-step program, she was still feeling the effects, I smiled heroically to myself.
"You mean the children? In the playground? Outside the school?" she spoke softly.
"Is that why they were so short?" I laughed foolishly. | |
[WP] You are an adventurer who stops to rest at a small snowy village. The townspeople regale you with stories about an ice witch who turns people into frozen statues. You journey to the mountain to deal with the witch. You find that she is just a misunderstood artist making ice sculptures. | We'd dealt with a mystery like this before. Townspeople turning to stone, parts of them being discovered in swamps and nearby caves. It turned out to be a most terrifying creature, a great basilisk. Slaying the foul beast was no easy feat given it's powerful instincts. The beast sent two of our guild members to an early grave, I shudder to imagine what an intelligent creature could accomplish with the same ability.
They say the witch lives on a secluded hilltop on the outskirts of town. Many of the young wish to leave town for new opportunities, but the elders warn them of the infamous ice witch. I had seen some of her frozen victims when I journeyed to this dying town. The witch does not hide them, carelessly placing them along the path to her lair. Every Witch I'd slain was meticulous of avoiding detection. The confidence of this ice witch does not bode well for my survival, though It is my paladins oath to meet her in battle.
I may have one advantage, a young man named William. He wishes to leave town to start a new life in the city. Perhaps I can ambush her if William falls prey on his journey.
After hours of trailing William we have approached the crossroads between the main road and the witch's path. Statues scattered around, I can sense Williams anxiety from here. "Elizabeth," I can hear him cry, tearfully looking upon the statue of a long lost friend. The emotional cries overwhelm me for a moment before I hear a sudden voice from behind.
"What are you boys doing out in the cold?" The raspy voice of an elderly woman cuts through the frigid air. For a moment I believed I was a goner, frozen in sheer terror. "Come inside for tea," the woman exclaimed as she walked past me with her guard down. It was the perfect opportunity to strike... But my body trembled in fear. How powerful must this witch be to turn her back on a member of the paladins order?
I stood there frozen for what felt like an eternity, even as William began following her up the path. Once I came to my senses I knew I could not leave William to become a victim of the Ice Witch. I prayed for the gods blessing before marching to the house on the hill, passing by countless statues.
I readied myself before valiantly kicking the door open. "Prepare to meet your end Ice Witch" I proclaimed while outstretching my blessed magic sword!
"What are you up to dear?" The woman asked with a chisel in hand and an unfinished ice sculpture before her. William looks upon me quizzically.
"But... But, the statues! They look exactly like unfortunate souls trapped in ice for the rest of eternity!" I explained.
"We all visit old Miss Beatrice before we move on. Something for our elders to remember us by in case we never return. She Isn't actually an Ice Witch; the elders just say that to the youngins so they are more hesitant of leaving town. Everyone figures it out eventually... Miss Beatrice has to come into town once a week for supplies!" William replies with a forgiving tone, "but I guess you haven't been here that long."
My embarrassment was so Immense I could barely let out a reply. It's possible I stood there longer than when I was frozen in fear. "I... I'll fix the door for you miss Beatrice. I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please don't inform the paladins order, they'd never let this down!" | The tall stranger regards the "ice sculptures" with his dark eyes, the wind blowing his cloak around him.
The sculptures are detailed depictions of people in various stages of flight or fight or defense - some seem to be running, some drawing weapons, some holding hands up before them as if to ward off an attack. They're all very life like.
The bent old woman smiles, leaning on her crooked, black staff. "Yes, my art. I'm sorry you wasted your time coming here." She's wearing ragged clothes, surely not thick enough to protect her from this cold. However, she seems quite comfortable.
The town's mayor, a middle aged man, stands at the edge of the clearing at the top of the path from town. He is hiding behind a tree, and he's bundled in heavy winter cloaks.
The wind howls harder, blows colder. The tall stranger narrows his eyes, his thin cloak billowing so hard it seems as if it might shred into pieces or blow off at any moment.
Colder - harder - the wind isn't like that around the woman, but it is around the tall stranger. In mere moments he's another frozen statue added to the collection arranged haphazardly around the clearing at the top of this high hill.
They mayor, too, is frozen in place, but by fear rather than cold.
"You wasted your time," cackles the old crone, "but not mine. Yet another added to my collection." She glances from frozen statue to frozen statue, each one facing her in the very spot where she stands. "Gaze into my eyes," she barely chokes out around her laughter. She spins around slowly, looking at each and every "statue". "Gaze into my eyes."
"Why?"
She spins back towards the tall stranger - the frozen stat..."GHAAAA" she spits. He's moving again. Quicker than it seems she should be able to, she thrusts her black staff forward at him. A tempest erupts from the staff - snow and ice and wind - a frozen death. Her laughter reaches a new pitch, a new volume.
The tempest subsides. The tall stranger is again a frozen statue, He moves. Breathes in...breathes out - a fiery tempest.
The old witch holds her staff before her, freeze meeting fire - clouds of steam billowing between them. The tempests subside.
The tall stranger stands silently in the still, cold clearing. The witch stands leaning on her staff, panting.
"Can these be undone," he asks.
"Why would I do that," she spits out.
The master swordsman from the big city had left his home to dispatch this winter witch. He hugged his wife, walked out the door. His 10 year old son walked a way with him, to the city gates.
"You go no further, boy," said papa, eyeing his son who clutched the hilt of his sheathed sword, a gift for his last birthday.
"But you need help, father. An ice witch..."
Papa clutched the red stone around his neck. "My heat stone will protect me from her cold, son. She preys on towns folk. They're good folk, but nothing like your papa. What is the first rule?"
The boy didn'1t hesitate. "Always be prepared."
Papa clutched the red stone around his neck. "As I am. And as it is here at home, with you protecting the house and your mother. That's your important work."
The boy hung his head. Dad patted him on the head. The boy walked home as papa walked toward the road and the terrorized town.
The father stands frozen in the clearing. The heat stone glows red from time to time, but its heat can't match the ice witch's cold.
Another statue is a merchant who was lost one night. There's a sheriff and his deputy who tried to bring justice; a young boy and his faithful dog - still in the leaping motion where it was frozen in mid air while trying to protect its young master; the butcher who had received a note to deliver some beef; and dozens of others - years and decades of the witch's work.
The tall stranger blinks. "To save your life. Your ice can't harm me, and it's a burden. My fire is my breath...easy."
"They cannot be recovered," she cackles as she turns, throwing her staff to the ground, jumping onto it. She rides it like sled across the ground, even though there isn't much ice there.
She's past the tall stranger, who breaths his fire but misses her. She glides to the path, down...
The mayor steps out from behind the tree. From beneath his cloaks he pulls a black object, an orb, with a long wire at the top. Just as the witch passes him, he pulls the wire, tosses the orb at her. It explodes, a shower of burning, sticky oil enveloping the witch. The fire burns bright as she tumbles down the path, screaming. The screams stop - there's nothing left but a black, greasy streak on the ground where the ice witch and her staff traveled, burning.
The dark stranger turns to the man. "I would have caught her. Killed her."
The mayor nods. "I was prepared."
"She claims they can't be recovered," says the tall stranger. "Maybe she lied. I could melt the ice, but perhaps it would melt them."
The ice witch gone, the red stone on the chain around the sword master's neck glows red - the ice melting around it. Papa blinks. | |
[WP] You are an adventurer who stops to rest at a small snowy village. The townspeople regale you with stories about an ice witch who turns people into frozen statues. You journey to the mountain to deal with the witch. You find that she is just a misunderstood artist making ice sculptures. | "I always wanted to be an artist. There is no place for an artist in the village. They fight for regular yields to feed families and trade what little surplus they have. When you fight for survival, there is no place for superfluous dreams. What does the hungry do with a sculpture? He starves.
My parents were not bad people. They wanted a daughter less fond of daydreaming and more into practical matters like toiling the soil. Puppets were not enough, I wanted wood and a knife, clay and a room to mold it, marble and my vision for creation. There is none of these things down in the valley, I got strong words and cutting voices.
I could live with being an outcast, you know? When winter came and the time to split provisions, I was at the end of the list. But the snow also brought beauty. Heaps of ice, free to carve and transform as I envisioned, I just had to go up the valley to play. The cold seped into my fingers and belly, stenching the hunger with pain, something I thank winter for every day of the season.
No man wanted a load for a wife. My work was meaningless, they needed a helping hand in the house, the field, the down-to-earth life. From young outcast I went a spinster no men wanted to approach.
And with reputation came rumors. They did not approach me for under the dress I had a frozen body to break their private parts on. I had made a pact with the cold wind, it protected me and inflicted frostbite upon suitors. You need a layer more to hold off the wind on the barren hill.
One day, a villager lacking excitement stumbled upon the hill while I was away and saw a row of icemen I had carved. Why men? Why on their knees and others looking at the sky? What does it matter, I wanted to carve them this way. But the story took root, these were real men that I killed.
Elders knew it was wrong, they all did. But they love a black sheep, who doesn't?
From concealed mockery I was openly cursed, kids threw dirt and stones at me.
When a harsh winter lasted longer than expected and panic befell the village, I was the scapegoat. They were out for blood, encouraged by those that knew I had nothing to do with it but appreciated the occasion to let the farmers take their anger out on me.
I fled, beyond the hill, up the mountain. They did not follow further than the ice sculpture, the rumors had taken such hold most did not know the truth from fiction.
Here I am today, old, having only the cold and ice to give me warmth, sculpting life into blocks. And you come here, adventurer, encouraged by the village believing me to be the source of their woes.
Strike, I wish I had the anger to take revenge on those that cast me out, but I cannot muster it. I do not wish to go on. And if you may, I have one last request."
She nodded at the window.
"The top of the mountain is never poor in snow, I made my best art there. Leave my body in the center of the circle I made, let the cold steal my warmth so I can join my art, the only ray of light in my life."
The old woman sitting on the stump in her crude cabin leaned forward, offering her neck to the sword.
"You get a reward, I am at peace. Now finish it." | The tall stranger regards the "ice sculptures" with his dark eyes, the wind blowing his cloak around him.
The sculptures are detailed depictions of people in various stages of flight or fight or defense - some seem to be running, some drawing weapons, some holding hands up before them as if to ward off an attack. They're all very life like.
The bent old woman smiles, leaning on her crooked, black staff. "Yes, my art. I'm sorry you wasted your time coming here." She's wearing ragged clothes, surely not thick enough to protect her from this cold. However, she seems quite comfortable.
The town's mayor, a middle aged man, stands at the edge of the clearing at the top of the path from town. He is hiding behind a tree, and he's bundled in heavy winter cloaks.
The wind howls harder, blows colder. The tall stranger narrows his eyes, his thin cloak billowing so hard it seems as if it might shred into pieces or blow off at any moment.
Colder - harder - the wind isn't like that around the woman, but it is around the tall stranger. In mere moments he's another frozen statue added to the collection arranged haphazardly around the clearing at the top of this high hill.
They mayor, too, is frozen in place, but by fear rather than cold.
"You wasted your time," cackles the old crone, "but not mine. Yet another added to my collection." She glances from frozen statue to frozen statue, each one facing her in the very spot where she stands. "Gaze into my eyes," she barely chokes out around her laughter. She spins around slowly, looking at each and every "statue". "Gaze into my eyes."
"Why?"
She spins back towards the tall stranger - the frozen stat..."GHAAAA" she spits. He's moving again. Quicker than it seems she should be able to, she thrusts her black staff forward at him. A tempest erupts from the staff - snow and ice and wind - a frozen death. Her laughter reaches a new pitch, a new volume.
The tempest subsides. The tall stranger is again a frozen statue, He moves. Breathes in...breathes out - a fiery tempest.
The old witch holds her staff before her, freeze meeting fire - clouds of steam billowing between them. The tempests subside.
The tall stranger stands silently in the still, cold clearing. The witch stands leaning on her staff, panting.
"Can these be undone," he asks.
"Why would I do that," she spits out.
The master swordsman from the big city had left his home to dispatch this winter witch. He hugged his wife, walked out the door. His 10 year old son walked a way with him, to the city gates.
"You go no further, boy," said papa, eyeing his son who clutched the hilt of his sheathed sword, a gift for his last birthday.
"But you need help, father. An ice witch..."
Papa clutched the red stone around his neck. "My heat stone will protect me from her cold, son. She preys on towns folk. They're good folk, but nothing like your papa. What is the first rule?"
The boy didn'1t hesitate. "Always be prepared."
Papa clutched the red stone around his neck. "As I am. And as it is here at home, with you protecting the house and your mother. That's your important work."
The boy hung his head. Dad patted him on the head. The boy walked home as papa walked toward the road and the terrorized town.
The father stands frozen in the clearing. The heat stone glows red from time to time, but its heat can't match the ice witch's cold.
Another statue is a merchant who was lost one night. There's a sheriff and his deputy who tried to bring justice; a young boy and his faithful dog - still in the leaping motion where it was frozen in mid air while trying to protect its young master; the butcher who had received a note to deliver some beef; and dozens of others - years and decades of the witch's work.
The tall stranger blinks. "To save your life. Your ice can't harm me, and it's a burden. My fire is my breath...easy."
"They cannot be recovered," she cackles as she turns, throwing her staff to the ground, jumping onto it. She rides it like sled across the ground, even though there isn't much ice there.
She's past the tall stranger, who breaths his fire but misses her. She glides to the path, down...
The mayor steps out from behind the tree. From beneath his cloaks he pulls a black object, an orb, with a long wire at the top. Just as the witch passes him, he pulls the wire, tosses the orb at her. It explodes, a shower of burning, sticky oil enveloping the witch. The fire burns bright as she tumbles down the path, screaming. The screams stop - there's nothing left but a black, greasy streak on the ground where the ice witch and her staff traveled, burning.
The dark stranger turns to the man. "I would have caught her. Killed her."
The mayor nods. "I was prepared."
"She claims they can't be recovered," says the tall stranger. "Maybe she lied. I could melt the ice, but perhaps it would melt them."
The ice witch gone, the red stone on the chain around the sword master's neck glows red - the ice melting around it. Papa blinks. | |
[WP] You are an adventurer who stops to rest at a small snowy village. The townspeople regale you with stories about an ice witch who turns people into frozen statues. You journey to the mountain to deal with the witch. You find that she is just a misunderstood artist making ice sculptures. | (1/2)
"Regrets...? Oh my love, in my line of work regrets can only burden for the living", the old man said weakly lying on his deathbed. His expression was sorrowful, burdened so as his mind wandered.
Galatea caught on her father's expression. The young maiden gently put the warm towel on her sick father's forehead, tending his sickness.
"I know that look, dad", Galatea inquired sadly.
The old man chuckled, coughing lightly so. "Oh as perceptive as your mother, as always", the old man gently brushed the young maiden's cheek, her face was an exact replica of his late wife.
"Galatea, I have lived a very colorful life, it's not one I often like to tell as so much blood was shed by my hands. Not even to your mother. But regrets...yes--yes, there is one that still burdens my heart so...and it pains me not to be able to remedy it", the old man said.
Galatea took her father's hand, his palm was rough-- years of handling sword had calloused it harsh.
"Dad...if it would relieve your grief, I would be grateful if you can tell me the story", Galatea said.
The old man looked at his daughter's eyes. He knew she was there for him, and so finally he relented.
"Alright then...this is a story from a long time ago from a different lifetime-- when I was but a young adventurer, and a hunter for hire..."
\*\*\*
In the northern mountains of Farstrom where it eternally snowed and icy, lied a peaceful snowy village.
As per usual, I found shelter in the town's tavern where the mead flowed aplenty and information crawled on its walls. Not long after I enjoyed my serving of hot soup, a few of the good townsfolk approached me with an offer.
"Hunter...we'd like to employ your service", the leader said.
It was Kalled, the mayor of the village. Monster hunters didn't come by often, not that far north where danger seemed to find their nest comfortably. And so my presence there radiated like the sun in a rainy day.
"Can I finish my soup first?", I said.
A huge thud was presented before me in the form of a sack full of money.
"We need you to kill something. An ice witch", the mayor said straight to the point as he made himself comfortable on the seat opposite me.
At that moment the tavern had gone silent. All eyes were on us-- on me. I put down my spoon and checked the bag...easily a few hundreds coins, a good payment for one job.
"Ice witch huh? Never seen one before"
"She resides up in the snowy mountain, within an ice cave a few hours climb. Please, hunter...we beg of you, we need the witch die!", the mayor plead, the townsfolk echoed his sentiment in a resounding "YEAH!".
As much as I hated to be put into a corner like that, the pay was too enticing for me to turn it down. And so, I agreed to take on the job. With a handshake, the deal was sealed and I intended to scale the mountain in the morning.
That night rest didn't come by easy. My mind was full of questions and doubt. Ice witch...I've dealt with regular witches before, but this was an uncharted territory. I daresay even for a seasoned hunter. As hours ticked until my journey, I finally fell asleep, as usual leaving everything to hope.
\*\*\*
White, it was all white, Galatea. It was so beautiful, the scenery like you've never seen before here in the capital. If not for the task at hand, I would've enjoyed my journey more but alas I couldn't.
Draped in a thick wooly bison jacket given to me by the mayor to combat the cold, I scaled the path leading to the cave. Hours went by until the sun was almost down. That's when I saw them...
People...frozen in ice. That visage made me froze. I understood then the fear and hatred the villagers had against the witch.
Slowly I made my way through the frozen figures. Like a dancer avoiding the icy lifelike statues, out of fear of breaking them. Finally I arrived before the entrance of the cave where I saw light of a lantern within. I took out my sword, all of my senses in high alert, ready to slay the witch, I made my way inside.
I saw her then, crouching before yet another icy statue draped in thin layer of black cloak, too thin to protect her from the cold.
"Halt witch! Prepare for your doom!", I shouted startling the witch.
"Oh goodness heavens!", she yelped turning to see me. She was a young maiden, not that much older than yourself, Galatea. Her expression then was nothing like I had anticipated...she was afraid.
"Wh--who are you? What are you doing in my house?", she stuttered backing herself away into a corner like a prey.
As she did, I noticed a hammer and chisel she dropped before the icy figure...with its bottom still in the form of a block of ice, unfinished.
"Are...are you sculpting that ice?", I asked.
Still anxious at the sight of a man with a sword, she nodded.
I quickly grasped the situation, knowing there was a huge misunderstanding I sheathed my sword back and relaxed.
"I'm...so sorry, miss. I didn't mean to scare you...well, I was meant to kill you but..."
"Kill me?", she yelped.
"Ah yes...but don't worry, not anymore. There has been a...huge misunderstanding. You see, my name is Eric, I am a monster hunter. I was hired by the villagers to slay the ice witch residing within the icy mountains", I said nodding at her.
With great disbelief she pointed at herself, puzzled. "A...a witch? I am no witch! I'm...I'm a mere sculptor!" | (1/2)
“Fourteen, Fifteen, Fuck.”
The old trick of counting the steps to drive her through the bitter snow was not working, again. She’d begun to suspect about ten leagues back that her uncle was full of shit. Then again, the forgery conviction should’ve told her that - it certainly had informed the judge.
The ‘fourteens’ and ‘fifteens’ repeated, then merged quickly into chucklesome ‘fuckteens’ although frustration quickly soured the humour inside-out.
“If there’s not a sign, I’ll trudge back to Induwuel, and kill that man myself,” she said.
The ‘man’ of course, referred to the bounty officer, who also happened to be an innkeep. It was a natural pairing - the bounty guild got to use the spare rooms in the tavern, the innkeep got all the thirsty adventurers looking for a drink and a ‘easy’ buck.
*Just need a brothel, then they’d be barons in their own right,* she thought as she pushed past another trunk. Most of the men in that joint had inquired whether they could find a bed with her in it, the ones that were reasonably cute and, more importantly, subtle about it, she left with their dignity intact.
The brusquer ones, however, ended up with a heavy-bottomed glass mug slamming down on their fingers, or heads. The resulting yowls of pain and embarrassment, where often met by the smiles and dark chuckles of more experienced patrons. The dumbass that had tried to pull a dagger on her and cut him a piece was about as far away from ‘experienced’ as she was from being a noble-woman.
She had been well within her rights, but that hadn’t stopped the guards from giving her a good crack to the face. Afterwards, when most of the patrons had stood up for her - rules were rules afterall, and anyone pulling steel on guild grounds was asking for hurt, the innkeep had suggested a far-away job.
“Just to let things simmer down around here,” he said, “put some time between your encounters with the guards. God knows that you haven’t been making yerself distant from them, Liz.”
She’d just snorted, and downed another beer - more because she felt sorrow for the knocked over table rather than out of a need to drink.
But come morning, seeing the glances she was getting from the normally impassive figures in leather and helms, she’d snatched the notice and asked for details.
“Villagers, like some chunder heads thinking they’ve got a witch on their hands. Something about strange sculptures.”
“What’d you think?” she said as she munched her way through some vegetable soup and slightly stale-bread.
“I fall on the old adage,” he said, “if it lives at the edge of the village, and it comes out saying some crazy hobbobble, it’s a hermit, if it hands you a potion and tells you to fuck off, it’s a witch, and-”
“-if it comes out and burns down the village you’ve got a dragon. How insightful,” she said as she counted out the coins for the meals.
“Make sure you save enough for a good cloak and boots, it’s gonna be cold up there,” he said as he swept the money and her plates off the counter.
And so she had made her way, first by a merchant’s waggons, then by foot, clambering up the slopes of a solitary mountain. Well, not *really* solitary, more ‘separated-from-its-chain-by a herd of navigationally challenged geo-eaters’.
Finally, the slope started to curve down and into a smaller village. She practically broke into a run when she saw the inn, long and squat, smoke merrily steaming from one of the chimneys. The resulting greeting was surprisingly jovial from townsfolk trapped in the iron clutches of some witch. Once they’d heard her purpose, they quickly broke into all sorts of stories about how she weaved men into ice with the sound of her sultry voice, and her breasts where white and full with perky nipples and…
“Okay,” she said, despairly, “are there any, I dunno, women I can talk too?”
Her hopes turnt to ash when the first one, an older barmaid, quickly described all witches as ‘harlots after our men’.
“For fuck’s sake,” she said as she gripped a warm mug of cinder, before turning back to the assembled townsfolk, “okay, is there *anyone* who’s actually *seen* this ‘witch’?”
She was promptly directed to an older man, fiddling with a length of twine by the fire. A trapper, he was all salt-and-pepper beard and sharp wrinkles, with deftness of hand that told her he was the real deal.
“They say you can tell me about a ‘witch’ up north of the town,” she said.
“Fuck if I know,” he said, as he pulled the twine, “seen ‘lot of things I can’t explain out there.”
She almost banged her head on the table.
“Well, can you just tell me where I can find her?”
“On the mountain side, a big stone arch, clearing above the forest. Follow the sculptures, a man hafta be blind to miss ‘em.”
She thanked him, and waited until her clothes were dried, then got the hell out of that tavern. Three hours later into the woods, she came across the first statue. Unbelievable life-like, she began to wonder if there *was* a genuine cause for concern here. Every strand of hair was defined, intricate texture and scratches carved into the cloth and leather that the iceman wore. His eyes were sculpted in such a way that the edges of his irises caught the light this way and that. The result was a statue that might as well have been breathing.
Sword appropriately loosened, snow beginning to drift down, she clambered her way up the slope.
There were a dozen statues, perhaps more, surrounding a woman, who sat on an oak bench. In front of her, she ran her arms across the face of a stature, sculpting with finger and palm, blackened and burning like a charred log in the fire pit. Steam rose as she gouged out details and clothes, face and hair. Her other hand, white and withered, flicked every now and then, and the entire statue was coated in frost, which quickly melted under the assault from her other hand.
She walked forward, captivated by the carving she was watching. When she came over the shoulder of the woman, noticing the blue tint of her hair, which reached down to the waist of red dress, she spoke. | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | A thousand years ago, the town of Hamelheim had been just another podunk hamlet in the middle of nowhere. It had been a hundred miles from the nearest paved roads, a thousand miles from any significant harbor, even the local streams were scraggly, little things, barely even adolescent. That had all changed though, when the great wizard Vlanderbaff had come to the town, with some ancient king or other (the legends weren't clear on the fact), and issued a prophecy.
"No man shall pull this sword from the stone, but the True King of the Realm." And then he had plunged the sword into a local rock.
And that moment, the merchants of Hamelheim held with religious fervor, was good for business.
A thousand years later, and the town had grown into a major city, with a booming tourism industry, a vibrant night life, resorts that would put the carnal pleasure houses of Gilradreth to shame, and a yearly festival dedicated to drawing the sword from the stone. And every year, great crowds of people would descend on Hamelheim, bringing with them coins. Gold coins, silver coins, platinum coins, copper, bronze, fool's gold, even iron and steel coins. The town became a veritable cornucopia of coinages. The merchants were happy, traveling adventurers were happy, the local clerics were happy. Everybody was happy and rich and fat.
Desema, however, hated the festival. Every year they tried to enter, and every year, the scowling, bearded guardian of the festivities dragged them away from the stone and told them, in no uncertain terms:
"Men only."
This year, however, they had a plan. They'd saved for months, working at one of the resorts, cleaning out the absolutely disgusting party-rooms wealthy guests used. The job payed well, not least because they were allowed to pocket any loose change they found. With those funds, they'd gone to a Plastic Sorcergeon and had their features physically modeled into those of a man. It felt a bit strange, to have a physical sex, and the dangly bits were rather uncomfortable--especially the "family jewels," or whatever the sorcergeon had called them, which clung to their legs. Speaking of which, hairy legs, very unpleasant. Itchy. But they were partial to the new facial hair, which was eminently strokeable and added a touch of... philosophoricalness to the whole getup. In fact, they liked it so much, they hadn't trimmed it in months, and planned to keep it after this was all over.
Thusly equipped, Desema approached the legendary sword in the legendary stone, standing in line with a few hundred "other" men who were all waiting for their chance to try it.
One after another, the burly, the thin, the handsome or ugly, took their attempts. They were all allowed a full minute of tugging at the sword, to get it to come out. One would think with all the tugging involved, it would pop out sooner or later, no matter the enchantment, but it held firm. Some men took quick attempts, reaching down and grabbing it with a single hand, and pulling once, as though destiny required no effort. Others took the full minute, grabbing it be the pommel and hilt, bracing their heavy boots against the stone, and pulling with all their might, as though they'd come to get a hernia.
Desema planned to be like them: hernia or bust.
It took a few hours, but the line inched forward, and Desema's turn came at last.
They strode up to the stone, with the best cocksure swagger they could manage, and a shit-eating smirk that they'd seen wealthy nobles affect. The sacred guardian took one look down his nose at them, and snorted. Their chest froze: they were sure they'd been found out.
"Another one? Well, go ahead then, take your turn mister."
Desema couldn't help but grin. They darted up to the stone and grabbed it. It didn't budge. They tried a light pull: nothing. They did the brace and struggle: nothing. They even tried kicking it out of the stone, to the surprised snort of the guardian. Nothing worked, and the minute expired.
Desema, however, could not help but grin like a god-damned idiot. They'd done it. They'd done what no man was supposed to do!
--------------------------
That evening, the tired Sacred Guardian returned the temple, went down to the private quarters, and slouched into a deep-cushioned chair.
"How'd your shift go?" a woman, seated near the room's fireplace, asked.
"Not bad," the sacred guardian replied, ripping off the beard to reveal her features, and her pointed, elfin ears.
"What were the proportions this time?"
"Same as always," the elfin woman replied. "About 20% men, and the rest other people dressed up like men."
The woman in the chair grinned and leaned forward, bringing her shriveled, witchy features into focus. "I knew it. What'd I tell you, a thousand years ago when I stuck that damn sword in that damn stone?"
The sacred guardian groaned and rolled her eyes, "That we'd make a fortune."
"And why?"
"Because--"
The witch cut her off, "Exactly. Because reverse psychology is the best marketing. Tell people something's for 'men only', and soon enough you'll have a thousand bozos dressed up as men, trying to do the thing, just to show you how wrong you are. And it's easier than adventuring, to boot!" she cackled, delighted with her own cleverness.
"Cheers to that," the guardian said, and they toasted with the kind of whisky only a thousand-year old scam could buy. | "Recruitment was- weird. Never before, or at least not since, oh, the last time I tried hooking up with someone without warning them what they were getting into, was so much attention paid to what lay between my legs. I should have seen it coming: the gender box on the application took up half an entire page, included the spiritual demi-genders of India and various Two-Soul designations from Native American."
Me, jeans and a hoodie, standard fade. Her, black leather jacket, boots, mullet.
"I mean, I'd read the oddly specific want ad: No dudes. I'd seen the female symbol, rainbow and trans flags outside. But I still checked Male like always. But when my eyebrow twitched (or whatever) when we're going over company policy on gender identity they drilled down and got me to reveal my status as Intersexed."
"Huh?" Us on the deck of the SS Yoni.
"You know, what you probably think of as hermephrodite?"
"Uh ya." Her smoking ciggies. Me just getting out from the sea sickness inducing lower decks to lock eyes on the horizon. The Dramamine had been expired but at least I wasn't puking my guts out any more.
"Anyway, I'm dual wielding. Do I have to come out and say it?"
Her eyebrows shot up, but she was too cool to admit curiosity.
"Yes, they are both fully functional-"
I made eye contact as I said this but she had the tact to merely widen eyes and twist her mouth by way of *ya don't say*. So a fairly studied attempt at nonchalant, which is basically as good as it gets.
"-but the only reason I divulged any of *that* was because they signed a contract, THEY signed a contract, to hire me on the spot with a bonus if I was- uh- so blessed."
This illicted a polite chuckle.
"So, I dropped trou'. I used to show my *situation* to people in college when I got drunk enough so whatever. 500 bucks later I'm officially hired to The Sisterhood of Delphi, supposedly named for our prophetess founder but most likely a metaphor for the ignored wisdom of women."
She gave a mute nod.
"I just walked in, threw an ax across the room into the forehead of Saint Theresa and said 'Hi, I'm Sid.' and I got inducted that night."
"Yeah, I heard you were a whiz with sharp things. You officially run with scissors around here, right?"
She smiled around her cigarette and unzipped her biker jacket, revealing a bandelier of throwing knives and axes.
"They wanted a sharp shooter but they got me."
"Well, I'm still not sure what my, uh, endowment has to do with archeology but here I am."
Sidney flicked her butt into the ocean and jammed her hands in her pockets.
"You didn't read the deal?"
"Oh, I read the Scroll of Artemis and went over the mission. But, Phallus, really?"
She shrugged and went to go back below decks but paused.
"Ya know, they didn't start really making significant discoveries in Egypt until women were finally allowed at dig sites. Same Babylonian and Hittite. Seems misogyny went deep in the ancient world."
I considered her words, and my place in the world, as we cleaved through the midnight ocean. | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | A thousand years ago, the town of Hamelheim had been just another podunk hamlet in the middle of nowhere. It had been a hundred miles from the nearest paved roads, a thousand miles from any significant harbor, even the local streams were scraggly, little things, barely even adolescent. That had all changed though, when the great wizard Vlanderbaff had come to the town, with some ancient king or other (the legends weren't clear on the fact), and issued a prophecy.
"No man shall pull this sword from the stone, but the True King of the Realm." And then he had plunged the sword into a local rock.
And that moment, the merchants of Hamelheim held with religious fervor, was good for business.
A thousand years later, and the town had grown into a major city, with a booming tourism industry, a vibrant night life, resorts that would put the carnal pleasure houses of Gilradreth to shame, and a yearly festival dedicated to drawing the sword from the stone. And every year, great crowds of people would descend on Hamelheim, bringing with them coins. Gold coins, silver coins, platinum coins, copper, bronze, fool's gold, even iron and steel coins. The town became a veritable cornucopia of coinages. The merchants were happy, traveling adventurers were happy, the local clerics were happy. Everybody was happy and rich and fat.
Desema, however, hated the festival. Every year they tried to enter, and every year, the scowling, bearded guardian of the festivities dragged them away from the stone and told them, in no uncertain terms:
"Men only."
This year, however, they had a plan. They'd saved for months, working at one of the resorts, cleaning out the absolutely disgusting party-rooms wealthy guests used. The job payed well, not least because they were allowed to pocket any loose change they found. With those funds, they'd gone to a Plastic Sorcergeon and had their features physically modeled into those of a man. It felt a bit strange, to have a physical sex, and the dangly bits were rather uncomfortable--especially the "family jewels," or whatever the sorcergeon had called them, which clung to their legs. Speaking of which, hairy legs, very unpleasant. Itchy. But they were partial to the new facial hair, which was eminently strokeable and added a touch of... philosophoricalness to the whole getup. In fact, they liked it so much, they hadn't trimmed it in months, and planned to keep it after this was all over.
Thusly equipped, Desema approached the legendary sword in the legendary stone, standing in line with a few hundred "other" men who were all waiting for their chance to try it.
One after another, the burly, the thin, the handsome or ugly, took their attempts. They were all allowed a full minute of tugging at the sword, to get it to come out. One would think with all the tugging involved, it would pop out sooner or later, no matter the enchantment, but it held firm. Some men took quick attempts, reaching down and grabbing it with a single hand, and pulling once, as though destiny required no effort. Others took the full minute, grabbing it be the pommel and hilt, bracing their heavy boots against the stone, and pulling with all their might, as though they'd come to get a hernia.
Desema planned to be like them: hernia or bust.
It took a few hours, but the line inched forward, and Desema's turn came at last.
They strode up to the stone, with the best cocksure swagger they could manage, and a shit-eating smirk that they'd seen wealthy nobles affect. The sacred guardian took one look down his nose at them, and snorted. Their chest froze: they were sure they'd been found out.
"Another one? Well, go ahead then, take your turn mister."
Desema couldn't help but grin. They darted up to the stone and grabbed it. It didn't budge. They tried a light pull: nothing. They did the brace and struggle: nothing. They even tried kicking it out of the stone, to the surprised snort of the guardian. Nothing worked, and the minute expired.
Desema, however, could not help but grin like a god-damned idiot. They'd done it. They'd done what no man was supposed to do!
--------------------------
That evening, the tired Sacred Guardian returned the temple, went down to the private quarters, and slouched into a deep-cushioned chair.
"How'd your shift go?" a woman, seated near the room's fireplace, asked.
"Not bad," the sacred guardian replied, ripping off the beard to reveal her features, and her pointed, elfin ears.
"What were the proportions this time?"
"Same as always," the elfin woman replied. "About 20% men, and the rest other people dressed up like men."
The woman in the chair grinned and leaned forward, bringing her shriveled, witchy features into focus. "I knew it. What'd I tell you, a thousand years ago when I stuck that damn sword in that damn stone?"
The sacred guardian groaned and rolled her eyes, "That we'd make a fortune."
"And why?"
"Because--"
The witch cut her off, "Exactly. Because reverse psychology is the best marketing. Tell people something's for 'men only', and soon enough you'll have a thousand bozos dressed up as men, trying to do the thing, just to show you how wrong you are. And it's easier than adventuring, to boot!" she cackled, delighted with her own cleverness.
"Cheers to that," the guardian said, and they toasted with the kind of whisky only a thousand-year old scam could buy. | The band of adventurers slowly approached the temple, their faces beaming with confidence and pride. The temple had been erected 4 centuries ago by powerful mystics as a vault, and a crypt. Sages lusted after the knowledge that was kept inside, the power-hungry yearned for the strength the ancient mages held, and some were driven mad by the promise of its unmatched riches that lie deep in the ground.
However, despite the best efforts of many, the tomb lay undisturbed. The architects of this place wanted no one to be let inside, so their last act before descending inside was to enchant the entrance, inscribed with letters the size of a man were the words "No man shall take more than three steps inside these walls". Any prospective adventurers would fall to their deaths after taking more than three steps inside, the ground shifting quickly like a piece of rubber snapping apart.
This group of merry treasure hunters had found a flaw in the design of the vault, however. The word "man", so it would surely allow women and non-binary individuals in. As they neared the entrance their heads were filled with images of opulence and splendor. They quickened their pace until they were on the verge of running. Alas, when they after they had taken three steps inside the ground began to shake and the door closed behind them. They were worried, but this had never happened before so they must be in the clear, right?
"Alright you smartass fucks, listen here"
A voice boomed through the darkness of the hallway, dry and old, like an aging book given life.
"Did you really think that morons like you haven't tried this before? So what gender theory has progressed enough to allow non-binary people to proclaim themselves as such, but not enough for a women to wonder into a temple?"
A face sprang out of the darkness, it looked as the night sky did, yet lighter and more defined. A brave woman from the group replied
"Umm, well we just figured because the prophecy said 'no man shall enter' it would let non-men enter"
The haggard ethereal face gave a look that was a mix of exasperation and disappointment.
"So you just thought 'well the word man probably just implies all men,' or maybe 'this magic was made by incredibly powerful people who made the spell to *specifically* to only apply to men' or maybe, just maybe you thought 'well we're part of a feminist story so we've got plot armor'"
A bold enby from the back of the group looked in a confusedly at one of their comrades, then back at the magic face.
"What was that last thing you said?"
"**GET THE SHIT OUT OF MY TEMPLE OR I SWEAR TO GOD!**"
They fled from the building as fast as they could, not wanting to test the patience of one of the most powerful people to live. They could hear his warnings from behind them, every word more filled with rage.
"Tell everyone that if anyone tries to pull this again I will use my very limited power to resurrect my masters, then create a body for myself, and I swear we will beat the ever living shit out of them!" | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | A thousand years ago, the town of Hamelheim had been just another podunk hamlet in the middle of nowhere. It had been a hundred miles from the nearest paved roads, a thousand miles from any significant harbor, even the local streams were scraggly, little things, barely even adolescent. That had all changed though, when the great wizard Vlanderbaff had come to the town, with some ancient king or other (the legends weren't clear on the fact), and issued a prophecy.
"No man shall pull this sword from the stone, but the True King of the Realm." And then he had plunged the sword into a local rock.
And that moment, the merchants of Hamelheim held with religious fervor, was good for business.
A thousand years later, and the town had grown into a major city, with a booming tourism industry, a vibrant night life, resorts that would put the carnal pleasure houses of Gilradreth to shame, and a yearly festival dedicated to drawing the sword from the stone. And every year, great crowds of people would descend on Hamelheim, bringing with them coins. Gold coins, silver coins, platinum coins, copper, bronze, fool's gold, even iron and steel coins. The town became a veritable cornucopia of coinages. The merchants were happy, traveling adventurers were happy, the local clerics were happy. Everybody was happy and rich and fat.
Desema, however, hated the festival. Every year they tried to enter, and every year, the scowling, bearded guardian of the festivities dragged them away from the stone and told them, in no uncertain terms:
"Men only."
This year, however, they had a plan. They'd saved for months, working at one of the resorts, cleaning out the absolutely disgusting party-rooms wealthy guests used. The job payed well, not least because they were allowed to pocket any loose change they found. With those funds, they'd gone to a Plastic Sorcergeon and had their features physically modeled into those of a man. It felt a bit strange, to have a physical sex, and the dangly bits were rather uncomfortable--especially the "family jewels," or whatever the sorcergeon had called them, which clung to their legs. Speaking of which, hairy legs, very unpleasant. Itchy. But they were partial to the new facial hair, which was eminently strokeable and added a touch of... philosophoricalness to the whole getup. In fact, they liked it so much, they hadn't trimmed it in months, and planned to keep it after this was all over.
Thusly equipped, Desema approached the legendary sword in the legendary stone, standing in line with a few hundred "other" men who were all waiting for their chance to try it.
One after another, the burly, the thin, the handsome or ugly, took their attempts. They were all allowed a full minute of tugging at the sword, to get it to come out. One would think with all the tugging involved, it would pop out sooner or later, no matter the enchantment, but it held firm. Some men took quick attempts, reaching down and grabbing it with a single hand, and pulling once, as though destiny required no effort. Others took the full minute, grabbing it be the pommel and hilt, bracing their heavy boots against the stone, and pulling with all their might, as though they'd come to get a hernia.
Desema planned to be like them: hernia or bust.
It took a few hours, but the line inched forward, and Desema's turn came at last.
They strode up to the stone, with the best cocksure swagger they could manage, and a shit-eating smirk that they'd seen wealthy nobles affect. The sacred guardian took one look down his nose at them, and snorted. Their chest froze: they were sure they'd been found out.
"Another one? Well, go ahead then, take your turn mister."
Desema couldn't help but grin. They darted up to the stone and grabbed it. It didn't budge. They tried a light pull: nothing. They did the brace and struggle: nothing. They even tried kicking it out of the stone, to the surprised snort of the guardian. Nothing worked, and the minute expired.
Desema, however, could not help but grin like a god-damned idiot. They'd done it. They'd done what no man was supposed to do!
--------------------------
That evening, the tired Sacred Guardian returned the temple, went down to the private quarters, and slouched into a deep-cushioned chair.
"How'd your shift go?" a woman, seated near the room's fireplace, asked.
"Not bad," the sacred guardian replied, ripping off the beard to reveal her features, and her pointed, elfin ears.
"What were the proportions this time?"
"Same as always," the elfin woman replied. "About 20% men, and the rest other people dressed up like men."
The woman in the chair grinned and leaned forward, bringing her shriveled, witchy features into focus. "I knew it. What'd I tell you, a thousand years ago when I stuck that damn sword in that damn stone?"
The sacred guardian groaned and rolled her eyes, "That we'd make a fortune."
"And why?"
"Because--"
The witch cut her off, "Exactly. Because reverse psychology is the best marketing. Tell people something's for 'men only', and soon enough you'll have a thousand bozos dressed up as men, trying to do the thing, just to show you how wrong you are. And it's easier than adventuring, to boot!" she cackled, delighted with her own cleverness.
"Cheers to that," the guardian said, and they toasted with the kind of whisky only a thousand-year old scam could buy. | They touched the Golden Ass of wishes thinking there dreams were gonna become reality. Ignoring the big warning sign saying "no man shall live if touched by the golden ass."
When they were all done, they wished for a fair world for every minority in the universe only to be shocked when they all started dropping dead one after another.
A portal to hell had opened underneath their corpses and swallowed them whole. The group shot back to life and started screaming. They were wondering why and what had happened. None of them identified as man but were still punished. Falling for what seemed to be an eternity until finally landing in a pool of lava and the devil sitting before them behind a desk typing in an old Mac desk top.
The leader of the group spoke, "What fucking happened?!? You broke the rules! We want to return home! None of us identify as a man or are biologicaly woman!"
The devil replied with an annoyed look, "First of all, man has a second definition that ropes humans in as a whole regardless of being a male or not, second, why the fuck would the devil care about your pronouns!" he continued typing away.
The person stood quiet while boiling in the pool of lava until she had an idea. She smiled, took a deep breath and shouted as hard as she could," it's a good thing I identify as a divine God! And demand you release me!" the group of people started cheering wildly behind her and began shouting the same thing.
The devils sighed, and stamped level 3 on all of their foreheads. "For the charges of blasphemy and touching the Golden ass while knowing of the warning, you will serve 10,000,000 years in the pool of ever lasting heat. Any question comments concerns?"
The group outraged spoke up again,"We don't identify as..."
The devil interrupted them, "yes I know, but I identify you as being tortured by lava demon's for 10,000,000 years. Ask for Carolyn when you arrive, she atleast feels bad for torturing you." snapping his fingers and opening another portal underneath them and dropping them to their location.
The devil shook his head wondering how he got such a shit job before remembering the mutiny he started so many Millenia ago. " oh yeah I did fuck that up didn't I. Well, now to the next customer." | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The man, with his crown and cloak, glowered down at the small adventurer. She was the only one of her party still standing, keeping herself between the corrupted lord and her friends. The group's best healer crouched near their best swordsperson, her fingers glittering with magic as she tried to heal a wound.
“You should have taken the chance to leave when I offered,” he said, his words coming easily, as if the fight had taken nothing from him. “ You can't win. You know you'll die here, like every other before you.”
“Really,” the young adventurer panted. She held her broken sword—the tip shorn clean off-- tightly. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Makbit.”
Makbit laughed. “You would not be sure? You mean you came here, to what, to slay me, knowing nothing? I have the crystal sword, I have the castle's forces, I have prophecy, and you have … gods and seers all, a knight with the paint still wet on their shield and a cleric still in school?”
“Two clerics actually,” she answered, getting her breath back and indicating the badge on her breast. “And a Raccoon, though I think she's in your woods.”This time it wasn't even a proper evil laugh, more of a snort.“Also you don't have the prophecy. I do.”
That stopped the giggling cold. “ Excuse me?”
“No Man shall defeat you,” the young cleric said, patiently. “Right?”
“Oh, and you think that because you're of the fairer sex, you'll have a loophole? Your little magling couldn't land a strike, and neither will you.” The crystal sword gleamed in his hand, charged with dark fire.
“Of course Annie couldn't. She's human.” The little gnome grinned, teeth sharp as her broken sword lit with fire of its own. “I'm Ann. You really should have gotten your prophecy in writing.”
Her sword bit deep, and his dropped to the ground. |
“Look,” Freya said, turning on the car’s cruise control for the seemingly endless highway, “this would be our biggest project yet. If we’re going to go for this one, we need to be in consensus here.”
Lex crawled into the back seat from the trunk, holding Amy’s chemistry notebook and Kris’ spellbook. “I’m in,” they said with a grunt, fasting their seatbelt. “We’ve got a healer, a spellcaster, a chemist, and I just checked, I’m pretty stocked up on ammo. If any team could pull this off, it’s us.”
Kris seemed unsure. “We may want to find another member. I mean, the Five Man Band is a thing for a reason, right?”
“Could you pass me my burger,” Freya asked Amy, who pulled a cheeseburger out of the bag on her lap. “Okay, Kris, first of all, the main reason we’re able to bust a lot of these prophecies is because we aren’t a Five *Man* Band, 3,000 year old prophecies clearly couldn’t see far enough ahead to predict feminism. Second of all, we aren’t exactly the most popular prophecy shatterers, so if any of you know a potential fifth member, I’m all ears.”
“What role would a fifth member even fill?” Lex asked, stealing a handful of Freya’s fries from behind her. “It’s not like we need someone with range, I’m stocked up on sniper rounds.”
“Maybe a melee attacker,” Kris suggested. “I mean, Amy is great for AOE attacks, and we have Lex and myself for longer distance attacks. But nobody that really specializes in hand to hand combat.”
“I have a sword!” Lex protested. “I have many swords!”
“And I’ve had to reattach more than one of your fingers,” Freya snapped back. “Honestly, I don’t know how you stay so calm every time you cut off a finger or toe, it’s the creepiest part.”
Lex let out a sound of exasperation. “Well maybe if you let me play with my swords more…”
“See, the fact that you describe training with a deadly weapon as ‘playing’ makes me agree with Kris,” Freya said. “So, there’s an idea, a melee specialist. Do we really need a melee specialist, though? Like, if we end up going up against The Dark Lord, would we need a melee fighter?”
Kris nodded. “That’s a good point. It’s an idea, what else have we got?”
“A tank,” Lex said after a moment of thought. “We don’t really have anyone to tank a hit. Sure, Kris can cast some decent defensive spells, but you’re defenseless while doing that.”
“That’s… also a great point,” Kris said, flipping through their spellbook. “Most of my defensive spells are pretty rudimentary, we could actually use someone who specializes in defense.”
“So if we find a tank, will you be willing to sign on to take on the mission?” Freya asked.
“You know what,” Kris replied, “sure. But you’re forgetting the biggest issue of all, where do we even find a good enough tank to deal with the Dark Lord?”
“Oh, yeah,” Freya said. “That’s an actual problem.”
Lex shrugged. “We’ve got time to figure it out, the blood moon that’ll expose the big bad’s weakness isn’t for another two months.”
“Well, we should start thinking about this now,” Kris said. “Two months isn’t exactly the longest time to find a fifth member.”
“I found a fifth member,” Amy said from the passenger seat, looking up from her phone.
“She speaks!” cried Lex.
Freya let out a shocked laugh. “Well, don’t keep us waiting, who is it?”
“My sister. Bitch is tough as nails, I once watched her punch an oncoming train off its tracks.”
“Kinda hot, not gonna lie,” Lex said.
“Flirt with my sister and you’re dead,” Amy snapped, spinning around to face Lex. “That goes for all of you.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Kris said.
“We’re coworkers,” Amy said.
“Fair enough,” replied Freya. “So where is this elusive sister of yours? We can go pick her up.”
“Stay on this highway. I’ll take the wheel next and finish the journey,” Amy said, checking a map on her phone.
“Well then, it’s settled,” laughed Freya. “We’ll pick her up, do some team training, and go-”
“Nothing is settled,” Amy interrupted. “You’ve forgotten the most important detail of this whole operation.”
“And that would be?” asked Freya.
“Which one of us gets the killing blow?”
Before anyone could speak, Lex grabbed both seats in front of them, leaned forward so their head was perfectly in the middle of the car, and shouted a single word; “DIBS!” | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all! |
“Look,” Freya said, turning on the car’s cruise control for the seemingly endless highway, “this would be our biggest project yet. If we’re going to go for this one, we need to be in consensus here.”
Lex crawled into the back seat from the trunk, holding Amy’s chemistry notebook and Kris’ spellbook. “I’m in,” they said with a grunt, fasting their seatbelt. “We’ve got a healer, a spellcaster, a chemist, and I just checked, I’m pretty stocked up on ammo. If any team could pull this off, it’s us.”
Kris seemed unsure. “We may want to find another member. I mean, the Five Man Band is a thing for a reason, right?”
“Could you pass me my burger,” Freya asked Amy, who pulled a cheeseburger out of the bag on her lap. “Okay, Kris, first of all, the main reason we’re able to bust a lot of these prophecies is because we aren’t a Five *Man* Band, 3,000 year old prophecies clearly couldn’t see far enough ahead to predict feminism. Second of all, we aren’t exactly the most popular prophecy shatterers, so if any of you know a potential fifth member, I’m all ears.”
“What role would a fifth member even fill?” Lex asked, stealing a handful of Freya’s fries from behind her. “It’s not like we need someone with range, I’m stocked up on sniper rounds.”
“Maybe a melee attacker,” Kris suggested. “I mean, Amy is great for AOE attacks, and we have Lex and myself for longer distance attacks. But nobody that really specializes in hand to hand combat.”
“I have a sword!” Lex protested. “I have many swords!”
“And I’ve had to reattach more than one of your fingers,” Freya snapped back. “Honestly, I don’t know how you stay so calm every time you cut off a finger or toe, it’s the creepiest part.”
Lex let out a sound of exasperation. “Well maybe if you let me play with my swords more…”
“See, the fact that you describe training with a deadly weapon as ‘playing’ makes me agree with Kris,” Freya said. “So, there’s an idea, a melee specialist. Do we really need a melee specialist, though? Like, if we end up going up against The Dark Lord, would we need a melee fighter?”
Kris nodded. “That’s a good point. It’s an idea, what else have we got?”
“A tank,” Lex said after a moment of thought. “We don’t really have anyone to tank a hit. Sure, Kris can cast some decent defensive spells, but you’re defenseless while doing that.”
“That’s… also a great point,” Kris said, flipping through their spellbook. “Most of my defensive spells are pretty rudimentary, we could actually use someone who specializes in defense.”
“So if we find a tank, will you be willing to sign on to take on the mission?” Freya asked.
“You know what,” Kris replied, “sure. But you’re forgetting the biggest issue of all, where do we even find a good enough tank to deal with the Dark Lord?”
“Oh, yeah,” Freya said. “That’s an actual problem.”
Lex shrugged. “We’ve got time to figure it out, the blood moon that’ll expose the big bad’s weakness isn’t for another two months.”
“Well, we should start thinking about this now,” Kris said. “Two months isn’t exactly the longest time to find a fifth member.”
“I found a fifth member,” Amy said from the passenger seat, looking up from her phone.
“She speaks!” cried Lex.
Freya let out a shocked laugh. “Well, don’t keep us waiting, who is it?”
“My sister. Bitch is tough as nails, I once watched her punch an oncoming train off its tracks.”
“Kinda hot, not gonna lie,” Lex said.
“Flirt with my sister and you’re dead,” Amy snapped, spinning around to face Lex. “That goes for all of you.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Kris said.
“We’re coworkers,” Amy said.
“Fair enough,” replied Freya. “So where is this elusive sister of yours? We can go pick her up.”
“Stay on this highway. I’ll take the wheel next and finish the journey,” Amy said, checking a map on her phone.
“Well then, it’s settled,” laughed Freya. “We’ll pick her up, do some team training, and go-”
“Nothing is settled,” Amy interrupted. “You’ve forgotten the most important detail of this whole operation.”
“And that would be?” asked Freya.
“Which one of us gets the killing blow?”
Before anyone could speak, Lex grabbed both seats in front of them, leaned forward so their head was perfectly in the middle of the car, and shouted a single word; “DIBS!” | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | Sharon traced her finger across the dusty stone tablet, squinting. The group of three adventurers was standing on the edge of explored territory on one of the farthest adventurer outposts, standing in front of a looming stone gate.
“Yeah, this is Bhalow, I can read this.”
Eina and Belle high-fived each other behind her.
“That means we can keep going, right?” Belle asked, unsheathing her great broadsword and looking forward at the misty land beyond the gate hungrily.
“We don’t want to get too far from the adventurer’s outpost this late in the day, Belle.” Sharon said, “But I guess it depends on what the tablet says.”
“Go on,” Eina said, “Read it then.”
Sharon turned back to the tablet and translated the ancient dialect aloud to the group.
“*A thousand stabbing daggers,*
*A thousand grabbing hands,*
*No man may ever claim the gift,*
*Of the Ancient Bhalow lands.*”
“Spooky,” Eina said, shivering slightly in her mage robes, “That’s a pretty nasty sounding Ancient Oath. Don’t you think that’s our cue to turn back?”
“Are you kidding me?” Belle said, “This is our last chance to finally get the Guild to acknowledge us as a real raiding group and provide us with a real contract. Thousand daggers or no, we have to get that treasure.”
“I think Eina’s right here,” Sharon said, “An Ancient Oath is magic we can’t mess with at our current level. However, look at this word right here.” She pointed to the tablet with her finger.
“We can’t read that, idiot. What does it say?” Belle said impatiently.
Sharon looked smug, “It says no *man* may ever claim the treasure. No *man*. We’re women. That means the Ancient Oath won’t affect us.”
“You’re right!” Belle elbowed Sharon in the gut, “You may be kinda weak, but you’re a genius!”
“Are you sure?” Eina said, peering nervously into the misty realm beyond, “What if you mistranslated it or something?”
Belle poked Eina on the nose, “Didn’t you hear me? Sharon is a genius! She’s found our one path to glory! We can become a true raiding party after today if we get that treasure! Think about it!”
“I guess it would be nice to get into the Elamorin School of Magic,” Eina muttered.
“That’s the spirit! We all have things that we want that’ve been denied from us.” Belle turned away and held her broadsword in the air, “Today we can finally show the world that we can fight too!”
Belle marched forward into the mist. Eina and Sharon looked at each other for a brief moment, then followed.
They marched forward in a while in silence, the mist swirling around them. Belle still strode forward confidently, but even she jumped at any sound along with the other two.
“See,” Belle said loudly, “Looks like I was right, guys. The Ancient Oath won’t work on us after all.”
“That’s right.” An ethereal voice answered her, “I’ve waited oh so long for someone to figure it out.”
The party drew their weapons as a form appeared in the mist.
“Hello, ladies,” A tall, robed demoness appeared in front of them, “I’m Trelya, the Keeper of the Mists.”
“Are you going to kill us?” Belle asked. The other two were too scared to speak. Trelya was at least an S-tier monster.
“No,” Trelya said, “You’re the first warrior women that have explored this land since the legendary Bhalow heroes of ages past.”
“Wait, the Bhalow heroes were *women!*” Sharon exclaimed, “We had always been taught they were men… ”
“No, I knew them personally. They bestowed upon me the duty of passing down their immortal powers to the next generation of women warriors.” Trelya looked at the three of them, “They probably did not expect it to take hundreds of years, but here you all are.”
“We’re going to become… like the heroes in the stories?” Eina said, “*Us?*”
“Not automatically,” Trelya said, “You’re just going to receive the right to stand at the starting line. Are you all willing to accept that right?”
The three of them exchanged looks.
“Yes, we’re ready.”
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/ly06aj/the_dungeon_maidens_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | The easiest of all were the warding curses, in the first year since Aymara had the idea they’d grown rich on those. They were famous relics of the old days, the kind of magic that always seemed to be tacked onto the ends of the heroes stories:
*“And the great lord so-and-so of big-awesome-castle locked away his treasures in the depths of his grandfather’s crypt, attended by the assembled might of his still living wives and servants, who in their final moments painted the curse onto the doors with their very lifeblood. ‘Here lies the Great and Terrible Lord So-and-So, winner of battles as numerous as they are no longer relevant, from this day forth no man shall enter and no man shall leave, on pain of death, dismemberment, etc etc.”*
Aymara had to admit she was paraphrasing there, but she did whenever she thought of those old days. Magic that was so unimaginative didn’t warrant any fidelity to its memory.
Originally they’d meant to stop after the first year. Leta and the others had insisted on that, and for a brief period they had, each of them living like queens after their own fashion. Aymara herself had retired to a small but horrifically expensive castle on the North Sea, drowning her passion for discovery in fine wine and silks for the six months it took the rest of them to come to their senses.
She’d woken on the first day of spring to her guard captain’s worried tones. There were people at the gates, he had said, strange people.
Strange they were, but they were her people nonetheless, and their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. That night she’d opened up the last casks in her cellar and ordered the cook to spare no expense, there were more rich days coming.
Of course she hadn’t imagined the rich days would only last another year. Who’d have thought that most of those old tavern songs and heroic epics were false, that their heroes had either never existed or been a damn sight poorer than their hired bards had let on?
That brought Aymara and her friends to year three, and a cold, harsh winter morning on the side of the Camelline Mountains where nothing but snow leopards and whatever they ate should ever have set foot.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Leta said, her voice the only thing other than their footsteps to have broken the silence of their hike.. “I mean you’ve got an eye no doubt, but this? This takes the cake.”
“Look, you can shut up or go back down to the village, those are your options.” Aymara didn’t even turn to back to her friend. They’d been through enough by now to that her complaints were harmless, so long as they didn’t spook the others.
“This lord was rich though, right?” A voice called from further down their line. Aymara cursed to herself. That was Lena, Leta’s sister, and that was someone she might actually need to worry about. “It can’t be like last time,” Lena said, “we barely had anything to split after we raided that fat old merchant’s vault.”
“Yeah but at least it was warm there!” Someone else called.
“OK, STOP!” Aymara said, finally turning. She’d spoken the words no louder than normal but her magic projected them across the mountainside, hopefully at a quietly enough not to start an avalanche. She forced herself not to glance up the mountain.
“Now you,” she said, pointing to Lena, “and all the rest of you have nothing to complain about. Nothing! We’ve had a hard go of it lately but any one of you could retire right now and go back to a better life than you had before, and if you already spent it all that’s not my problem. Soon we’re going to reach the Caves of Khazan and if any of you, ANY OF YOU, so much as thinks about turning back once we’re in there I’ll teleport you off the side of the mountain without a second thought. Am I understood?”
They all nodded, even Lena though hers was sullen. Aymara turned back, the group following behind her. She hated the distraction, hated that she’d had to use even that small part of her magic this early. There were two spells to defeat once inside and little room for error in either one.
They’d heard the rumors the month before, in the cities and villages that clung to the foothills of the range along the borders of nations. This area had been a lawless dividing line for centuries, only changing in times of war when one ascendant empire or another tried to hold the heights and the all important passes they controlled.
The Caves of Khazan were a remnant of one of those times. Apparently Khazan had been a powerful necromancer who fled to the area following an apocalyptic battle in the lowlands. He’d taken with him several artifacts, ostensibly to craft his masterpiece with, whatever that had meant; more importantly all of them were ancient, powerful, and (hopefully) valuable. After all, regardless of what she’d said before Aymara still had that North Sea castle to pay for.
The first spell was an enchantment at the entrance. A wise woman had told her it read,
*“Travelers from near and far,*
*Coming here where treasures are,*
*Stand tall and proud, make your spells heard,*
*Though no man but me may speak the words,”*
Aymara hated rhymes too, in most cases she’d found that their writers were either shocking pompously or convinced (wrongly) of their cleverness, and from everything she’d heard she strongly suspected the necromancer was both. He hadn’t even included the answer within the thing. If he was going to try he should have at least made it a solvable riddle, one of her sources had been forced to dig it up from an ancient library.
She’d rolled her eyes and had to suppress a giggle when she’d gotten her source’s letter though. The password his name repeated in five different forms of ancient language conventions. Pompous indeed.
They arrived at the entrance close to noon and paused for a short lunch. One of the fire mages lit a brazier and the others all crowded around, cooking sausages and warming a large pot of porridge.
Aymara went to the massive, weathered stone of the entrance, tracing her hands down the runes of the enchantment. She could barely make out the words, they must have been carved a long time ago.
“Nervous?” Leta said from behind her.
Aymara turned and gratefully accepted a heel of bread and some cheese from her friend.
“Thanks,” she said. “No, not nervous. Just…excited. We came a long way for this one and we really need it.”
“So of us less than others, we didn’t all buy castles.” Leta grinned at her, bumping shoulders playfully. Aymara only snorted. She had no regrets.
“Are you going to open it?” Leta asked.
“I may as well, huh? Thinks there’s any point in waiting?” Aymara said.
“Nah, most of the time they only have defenses farther in. Besides, it’ll teach the new ones to stay on their toes.”
Aymara laughed softly, shaking her head. Leta's savings were so at odds with the rest of her behavior. Not that she disagreed though. Scraping some of the snow off the small plinth in front of the doors she placed her hands on it, squaring her shoulders, standing tall and proud just as the enchantment had said.
*“Khazan, Ghazan, Hazuun, Kharzi, Khos,”* she said. All five forms of his name, spoken loudly enough that they echoed.
Behind her she heard the group scurrying into position, crying out in surprise. Aymara closed her eyes, waiting, counting the seconds and praying it hadn’t all been for nothing. Then, with a sound like a waterfall crashing into rocks, the door began to open.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. I may come back to write more of this later, this prompt was fun. | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The man, with his crown and cloak, glowered down at the small adventurer. She was the only one of her party still standing, keeping herself between the corrupted lord and her friends. The group's best healer crouched near their best swordsperson, her fingers glittering with magic as she tried to heal a wound.
“You should have taken the chance to leave when I offered,” he said, his words coming easily, as if the fight had taken nothing from him. “ You can't win. You know you'll die here, like every other before you.”
“Really,” the young adventurer panted. She held her broken sword—the tip shorn clean off-- tightly. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Makbit.”
Makbit laughed. “You would not be sure? You mean you came here, to what, to slay me, knowing nothing? I have the crystal sword, I have the castle's forces, I have prophecy, and you have … gods and seers all, a knight with the paint still wet on their shield and a cleric still in school?”
“Two clerics actually,” she answered, getting her breath back and indicating the badge on her breast. “And a Raccoon, though I think she's in your woods.”This time it wasn't even a proper evil laugh, more of a snort.“Also you don't have the prophecy. I do.”
That stopped the giggling cold. “ Excuse me?”
“No Man shall defeat you,” the young cleric said, patiently. “Right?”
“Oh, and you think that because you're of the fairer sex, you'll have a loophole? Your little magling couldn't land a strike, and neither will you.” The crystal sword gleamed in his hand, charged with dark fire.
“Of course Annie couldn't. She's human.” The little gnome grinned, teeth sharp as her broken sword lit with fire of its own. “I'm Ann. You really should have gotten your prophecy in writing.”
Her sword bit deep, and his dropped to the ground. | The easiest of all were the warding curses, in the first year since Aymara had the idea they’d grown rich on those. They were famous relics of the old days, the kind of magic that always seemed to be tacked onto the ends of the heroes stories:
*“And the great lord so-and-so of big-awesome-castle locked away his treasures in the depths of his grandfather’s crypt, attended by the assembled might of his still living wives and servants, who in their final moments painted the curse onto the doors with their very lifeblood. ‘Here lies the Great and Terrible Lord So-and-So, winner of battles as numerous as they are no longer relevant, from this day forth no man shall enter and no man shall leave, on pain of death, dismemberment, etc etc.”*
Aymara had to admit she was paraphrasing there, but she did whenever she thought of those old days. Magic that was so unimaginative didn’t warrant any fidelity to its memory.
Originally they’d meant to stop after the first year. Leta and the others had insisted on that, and for a brief period they had, each of them living like queens after their own fashion. Aymara herself had retired to a small but horrifically expensive castle on the North Sea, drowning her passion for discovery in fine wine and silks for the six months it took the rest of them to come to their senses.
She’d woken on the first day of spring to her guard captain’s worried tones. There were people at the gates, he had said, strange people.
Strange they were, but they were her people nonetheless, and their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. That night she’d opened up the last casks in her cellar and ordered the cook to spare no expense, there were more rich days coming.
Of course she hadn’t imagined the rich days would only last another year. Who’d have thought that most of those old tavern songs and heroic epics were false, that their heroes had either never existed or been a damn sight poorer than their hired bards had let on?
That brought Aymara and her friends to year three, and a cold, harsh winter morning on the side of the Camelline Mountains where nothing but snow leopards and whatever they ate should ever have set foot.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Leta said, her voice the only thing other than their footsteps to have broken the silence of their hike.. “I mean you’ve got an eye no doubt, but this? This takes the cake.”
“Look, you can shut up or go back down to the village, those are your options.” Aymara didn’t even turn to back to her friend. They’d been through enough by now to that her complaints were harmless, so long as they didn’t spook the others.
“This lord was rich though, right?” A voice called from further down their line. Aymara cursed to herself. That was Lena, Leta’s sister, and that was someone she might actually need to worry about. “It can’t be like last time,” Lena said, “we barely had anything to split after we raided that fat old merchant’s vault.”
“Yeah but at least it was warm there!” Someone else called.
“OK, STOP!” Aymara said, finally turning. She’d spoken the words no louder than normal but her magic projected them across the mountainside, hopefully at a quietly enough not to start an avalanche. She forced herself not to glance up the mountain.
“Now you,” she said, pointing to Lena, “and all the rest of you have nothing to complain about. Nothing! We’ve had a hard go of it lately but any one of you could retire right now and go back to a better life than you had before, and if you already spent it all that’s not my problem. Soon we’re going to reach the Caves of Khazan and if any of you, ANY OF YOU, so much as thinks about turning back once we’re in there I’ll teleport you off the side of the mountain without a second thought. Am I understood?”
They all nodded, even Lena though hers was sullen. Aymara turned back, the group following behind her. She hated the distraction, hated that she’d had to use even that small part of her magic this early. There were two spells to defeat once inside and little room for error in either one.
They’d heard the rumors the month before, in the cities and villages that clung to the foothills of the range along the borders of nations. This area had been a lawless dividing line for centuries, only changing in times of war when one ascendant empire or another tried to hold the heights and the all important passes they controlled.
The Caves of Khazan were a remnant of one of those times. Apparently Khazan had been a powerful necromancer who fled to the area following an apocalyptic battle in the lowlands. He’d taken with him several artifacts, ostensibly to craft his masterpiece with, whatever that had meant; more importantly all of them were ancient, powerful, and (hopefully) valuable. After all, regardless of what she’d said before Aymara still had that North Sea castle to pay for.
The first spell was an enchantment at the entrance. A wise woman had told her it read,
*“Travelers from near and far,*
*Coming here where treasures are,*
*Stand tall and proud, make your spells heard,*
*Though no man but me may speak the words,”*
Aymara hated rhymes too, in most cases she’d found that their writers were either shocking pompously or convinced (wrongly) of their cleverness, and from everything she’d heard she strongly suspected the necromancer was both. He hadn’t even included the answer within the thing. If he was going to try he should have at least made it a solvable riddle, one of her sources had been forced to dig it up from an ancient library.
She’d rolled her eyes and had to suppress a giggle when she’d gotten her source’s letter though. The password his name repeated in five different forms of ancient language conventions. Pompous indeed.
They arrived at the entrance close to noon and paused for a short lunch. One of the fire mages lit a brazier and the others all crowded around, cooking sausages and warming a large pot of porridge.
Aymara went to the massive, weathered stone of the entrance, tracing her hands down the runes of the enchantment. She could barely make out the words, they must have been carved a long time ago.
“Nervous?” Leta said from behind her.
Aymara turned and gratefully accepted a heel of bread and some cheese from her friend.
“Thanks,” she said. “No, not nervous. Just…excited. We came a long way for this one and we really need it.”
“So of us less than others, we didn’t all buy castles.” Leta grinned at her, bumping shoulders playfully. Aymara only snorted. She had no regrets.
“Are you going to open it?” Leta asked.
“I may as well, huh? Thinks there’s any point in waiting?” Aymara said.
“Nah, most of the time they only have defenses farther in. Besides, it’ll teach the new ones to stay on their toes.”
Aymara laughed softly, shaking her head. Leta's savings were so at odds with the rest of her behavior. Not that she disagreed though. Scraping some of the snow off the small plinth in front of the doors she placed her hands on it, squaring her shoulders, standing tall and proud just as the enchantment had said.
*“Khazan, Ghazan, Hazuun, Kharzi, Khos,”* she said. All five forms of his name, spoken loudly enough that they echoed.
Behind her she heard the group scurrying into position, crying out in surprise. Aymara closed her eyes, waiting, counting the seconds and praying it hadn’t all been for nothing. Then, with a sound like a waterfall crashing into rocks, the door began to open.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. I may come back to write more of this later, this prompt was fun. | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all! | The easiest of all were the warding curses, in the first year since Aymara had the idea they’d grown rich on those. They were famous relics of the old days, the kind of magic that always seemed to be tacked onto the ends of the heroes stories:
*“And the great lord so-and-so of big-awesome-castle locked away his treasures in the depths of his grandfather’s crypt, attended by the assembled might of his still living wives and servants, who in their final moments painted the curse onto the doors with their very lifeblood. ‘Here lies the Great and Terrible Lord So-and-So, winner of battles as numerous as they are no longer relevant, from this day forth no man shall enter and no man shall leave, on pain of death, dismemberment, etc etc.”*
Aymara had to admit she was paraphrasing there, but she did whenever she thought of those old days. Magic that was so unimaginative didn’t warrant any fidelity to its memory.
Originally they’d meant to stop after the first year. Leta and the others had insisted on that, and for a brief period they had, each of them living like queens after their own fashion. Aymara herself had retired to a small but horrifically expensive castle on the North Sea, drowning her passion for discovery in fine wine and silks for the six months it took the rest of them to come to their senses.
She’d woken on the first day of spring to her guard captain’s worried tones. There were people at the gates, he had said, strange people.
Strange they were, but they were her people nonetheless, and their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. That night she’d opened up the last casks in her cellar and ordered the cook to spare no expense, there were more rich days coming.
Of course she hadn’t imagined the rich days would only last another year. Who’d have thought that most of those old tavern songs and heroic epics were false, that their heroes had either never existed or been a damn sight poorer than their hired bards had let on?
That brought Aymara and her friends to year three, and a cold, harsh winter morning on the side of the Camelline Mountains where nothing but snow leopards and whatever they ate should ever have set foot.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Leta said, her voice the only thing other than their footsteps to have broken the silence of their hike.. “I mean you’ve got an eye no doubt, but this? This takes the cake.”
“Look, you can shut up or go back down to the village, those are your options.” Aymara didn’t even turn to back to her friend. They’d been through enough by now to that her complaints were harmless, so long as they didn’t spook the others.
“This lord was rich though, right?” A voice called from further down their line. Aymara cursed to herself. That was Lena, Leta’s sister, and that was someone she might actually need to worry about. “It can’t be like last time,” Lena said, “we barely had anything to split after we raided that fat old merchant’s vault.”
“Yeah but at least it was warm there!” Someone else called.
“OK, STOP!” Aymara said, finally turning. She’d spoken the words no louder than normal but her magic projected them across the mountainside, hopefully at a quietly enough not to start an avalanche. She forced herself not to glance up the mountain.
“Now you,” she said, pointing to Lena, “and all the rest of you have nothing to complain about. Nothing! We’ve had a hard go of it lately but any one of you could retire right now and go back to a better life than you had before, and if you already spent it all that’s not my problem. Soon we’re going to reach the Caves of Khazan and if any of you, ANY OF YOU, so much as thinks about turning back once we’re in there I’ll teleport you off the side of the mountain without a second thought. Am I understood?”
They all nodded, even Lena though hers was sullen. Aymara turned back, the group following behind her. She hated the distraction, hated that she’d had to use even that small part of her magic this early. There were two spells to defeat once inside and little room for error in either one.
They’d heard the rumors the month before, in the cities and villages that clung to the foothills of the range along the borders of nations. This area had been a lawless dividing line for centuries, only changing in times of war when one ascendant empire or another tried to hold the heights and the all important passes they controlled.
The Caves of Khazan were a remnant of one of those times. Apparently Khazan had been a powerful necromancer who fled to the area following an apocalyptic battle in the lowlands. He’d taken with him several artifacts, ostensibly to craft his masterpiece with, whatever that had meant; more importantly all of them were ancient, powerful, and (hopefully) valuable. After all, regardless of what she’d said before Aymara still had that North Sea castle to pay for.
The first spell was an enchantment at the entrance. A wise woman had told her it read,
*“Travelers from near and far,*
*Coming here where treasures are,*
*Stand tall and proud, make your spells heard,*
*Though no man but me may speak the words,”*
Aymara hated rhymes too, in most cases she’d found that their writers were either shocking pompously or convinced (wrongly) of their cleverness, and from everything she’d heard she strongly suspected the necromancer was both. He hadn’t even included the answer within the thing. If he was going to try he should have at least made it a solvable riddle, one of her sources had been forced to dig it up from an ancient library.
She’d rolled her eyes and had to suppress a giggle when she’d gotten her source’s letter though. The password his name repeated in five different forms of ancient language conventions. Pompous indeed.
They arrived at the entrance close to noon and paused for a short lunch. One of the fire mages lit a brazier and the others all crowded around, cooking sausages and warming a large pot of porridge.
Aymara went to the massive, weathered stone of the entrance, tracing her hands down the runes of the enchantment. She could barely make out the words, they must have been carved a long time ago.
“Nervous?” Leta said from behind her.
Aymara turned and gratefully accepted a heel of bread and some cheese from her friend.
“Thanks,” she said. “No, not nervous. Just…excited. We came a long way for this one and we really need it.”
“So of us less than others, we didn’t all buy castles.” Leta grinned at her, bumping shoulders playfully. Aymara only snorted. She had no regrets.
“Are you going to open it?” Leta asked.
“I may as well, huh? Thinks there’s any point in waiting?” Aymara said.
“Nah, most of the time they only have defenses farther in. Besides, it’ll teach the new ones to stay on their toes.”
Aymara laughed softly, shaking her head. Leta's savings were so at odds with the rest of her behavior. Not that she disagreed though. Scraping some of the snow off the small plinth in front of the doors she placed her hands on it, squaring her shoulders, standing tall and proud just as the enchantment had said.
*“Khazan, Ghazan, Hazuun, Kharzi, Khos,”* she said. All five forms of his name, spoken loudly enough that they echoed.
Behind her she heard the group scurrying into position, crying out in surprise. Aymara closed her eyes, waiting, counting the seconds and praying it hadn’t all been for nothing. Then, with a sound like a waterfall crashing into rocks, the door began to open.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. I may come back to write more of this later, this prompt was fun. | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | Sharon traced her finger across the dusty stone tablet, squinting. The group of three adventurers was standing on the edge of explored territory on one of the farthest adventurer outposts, standing in front of a looming stone gate.
“Yeah, this is Bhalow, I can read this.”
Eina and Belle high-fived each other behind her.
“That means we can keep going, right?” Belle asked, unsheathing her great broadsword and looking forward at the misty land beyond the gate hungrily.
“We don’t want to get too far from the adventurer’s outpost this late in the day, Belle.” Sharon said, “But I guess it depends on what the tablet says.”
“Go on,” Eina said, “Read it then.”
Sharon turned back to the tablet and translated the ancient dialect aloud to the group.
“*A thousand stabbing daggers,*
*A thousand grabbing hands,*
*No man may ever claim the gift,*
*Of the Ancient Bhalow lands.*”
“Spooky,” Eina said, shivering slightly in her mage robes, “That’s a pretty nasty sounding Ancient Oath. Don’t you think that’s our cue to turn back?”
“Are you kidding me?” Belle said, “This is our last chance to finally get the Guild to acknowledge us as a real raiding group and provide us with a real contract. Thousand daggers or no, we have to get that treasure.”
“I think Eina’s right here,” Sharon said, “An Ancient Oath is magic we can’t mess with at our current level. However, look at this word right here.” She pointed to the tablet with her finger.
“We can’t read that, idiot. What does it say?” Belle said impatiently.
Sharon looked smug, “It says no *man* may ever claim the treasure. No *man*. We’re women. That means the Ancient Oath won’t affect us.”
“You’re right!” Belle elbowed Sharon in the gut, “You may be kinda weak, but you’re a genius!”
“Are you sure?” Eina said, peering nervously into the misty realm beyond, “What if you mistranslated it or something?”
Belle poked Eina on the nose, “Didn’t you hear me? Sharon is a genius! She’s found our one path to glory! We can become a true raiding party after today if we get that treasure! Think about it!”
“I guess it would be nice to get into the Elamorin School of Magic,” Eina muttered.
“That’s the spirit! We all have things that we want that’ve been denied from us.” Belle turned away and held her broadsword in the air, “Today we can finally show the world that we can fight too!”
Belle marched forward into the mist. Eina and Sharon looked at each other for a brief moment, then followed.
They marched forward in a while in silence, the mist swirling around them. Belle still strode forward confidently, but even she jumped at any sound along with the other two.
“See,” Belle said loudly, “Looks like I was right, guys. The Ancient Oath won’t work on us after all.”
“That’s right.” An ethereal voice answered her, “I’ve waited oh so long for someone to figure it out.”
The party drew their weapons as a form appeared in the mist.
“Hello, ladies,” A tall, robed demoness appeared in front of them, “I’m Trelya, the Keeper of the Mists.”
“Are you going to kill us?” Belle asked. The other two were too scared to speak. Trelya was at least an S-tier monster.
“No,” Trelya said, “You’re the first warrior women that have explored this land since the legendary Bhalow heroes of ages past.”
“Wait, the Bhalow heroes were *women!*” Sharon exclaimed, “We had always been taught they were men… ”
“No, I knew them personally. They bestowed upon me the duty of passing down their immortal powers to the next generation of women warriors.” Trelya looked at the three of them, “They probably did not expect it to take hundreds of years, but here you all are.”
“We’re going to become… like the heroes in the stories?” Eina said, “*Us?*”
“Not automatically,” Trelya said, “You’re just going to receive the right to stand at the starting line. Are you all willing to accept that right?”
The three of them exchanged looks.
“Yes, we’re ready.”
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/ly06aj/the_dungeon_maidens_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | "Listen," the shieldmaiden spoke, her mouth half-filled with the same amorphous slop which all the others at the table had on the plates before them. "I don't know much about magic, or curses, or enchantments, or that sort of thing, but I do-"
"That much is obvious, srah," the priestess muttered, the frown on her face matching in foulness the tone of her voice.
The shieldmaiden squinted, attempting to come up with some clever excuse, but that was to no avail. *Srah?* How rude!
"Don't interrupt me, alright? I'm just saying..." The shieldmaiden paused, and she took a huge swig of the beer the guild provided. The food was poor, but this stuff was at least decent. "Curses and all that... they're very poorly worded. Always male-centric. 'No man may do this' or 'No man may do that' and all. I've always thought it was odd."
"A result of cultural emphasis on the supposed superiority of men," the mage spoke up, and the shieldmaiden knew she was in for a veritable monologue. "An idea whose foundations have long since faded - the appearances of the various magics can be thanked for that disappearance."
"You speak as if we aren't aware of that already," the priestess said, her frown deepening. At least she had cut the mage off before they got too deep into the explanation.
The mage smiled, and their eyes glistened with the light of humor. "Sometimes it is unclear with you priestly lot. You worship a god of pebbles; who am I to say that your brain is any larger than one?"
The shieldmaiden chuckled, but the priestess did not find it so funny.
"Listen here you witch-blooded little kansla!" she cried out. "He is a god of *stone*, not pebbles."
The mage shrugged, then returned to their meal.
"You all have gone far off the path," the shieldmaiden spoke. "Just listen for a second... please. For once."
Both the mage and the priestess threw their hands up and leaned backwards. Good, good.
"While I was out north, hunting a pack of goblins, I came upon an ancient ruin. Big green thing... overgrown with moss. Filled with giant spiders, because *of course* it was. In the center of it was this huge triangular altar."
"You found a Kraviken ruin?" the mage's eyes lit up, and they leaned forwards. "Well, that's quite fascinating. Did you know that-"
"Ah! Ah!" the shieldmaiden held up a finger. "Let me finish. Now, in the center of the altar was a chest. Your run-of-the-mill treasure chest, of wood that somehow hasn't rotted itself away yet. I approached, and my Tunesight..." She tapped the area just below her right eye. "It tipped me off that the chest was enchanted. Cursed, actually, but I'm not sure what the difference is, considering there wasn't anything bad about the chest. Anyways, when I approached the altar, I noticed that the enchantment's binding words had been carved into the stone directly in front of the chest."
"Amateur srahka, the Kraviken were," the priestess spoke. Gods, she was foul-mouthed, wasn't she? Though, she was right for once.
"It was a very simple phrase. '*No man may unbind me, save for he who is king.'* Your typical divine-right-of-kings sort of affair. I felt pretty awkward about it, considering what I've been up to with the princess recently, but I'm getting as off-course as you all do."
"And?"
The shieldmaiden shrugged. "I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it! Just soak in the story a bit, will you? Now, as you might have noticed by my blessed presence in this backwater hellhole of a guild hall, I'm no king. Nor am I a man, not anymore anyways. But, when I approached the chest, *click!* Tunesight faded, as it wasn't useful anymore."
"And what did you find within?" the mage asked. They were probably hoping for some scroll, or perhaps a spell tome.
"Why do you think they call me the shieldmaiden?" She smiled broadly. "Now, this isn't the only sort of binding like this, surely. So, to wealth and... pedantry?"
"Only if I can research more during our travels."
"I shall join you, if only to spite the srahka incapable of using magic properly."
"Then let's get going. I hear that there's a pretty good target in an old ruin nearby. Some demon claiming that no man may kill him." | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The man, with his crown and cloak, glowered down at the small adventurer. She was the only one of her party still standing, keeping herself between the corrupted lord and her friends. The group's best healer crouched near their best swordsperson, her fingers glittering with magic as she tried to heal a wound.
“You should have taken the chance to leave when I offered,” he said, his words coming easily, as if the fight had taken nothing from him. “ You can't win. You know you'll die here, like every other before you.”
“Really,” the young adventurer panted. She held her broken sword—the tip shorn clean off-- tightly. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Makbit.”
Makbit laughed. “You would not be sure? You mean you came here, to what, to slay me, knowing nothing? I have the crystal sword, I have the castle's forces, I have prophecy, and you have … gods and seers all, a knight with the paint still wet on their shield and a cleric still in school?”
“Two clerics actually,” she answered, getting her breath back and indicating the badge on her breast. “And a Raccoon, though I think she's in your woods.”This time it wasn't even a proper evil laugh, more of a snort.“Also you don't have the prophecy. I do.”
That stopped the giggling cold. “ Excuse me?”
“No Man shall defeat you,” the young cleric said, patiently. “Right?”
“Oh, and you think that because you're of the fairer sex, you'll have a loophole? Your little magling couldn't land a strike, and neither will you.” The crystal sword gleamed in his hand, charged with dark fire.
“Of course Annie couldn't. She's human.” The little gnome grinned, teeth sharp as her broken sword lit with fire of its own. “I'm Ann. You really should have gotten your prophecy in writing.”
Her sword bit deep, and his dropped to the ground. | "Listen," the shieldmaiden spoke, her mouth half-filled with the same amorphous slop which all the others at the table had on the plates before them. "I don't know much about magic, or curses, or enchantments, or that sort of thing, but I do-"
"That much is obvious, srah," the priestess muttered, the frown on her face matching in foulness the tone of her voice.
The shieldmaiden squinted, attempting to come up with some clever excuse, but that was to no avail. *Srah?* How rude!
"Don't interrupt me, alright? I'm just saying..." The shieldmaiden paused, and she took a huge swig of the beer the guild provided. The food was poor, but this stuff was at least decent. "Curses and all that... they're very poorly worded. Always male-centric. 'No man may do this' or 'No man may do that' and all. I've always thought it was odd."
"A result of cultural emphasis on the supposed superiority of men," the mage spoke up, and the shieldmaiden knew she was in for a veritable monologue. "An idea whose foundations have long since faded - the appearances of the various magics can be thanked for that disappearance."
"You speak as if we aren't aware of that already," the priestess said, her frown deepening. At least she had cut the mage off before they got too deep into the explanation.
The mage smiled, and their eyes glistened with the light of humor. "Sometimes it is unclear with you priestly lot. You worship a god of pebbles; who am I to say that your brain is any larger than one?"
The shieldmaiden chuckled, but the priestess did not find it so funny.
"Listen here you witch-blooded little kansla!" she cried out. "He is a god of *stone*, not pebbles."
The mage shrugged, then returned to their meal.
"You all have gone far off the path," the shieldmaiden spoke. "Just listen for a second... please. For once."
Both the mage and the priestess threw their hands up and leaned backwards. Good, good.
"While I was out north, hunting a pack of goblins, I came upon an ancient ruin. Big green thing... overgrown with moss. Filled with giant spiders, because *of course* it was. In the center of it was this huge triangular altar."
"You found a Kraviken ruin?" the mage's eyes lit up, and they leaned forwards. "Well, that's quite fascinating. Did you know that-"
"Ah! Ah!" the shieldmaiden held up a finger. "Let me finish. Now, in the center of the altar was a chest. Your run-of-the-mill treasure chest, of wood that somehow hasn't rotted itself away yet. I approached, and my Tunesight..." She tapped the area just below her right eye. "It tipped me off that the chest was enchanted. Cursed, actually, but I'm not sure what the difference is, considering there wasn't anything bad about the chest. Anyways, when I approached the altar, I noticed that the enchantment's binding words had been carved into the stone directly in front of the chest."
"Amateur srahka, the Kraviken were," the priestess spoke. Gods, she was foul-mouthed, wasn't she? Though, she was right for once.
"It was a very simple phrase. '*No man may unbind me, save for he who is king.'* Your typical divine-right-of-kings sort of affair. I felt pretty awkward about it, considering what I've been up to with the princess recently, but I'm getting as off-course as you all do."
"And?"
The shieldmaiden shrugged. "I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it! Just soak in the story a bit, will you? Now, as you might have noticed by my blessed presence in this backwater hellhole of a guild hall, I'm no king. Nor am I a man, not anymore anyways. But, when I approached the chest, *click!* Tunesight faded, as it wasn't useful anymore."
"And what did you find within?" the mage asked. They were probably hoping for some scroll, or perhaps a spell tome.
"Why do you think they call me the shieldmaiden?" She smiled broadly. "Now, this isn't the only sort of binding like this, surely. So, to wealth and... pedantry?"
"Only if I can research more during our travels."
"I shall join you, if only to spite the srahka incapable of using magic properly."
"Then let's get going. I hear that there's a pretty good target in an old ruin nearby. Some demon claiming that no man may kill him." | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all! | "Listen," the shieldmaiden spoke, her mouth half-filled with the same amorphous slop which all the others at the table had on the plates before them. "I don't know much about magic, or curses, or enchantments, or that sort of thing, but I do-"
"That much is obvious, srah," the priestess muttered, the frown on her face matching in foulness the tone of her voice.
The shieldmaiden squinted, attempting to come up with some clever excuse, but that was to no avail. *Srah?* How rude!
"Don't interrupt me, alright? I'm just saying..." The shieldmaiden paused, and she took a huge swig of the beer the guild provided. The food was poor, but this stuff was at least decent. "Curses and all that... they're very poorly worded. Always male-centric. 'No man may do this' or 'No man may do that' and all. I've always thought it was odd."
"A result of cultural emphasis on the supposed superiority of men," the mage spoke up, and the shieldmaiden knew she was in for a veritable monologue. "An idea whose foundations have long since faded - the appearances of the various magics can be thanked for that disappearance."
"You speak as if we aren't aware of that already," the priestess said, her frown deepening. At least she had cut the mage off before they got too deep into the explanation.
The mage smiled, and their eyes glistened with the light of humor. "Sometimes it is unclear with you priestly lot. You worship a god of pebbles; who am I to say that your brain is any larger than one?"
The shieldmaiden chuckled, but the priestess did not find it so funny.
"Listen here you witch-blooded little kansla!" she cried out. "He is a god of *stone*, not pebbles."
The mage shrugged, then returned to their meal.
"You all have gone far off the path," the shieldmaiden spoke. "Just listen for a second... please. For once."
Both the mage and the priestess threw their hands up and leaned backwards. Good, good.
"While I was out north, hunting a pack of goblins, I came upon an ancient ruin. Big green thing... overgrown with moss. Filled with giant spiders, because *of course* it was. In the center of it was this huge triangular altar."
"You found a Kraviken ruin?" the mage's eyes lit up, and they leaned forwards. "Well, that's quite fascinating. Did you know that-"
"Ah! Ah!" the shieldmaiden held up a finger. "Let me finish. Now, in the center of the altar was a chest. Your run-of-the-mill treasure chest, of wood that somehow hasn't rotted itself away yet. I approached, and my Tunesight..." She tapped the area just below her right eye. "It tipped me off that the chest was enchanted. Cursed, actually, but I'm not sure what the difference is, considering there wasn't anything bad about the chest. Anyways, when I approached the altar, I noticed that the enchantment's binding words had been carved into the stone directly in front of the chest."
"Amateur srahka, the Kraviken were," the priestess spoke. Gods, she was foul-mouthed, wasn't she? Though, she was right for once.
"It was a very simple phrase. '*No man may unbind me, save for he who is king.'* Your typical divine-right-of-kings sort of affair. I felt pretty awkward about it, considering what I've been up to with the princess recently, but I'm getting as off-course as you all do."
"And?"
The shieldmaiden shrugged. "I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it! Just soak in the story a bit, will you? Now, as you might have noticed by my blessed presence in this backwater hellhole of a guild hall, I'm no king. Nor am I a man, not anymore anyways. But, when I approached the chest, *click!* Tunesight faded, as it wasn't useful anymore."
"And what did you find within?" the mage asked. They were probably hoping for some scroll, or perhaps a spell tome.
"Why do you think they call me the shieldmaiden?" She smiled broadly. "Now, this isn't the only sort of binding like this, surely. So, to wealth and... pedantry?"
"Only if I can research more during our travels."
"I shall join you, if only to spite the srahka incapable of using magic properly."
"Then let's get going. I hear that there's a pretty good target in an old ruin nearby. Some demon claiming that no man may kill him." | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The man, with his crown and cloak, glowered down at the small adventurer. She was the only one of her party still standing, keeping herself between the corrupted lord and her friends. The group's best healer crouched near their best swordsperson, her fingers glittering with magic as she tried to heal a wound.
“You should have taken the chance to leave when I offered,” he said, his words coming easily, as if the fight had taken nothing from him. “ You can't win. You know you'll die here, like every other before you.”
“Really,” the young adventurer panted. She held her broken sword—the tip shorn clean off-- tightly. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Makbit.”
Makbit laughed. “You would not be sure? You mean you came here, to what, to slay me, knowing nothing? I have the crystal sword, I have the castle's forces, I have prophecy, and you have … gods and seers all, a knight with the paint still wet on their shield and a cleric still in school?”
“Two clerics actually,” she answered, getting her breath back and indicating the badge on her breast. “And a Raccoon, though I think she's in your woods.”This time it wasn't even a proper evil laugh, more of a snort.“Also you don't have the prophecy. I do.”
That stopped the giggling cold. “ Excuse me?”
“No Man shall defeat you,” the young cleric said, patiently. “Right?”
“Oh, and you think that because you're of the fairer sex, you'll have a loophole? Your little magling couldn't land a strike, and neither will you.” The crystal sword gleamed in his hand, charged with dark fire.
“Of course Annie couldn't. She's human.” The little gnome grinned, teeth sharp as her broken sword lit with fire of its own. “I'm Ann. You really should have gotten your prophecy in writing.”
Her sword bit deep, and his dropped to the ground. | Sharon traced her finger across the dusty stone tablet, squinting. The group of three adventurers was standing on the edge of explored territory on one of the farthest adventurer outposts, standing in front of a looming stone gate.
“Yeah, this is Bhalow, I can read this.”
Eina and Belle high-fived each other behind her.
“That means we can keep going, right?” Belle asked, unsheathing her great broadsword and looking forward at the misty land beyond the gate hungrily.
“We don’t want to get too far from the adventurer’s outpost this late in the day, Belle.” Sharon said, “But I guess it depends on what the tablet says.”
“Go on,” Eina said, “Read it then.”
Sharon turned back to the tablet and translated the ancient dialect aloud to the group.
“*A thousand stabbing daggers,*
*A thousand grabbing hands,*
*No man may ever claim the gift,*
*Of the Ancient Bhalow lands.*”
“Spooky,” Eina said, shivering slightly in her mage robes, “That’s a pretty nasty sounding Ancient Oath. Don’t you think that’s our cue to turn back?”
“Are you kidding me?” Belle said, “This is our last chance to finally get the Guild to acknowledge us as a real raiding group and provide us with a real contract. Thousand daggers or no, we have to get that treasure.”
“I think Eina’s right here,” Sharon said, “An Ancient Oath is magic we can’t mess with at our current level. However, look at this word right here.” She pointed to the tablet with her finger.
“We can’t read that, idiot. What does it say?” Belle said impatiently.
Sharon looked smug, “It says no *man* may ever claim the treasure. No *man*. We’re women. That means the Ancient Oath won’t affect us.”
“You’re right!” Belle elbowed Sharon in the gut, “You may be kinda weak, but you’re a genius!”
“Are you sure?” Eina said, peering nervously into the misty realm beyond, “What if you mistranslated it or something?”
Belle poked Eina on the nose, “Didn’t you hear me? Sharon is a genius! She’s found our one path to glory! We can become a true raiding party after today if we get that treasure! Think about it!”
“I guess it would be nice to get into the Elamorin School of Magic,” Eina muttered.
“That’s the spirit! We all have things that we want that’ve been denied from us.” Belle turned away and held her broadsword in the air, “Today we can finally show the world that we can fight too!”
Belle marched forward into the mist. Eina and Sharon looked at each other for a brief moment, then followed.
They marched forward in a while in silence, the mist swirling around them. Belle still strode forward confidently, but even she jumped at any sound along with the other two.
“See,” Belle said loudly, “Looks like I was right, guys. The Ancient Oath won’t work on us after all.”
“That’s right.” An ethereal voice answered her, “I’ve waited oh so long for someone to figure it out.”
The party drew their weapons as a form appeared in the mist.
“Hello, ladies,” A tall, robed demoness appeared in front of them, “I’m Trelya, the Keeper of the Mists.”
“Are you going to kill us?” Belle asked. The other two were too scared to speak. Trelya was at least an S-tier monster.
“No,” Trelya said, “You’re the first warrior women that have explored this land since the legendary Bhalow heroes of ages past.”
“Wait, the Bhalow heroes were *women!*” Sharon exclaimed, “We had always been taught they were men… ”
“No, I knew them personally. They bestowed upon me the duty of passing down their immortal powers to the next generation of women warriors.” Trelya looked at the three of them, “They probably did not expect it to take hundreds of years, but here you all are.”
“We’re going to become… like the heroes in the stories?” Eina said, “*Us?*”
“Not automatically,” Trelya said, “You’re just going to receive the right to stand at the starting line. Are you all willing to accept that right?”
The three of them exchanged looks.
“Yes, we’re ready.”
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/ly06aj/the_dungeon_maidens_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing. | The group was fantastically successful. They ended many a curse, saved many princesses and princes alike. Tales of their deeds spread far and wide as many countries and kingdoms praised their accomplishments.
Drunk off their many successes and heavy praise as saviors of the world, they embarked on their next quest in high spirits. To defeat an evil wizard who could see the future and prophesied he would rule the world since "No man would be capable of defeating him."
After defeating the many minions and golems of his tower. The finally confronted the wizard at the top floor .
"Foul wizard, we are here to end your megalomanical schemes!" the party leader shouted as they positioned themselves to attack.
"And who among you will be the one to defeat me?" The wizard asked, eyeing the group one by one.
"It will be all of us!" the healer announced, "for there are no men among us, therefore we fulfill the requirements of your prophesy!"
"What a clever idea!" The wizard exclaimed, "To send so many with the same name in the hopes one of you would be the right one!"
The party leader paused. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?
"I'm talking about the prophecy of course." The wizard stated "That Noman would be capable of defeating me" "I was curious as to who among you would be Noman, but since it turns out all of you are Noman, I guess I'll have to fight you all."
It was a hard fought battle, some good lives were lost in the hours long conflict, but they eventually emerged victorious. As they left the tower in sorrow, they decided that maybe they should be a little more specific on the name of their next recruit......just in case......
Edited to make a little more sense.
(Changed invalidate prophecy to fulfill prophecy, which makes more sense given later wizard backstory, yay retcons!)
Edit to the edit: Thanks for the awards and upvotes all! | Sharon traced her finger across the dusty stone tablet, squinting. The group of three adventurers was standing on the edge of explored territory on one of the farthest adventurer outposts, standing in front of a looming stone gate.
“Yeah, this is Bhalow, I can read this.”
Eina and Belle high-fived each other behind her.
“That means we can keep going, right?” Belle asked, unsheathing her great broadsword and looking forward at the misty land beyond the gate hungrily.
“We don’t want to get too far from the adventurer’s outpost this late in the day, Belle.” Sharon said, “But I guess it depends on what the tablet says.”
“Go on,” Eina said, “Read it then.”
Sharon turned back to the tablet and translated the ancient dialect aloud to the group.
“*A thousand stabbing daggers,*
*A thousand grabbing hands,*
*No man may ever claim the gift,*
*Of the Ancient Bhalow lands.*”
“Spooky,” Eina said, shivering slightly in her mage robes, “That’s a pretty nasty sounding Ancient Oath. Don’t you think that’s our cue to turn back?”
“Are you kidding me?” Belle said, “This is our last chance to finally get the Guild to acknowledge us as a real raiding group and provide us with a real contract. Thousand daggers or no, we have to get that treasure.”
“I think Eina’s right here,” Sharon said, “An Ancient Oath is magic we can’t mess with at our current level. However, look at this word right here.” She pointed to the tablet with her finger.
“We can’t read that, idiot. What does it say?” Belle said impatiently.
Sharon looked smug, “It says no *man* may ever claim the treasure. No *man*. We’re women. That means the Ancient Oath won’t affect us.”
“You’re right!” Belle elbowed Sharon in the gut, “You may be kinda weak, but you’re a genius!”
“Are you sure?” Eina said, peering nervously into the misty realm beyond, “What if you mistranslated it or something?”
Belle poked Eina on the nose, “Didn’t you hear me? Sharon is a genius! She’s found our one path to glory! We can become a true raiding party after today if we get that treasure! Think about it!”
“I guess it would be nice to get into the Elamorin School of Magic,” Eina muttered.
“That’s the spirit! We all have things that we want that’ve been denied from us.” Belle turned away and held her broadsword in the air, “Today we can finally show the world that we can fight too!”
Belle marched forward into the mist. Eina and Sharon looked at each other for a brief moment, then followed.
They marched forward in a while in silence, the mist swirling around them. Belle still strode forward confidently, but even she jumped at any sound along with the other two.
“See,” Belle said loudly, “Looks like I was right, guys. The Ancient Oath won’t work on us after all.”
“That’s right.” An ethereal voice answered her, “I’ve waited oh so long for someone to figure it out.”
The party drew their weapons as a form appeared in the mist.
“Hello, ladies,” A tall, robed demoness appeared in front of them, “I’m Trelya, the Keeper of the Mists.”
“Are you going to kill us?” Belle asked. The other two were too scared to speak. Trelya was at least an S-tier monster.
“No,” Trelya said, “You’re the first warrior women that have explored this land since the legendary Bhalow heroes of ages past.”
“Wait, the Bhalow heroes were *women!*” Sharon exclaimed, “We had always been taught they were men… ”
“No, I knew them personally. They bestowed upon me the duty of passing down their immortal powers to the next generation of women warriors.” Trelya looked at the three of them, “They probably did not expect it to take hundreds of years, but here you all are.”
“We’re going to become… like the heroes in the stories?” Eina said, “*Us?*”
“Not automatically,” Trelya said, “You’re just going to receive the right to stand at the starting line. Are you all willing to accept that right?”
The three of them exchanged looks.
“Yes, we’re ready.”
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/ly06aj/the_dungeon_maidens_part_2/)
Also, read my best prompt answers and more at r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading! | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | I died many years ago, so many now I’ve lost count. The angel and devil at my side have long since given up on pushing my decision one way or the other.
I died young, too young, a mother with a very small child. My son’s father died in an accident when he was just a baby, and then I died suddenly in his childhood.
When I first crossed into death all those years ago the angel and the devil appeared before me with a choice. I had lived a good life of love an kindness, I qualified to go to heaven, but I could make one wish, something selfish that would come true, but if I made the wish I would go to hell.
I froze in front of them then, at first it seemed easy go to heaven my husband must be there waiting for me and I longed to seen him again. I opened my mouth to say so but then I thought about our son left without his parents. I could make a wish for him. I could wish for him to have wealth or success, I could do something to make sure he would thrive even though I could not be there to support him. I turned my gaze back toward earth and watched him. I watched him grieve for me, I watched his grandma hug him and tell him he’d see me again some day. Watched him go through the process of moving in with may parents and starting a new school and a new life with them.
At first I thought I should go on to heaven, it would raise my chances of seeing my family again wouldn’t it? But I didn’t know, I couldn’t know. With my back to the pair who had greeted me in the after life I asked. “Is my husband in heaven or hell? Did he make a wish for us?”
“We cannot tell you that.” They said together.
“How will I know if I made the right decision? Will I know if my wish was a success?”
“We cannot tell you that either.”
I stood for what felt like eternity watching the days in my sons life go by. I could here the pair getting restless behind me. The angel never said anything, just fidgeted now and then, occasionally sighing. The devil began suggesting wishes, but as enticing as they sounded I couldn’t quite the worry in my heart that they would go all wrong.
The devil would say “You could wish that your son has food health all his life.”
I’d think a moment “But what if his body is healthy but he cannot find happiness? Or if he is healthy but his loved ones are not and he outlives them all? He’s already watched me die, already lost his father. My parents will love and care for him but they are old, they will also die and leave him eventually.”
After a while the devil would speak again. “You could wish for him to be wealthy, to always have enough money for the things he needs.”
I shook my head “Wealth has corrupted many people, what if he is wealthy but loses his humanity, what if he does not or cannot find love.”
Over and over he made suggestions, getting more detailed and specific as I countered every suggestion.
I stood still watching my son’s life. Around the time my son started high school the devil had given up, and he and the angel just sat or stood beside me. Sometimes moving but never leaving. He made one final plea to the angel, asking them to encourage me to make a decision.
“It’s her choice to make, I won’t influence her decision.” Was all they said, the devil tried to argue but the angel would just repeat those words and so he gave up on them as well.
I stood a constant vigil as my son experienced all of the moment I should have been there for. I watched my father teach him how to shave and how to drive. I watched my mother helping him get ready for his first date. Watched his first relationship end and my parents helping him through it. Watched him go to the prom, graduate high school, get his first job. He was a good boy. Kind, honest, hard working. He helped my parents around the house, helped their elderly friends, helped anyone in need if he could.
The years were flowing by slowly, like a river begging to melt in the spring. I had seen many other dead people coming and going as I watched the earth. I watched them make their decisions so much easier than I. Watched them go on to heaven hopeful they would be reunited with family. Watched them go to hell after making a wish.
I watched my son fall in love in college. Watched them get married after he graduated. Watched my family welcome his spouse into our family. I watched them support each other as they started their lives together. How had so much time passed? How had I gone from a happy young wife and mother, to a grieving widow, to a lost soul watching my son pick up where I left off? How could I decide to move on when there was so much for me to miss on earth?
“You cannot tell me where my husband chose to go?”
“We cannot.”
“You can’t tell me where my parents will go?”
“We cannot know what they will choose.”
“The same for my son?”
“We cannot know what he will choose.”
I watched my son and his spouse at my father’s side. A few more years had gone by and my father was dying. My son held his grandmother’s hand as the spoke softly together. They talked about me. They talked about life. They talked about regrets and satisfaction, the things they were glad they did and didn’t do. As he lay dying my father told my mother how much he loved her and that he’d miss her until they saw each other again in heaven. I watched him tell my son how proud he is of him and how he’d tell me how wonderful my baby boy had turned out. And then he was gone.
My father died and suddenly his soul was beside me. Our eyes met only briefly and he smirked at me.
“I guess you already know what I’m going to say.” He chuckled “He turned out good Darlin’. And he’s happy, and he loves you.”
I felt a lump well in my throat. Strange how you still feel a body that’s no longer there.
“Thank you.” I smiled through tears “I love him too. And I love you. Thank you for taking care of him.”
My father nodded and turned away as another angel and devil pair arrived to give him the same offer I was given.
I tuned back to my pair. “I’ve made my decision, but I don’t know if you’ll accept it.”
The angel who had been sitting and watching stood and the devil sprang to his feet beside her. “It’s about time.” He grumbled “Most people find an easy answer ya know!”
“Sorry.” I said sheepishly “You can’t tell me what my husband chose so I can’t know if I’ll see him again. You can’t promise me a wish for my son will be a success, or where he will go when he dies.”
“Correct.” The angel replied
I took a deep breath and stood up tall “Then I have a wish.” I said. This made the devil perk up. “I wish to stay here. I won’t move on to heaven, I’ll stay here as a ghost watching over my family. That way when my son dies I will see him here. Even if it brief I can tell him I love him, and I am proud of him, and that I never left his side. Can I do that?”
The angel smiled and the devil groaned. He shook his head at me defeated. “You took all that time just for your decision to be no decision?” He whined
“I guess so.” I replied “Can that be my wish? Even if it means I won’t go to hell?”
“Yeah yeah yeah.” The devil grumbled “This is technically purgatory which is considers hell so you can stay here forever, so boring.” He turned on his heals and strode away mumbling to himself as he went.
“An interesting choice.” The angel said “Though I suppose a promised moment with someone you love may be better than a possible eternity without them.” The angel left and I went back to watching. Always watching, and hoping my love could be felt. I stood an eternal vigil for my son, and his children, and his children’s children. | \[Poem\]
One wish between heaven and hell, a ghost travels through.
When people mention purgatory they forgot they’re living it,
forgetful of their grandma watching over you when fucking.
​
I don’t see any other ghosts, presences feel odd now, like wind,
a cold breeze means you’ve slipped past someone else,
a warm one is someone you once knew. I found these out
watching my friends die for decades and following their passing.
​
One wish, that’s all I need to decide on and it’ll all be over,
Heaven for free or hell on earth—immortality is nice, albeit transparent.
The life I lived meant nothing to me, nor does the present. I don’t know
how many others have chosen the life I live, as ghastly apparitions,
But the feeling to not be alone, when you mix with something else,
that lingering touch is enough to send shivers through nothingness.
​
I don’t see any reason to make a wish, to make a decision. I’ve lived
my life regretfully but fully in the undead, I’ve traveled continents
and watched mountains form under the pressure of time.
​
One wish, I wish that I had no wish. To stay here, amongst the living,
that’s enough for me. But to make such a wish, such a request to the gods,
would be the death of what I love. So, I hope their omnipresent minds can’t see
a ghost’s thoughts, living outside their jurisdiction of the living. | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | # The Final Choice
“It’s a shortcut, we’ll get home faster,” Greg said, begging his wife to follow him into the alley. “Fine.” Said Lauren. Greg heard footsteps, and a man holding a gun appeared in front of him.
“Hand over your valuables, and we all walk away,” said the stranger.
Greg leapt between the stranger and his wife to protect her. The sudden movement startled the stranger, and he fired. Greg felt the bullet enter his chest, his breath gone. He heard two more gunshots boom, their echoes screaming between the buildings. He never felt himself hit the ground.
Greg was floating above his body. His wife and the gunman were frozen in time. A voice filled his awareness, “Greg, you have one Final Choice to make on Earth. I will give you as much time as you need to decide. During that time, you will be a ghost. Your choices are; you may ask for one wish, but you will spend eternity in Hell. Or you may forgo your wish, and you get to spend eternity in Heaven. Time starts now.”
Lauren dropped down onto her husband’s body, tears welling in her eyes, as his ghost watched from above. “VALUABLES, NOW,” the stranger shouted at grieving woman. Greg felt the power of the wish within him and knew he could save his wife. “I wish my wife was safe,” he told the power.
Greg knew his wish was granted the moment he made it, but he was not around to see. He was in a large cave, dull brown with jagged walls fifty feet high. The ceiling matched the walls, uneven and sharp. The ground was flat and dusty. Ahead of him was a line of hundreds of people. He turned, and behind him stood dozens more. The cave stretched as far as Greg could see in both directions, forty feet across at least, although everyone stood in the center.
A demon with red skin, holding a clip board approached Greg.
“I am Dremonda. Hell is full right now. I know you humans are eager to enter, but we need time to devise torture for all of you.” Said the demon.
“I don’t think any of us are eager. I needed my wish to save my wife. I never wanted to come to Hell.” Greg replied.
“Humans always waste their wishes on the happiness or safety of others, the rest remain as ghosts, waiting for some great epiphany. The ultimate way to use their wish to help Earth or someone on it. The smart ones give up their wish or use it to send someone better than themselves to Heaven.” Said Demonda. “Enacting the Final Choice was the greatest trick my boss ever played on the Creator.” | \[Poem\]
One wish between heaven and hell, a ghost travels through.
When people mention purgatory they forgot they’re living it,
forgetful of their grandma watching over you when fucking.
​
I don’t see any other ghosts, presences feel odd now, like wind,
a cold breeze means you’ve slipped past someone else,
a warm one is someone you once knew. I found these out
watching my friends die for decades and following their passing.
​
One wish, that’s all I need to decide on and it’ll all be over,
Heaven for free or hell on earth—immortality is nice, albeit transparent.
The life I lived meant nothing to me, nor does the present. I don’t know
how many others have chosen the life I live, as ghastly apparitions,
But the feeling to not be alone, when you mix with something else,
that lingering touch is enough to send shivers through nothingness.
​
I don’t see any reason to make a wish, to make a decision. I’ve lived
my life regretfully but fully in the undead, I’ve traveled continents
and watched mountains form under the pressure of time.
​
One wish, I wish that I had no wish. To stay here, amongst the living,
that’s enough for me. But to make such a wish, such a request to the gods,
would be the death of what I love. So, I hope their omnipresent minds can’t see
a ghost’s thoughts, living outside their jurisdiction of the living. | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | Three stood in the back of a cinema, watching a movie with the seated audience. Well, one didn't stand, rather ... floated in mid air in a sitting position. The floating man was enjoying the movie way more than his two companions - one in a white robe, the other in a red suit. "Well?" said the person in red.
The floating man, surprised by the noise, looked at his companion in shock.
"You forgot about us, didn't you?" asked the one in white robes.
"No! Not at all... it's just that this is an important decision, which I won't be able to change after. I need time to think this through!"
"In a cinema?!" asked the demon.
"Come on! My favourite book was just adapted into a movie! And it looks like they didn't butcher it!"
"To tell the truth, it was quite enjoyable so far", the angel had to agree.
"Since when do you even have a favourite book?!" asked the demon with growing frustration.
"Shut up, my favourite part is coming! I wonder if they left it like in the book..."
*On the screen, Detective Black and Officer Matthews were examining a dead body.*
*"What is that red stuff... you see, near his hands?" pointed the officer.*
*"Seems the victim attempted to write the killer's name!"*
*"Look. I know that this guy was stabbed multiple times and wrote this with his own blood during his last moments, but I just have to say this... That guy has the worst handwriting ever"*
The audience roared with laugher, the floating man the loudest and for the longest, but nobody seemed disturbed.
*"Who is the victim, anyway?"* *asked Matthews.*
*"Let's see", muttered Detective Black as he opened the victim's wallet, "... Dr. Sylvester Asher"*
*"Oh, a doctor. Makes perfect sense."*
The floating man roared with laugher yet again.
"Anyway, what did you want?" he turned to the demon.
"Since when do you even have a favourite book?"
"I have been reading over people's shoulders since I died. I mean, you should know, you were both there!"
The demon sighed. The angel, patient as ever, just smiled and continued watching the movie with the ghost. It was actually quite good, they had to agree.
"You're never going to choose, are you?"
"What? Of course I will. I just have to think about it. Currently, there's this thing I've been wondering about this whole ordeal..."
"Yes? Ask away!"
"If you have any questions, we are here for you..."
"What would happen if I made a wish, and I wished that I would go to heaven and stay there forever instead of going to hell?"
Both demon and angel went silent.
"Good question" said the demon, wanting to say more, but lacking words.
"We never thought about that. I wonder if there is a protocol or something to follow in that case." added the angel.
"Maybe, we could send him to purgatory or something."
"We should really think about this."
"Yeah."
"This will shut them up for some time", thought Ogg, as he continued watching the movie. He wondered if the rest of the book series was going to get adapted as well. | \[Poem\]
One wish between heaven and hell, a ghost travels through.
When people mention purgatory they forgot they’re living it,
forgetful of their grandma watching over you when fucking.
​
I don’t see any other ghosts, presences feel odd now, like wind,
a cold breeze means you’ve slipped past someone else,
a warm one is someone you once knew. I found these out
watching my friends die for decades and following their passing.
​
One wish, that’s all I need to decide on and it’ll all be over,
Heaven for free or hell on earth—immortality is nice, albeit transparent.
The life I lived meant nothing to me, nor does the present. I don’t know
how many others have chosen the life I live, as ghastly apparitions,
But the feeling to not be alone, when you mix with something else,
that lingering touch is enough to send shivers through nothingness.
​
I don’t see any reason to make a wish, to make a decision. I’ve lived
my life regretfully but fully in the undead, I’ve traveled continents
and watched mountains form under the pressure of time.
​
One wish, I wish that I had no wish. To stay here, amongst the living,
that’s enough for me. But to make such a wish, such a request to the gods,
would be the death of what I love. So, I hope their omnipresent minds can’t see
a ghost’s thoughts, living outside their jurisdiction of the living. | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | "I need to see her before I decide."
I couldn't give these strange winged beings a straight answer for the choices they had laid before me, nor did I care about my new incorporeal form. All I could think of was my Samantha who had been next to me during the crash.
It was just a regular day, a normal day that took a turn for the worse. All it took was one text on my phone "I'll just look down for a second" I thought. One second was all it took to run that light. I suppose it didn't matter how it happened, who had texted me or even where we were going. There was no turning back now, but I had to know what became of her.
Thankfully there were some advantages to being able to float through anything I pleased instantly. My two new comrades in death wordlessly trailed behind me, observing my actions as I discovered how to navigate the world in my new form. Apparently some time had passed after my demise as I was drawn to Sam's bedside in the hospital rather than the smoldering wreck that was our car.
Even asleep her entrancing face warmed my now cold heart. "At least she made it" I thought, a melancholic smile spreading across my face for the first time since my death. I cursed my new existence as I reached for her hand only to watch my own phase through hers and the bed itself, doomed to the position of an observer to the living.
Time works differently for the dead I learned, as I watched the sun, moon, and clouds fly by through the window at speeds that made them appear as if a blurry photo. The days turned to weeks as I watched her sleep, the doctors and nurses slowly checking on her less and less. Even her once close family only visited on the odd occasion...
and it was all my fault.
She had a wonderful life ahead of her, she was going to be a doctor and save people. I worked three jobs just to make rent and help her stay school. I knew she hated to see me work my hands to the bone just for her. Every hard day I always would picture her beautiful face and inspiring smile and I knew I'd gladly pay any price to keep her happy. Sam had always dreamed about how she was going to help people, children and the world, I on the other hand always felt lucky just to be around her. Even luckier that she saw something in me enough to go on that first date, I was so proud of her and what she had accomplished...and now all of that was gone. Thanks to my own carelessness I had taken her entire future from her and now she even had to wait on the afterlife. She deserved better than being left to this fate.
I knew my answer to the choice I was given.
My two winged companions never faltering in their duty to await my decision eyed me. One with a saddened yet knowing look and the other a devilish grin.
Seeing her family's faces as they watched her wake from that deep sleep...knowing that she'd be able to live and follow her dreams, that was worth any price I had to pay a thousand times over. The last vision I see before the demons drag me to their fiery realm is her beautiful visage, aged and wise paying respects to a moss covered grave with tears in her eyes.
"I love you" my voice carries through my increasingly hot surroundings, through time and a world away, yet I see it, slowly the corners of her mouth turn up and I get to see it. Even as the flames envelop me and my hearing is drowned out by the screams, all I can picture is that wonderful loving smile. | \[Poem\]
One wish between heaven and hell, a ghost travels through.
When people mention purgatory they forgot they’re living it,
forgetful of their grandma watching over you when fucking.
​
I don’t see any other ghosts, presences feel odd now, like wind,
a cold breeze means you’ve slipped past someone else,
a warm one is someone you once knew. I found these out
watching my friends die for decades and following their passing.
​
One wish, that’s all I need to decide on and it’ll all be over,
Heaven for free or hell on earth—immortality is nice, albeit transparent.
The life I lived meant nothing to me, nor does the present. I don’t know
how many others have chosen the life I live, as ghastly apparitions,
But the feeling to not be alone, when you mix with something else,
that lingering touch is enough to send shivers through nothingness.
​
I don’t see any reason to make a wish, to make a decision. I’ve lived
my life regretfully but fully in the undead, I’ve traveled continents
and watched mountains form under the pressure of time.
​
One wish, I wish that I had no wish. To stay here, amongst the living,
that’s enough for me. But to make such a wish, such a request to the gods,
would be the death of what I love. So, I hope their omnipresent minds can’t see
a ghost’s thoughts, living outside their jurisdiction of the living. | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | ~A completely non-original story~
I sat beside my great, great, great, great grandson on a sofa, pumping my fist as the big breasted animated characters bobbed across the screen. I had heard the boy refer to the show as... anime or something, but I honestly didn’t exactly care, I just was enjoying the TV. I’d sit in front of it all day, or at least until they turned it off. But when they did that, I’d just drift to another house.
“Heeey, wouldn’t it be like, great if you wished to experience a life like that,” a tall woman with big breast sat beside me, looking remarkably close to the women on screen. “Reborn into another world, get magic fancy powers and good babes, ya could totally wish for that.”
“And go to hell when I die?” I retorted, “shush, I’m trying to listen.”
“They’re speaking Japanese what’s there to—“
“I said shut up.”
The woman fell silent, sending a look to the tall man in white leaning against the door frame with a rather forsaken expression. Dark bags hung under his abnormally translucent eyes. I appreciated his unworldly beauty though.
Unlike the demon who likes to startle me by reappearing as whatever person would shake me the most, the angel’s form remained constant. The only thing that changed was the dying enthusiasm.
When I first died back, a horrible and somewhat embarrassing accident that I really, really would rather not talk about, the Angel had been super peppy. He told me heaven was ready to welcome me home, the loving admiration in his eyes literally glowing. It’s amazing what a few hundred years does to a person.
See, upon death, I was also greeted by a devil. They appeared to me as an old crush, the blacksmith’s daughter who ended up marrying a far richer man than me, swinging their arm around my shoulder and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Just sell my soul to hell and I could have any wish I wanted granted. The implications were vast and huge. The only thing I couldn’t wish for was to bring someone else back to life. Apparently death was permanent even in death. Well, of course I could wish for a month or so of extra life. That one was tempting. Apparently most people take it. But then I realized that I would’ve just spent that month wasting away longer in the fields. Any traveling would’ve taken far too long too, and I didn’t exactly want my wife’s last memories of me being a man who slept around with other women and indulged in luxuries we technically couldn’t afford just because I was trying to scrounge up a few days worth of heaven on earth. By that mentality, I would be better off going to heaven. I almost did. Almost.
But then the Angel and Devil smiled at me and said this, “take your time in deciding. There’s no rush.”
“No rush?” I had said in return.
“Yep, you can think on it as long as you want. Hang around and watch the family for a little while until you feel secure enough to leave and wait for them in heaven,” The Angel said. His voice echoed as smooth as silk.
“Or get salty at them for living like you never existed and smite their asses’s house to wait for them in hell!” The demon laughed.
“Cool,” I said. My legs carried me around in a ghostly float as I phased through buildings and walls. I found that contrary to typical ghost beliefs, I could go anywhere.
Oh, so I did.
I floated across the ocean, floated up mountains, and even dragged my little after life crew into the depths of the jungle. The Angel followed me around, praising the creation of life while the demon tried to tempt me into claiming it for my own or remake it.
After a while, wandering around became ... boring, so I decided to stalk my blood line. My children went on to have many other children, but what became even more interesting was the evolution of the rest of the world. I found myself amazed as people learned to fly in fancy machines and carriages started rolling on their own.
One day I stuck my head inside of those self driving carriages, and That’s when I had a wonderful realization. I had the rest of eternity. I could continue to watch these amazing evolutions.
The Angel tried to reassure me that I could do so from heaven but the devil reminded me that I would also be, well, in heaven, far away, and tried to have me wish for the ability to personally experience technological wonders in the flesh for a day.
Oh, but no, all the demon did was further confirm my desire. Especially when the TV came out, I found myself glued to the screen, watching show after show. If I didn’t like one, I’d go find another tv or another. All while my little demon and Angel friend followed me around.
By now, late into the year, 2021, the Angel had lost all interest in trying to convince me one way or another. He had more or less fallen mute. Even the devil lacked energy even though they continued in their temptation, offering more and more outlandish things. Like now, as it tried to offer me a life in an alternate reality.
“Are you quite.. suuure? I mean come on dude, hell isn’t all that bad.”
“Nah, I like it here. If I leave, I won’t get to see the new movies coming out.”
“But theaters are basically dead, ya know pandemic and all that. I could bring them back—“
“Someone will be watching it on their TV, I’ll find it.” I smiled and waved my hand at the demon. “Now seriously, shush. Can’t you guys just leave me alone?”
“No.” The angel’s voice cracked from his lips. I looked up in surprise. He hadn’t spoken in forever. “No, no, no, gosh usually you foolish people pick someone by now, but we *have* to stay with you until you choose. No one has gone as long as you!! Most people get bored! I’ve heard the horror stories of being trapped on earth for around 200 hundred years, but this is ridiculous! For the love of all things holy. Pick something please!” At this point he was on his knees. “I just wanna go home. I haven’t seen my wife in so long.”
“You have a wife?” The demon and I nearly said in unison. The Angel, now crying, glared at us.
“Yes! And I could’ve had a kid by now if you hadn’t trapped me down here for so long!!”
“Bet she left you,” the demon laughed.
“Angels do not act on such feeble emotions, but oh how I Hope she did. I would rather that then the ever lasting loneliness that has been damned upon her! Why are humans like this?! You could live a life of bliss without pain and just relax, perhaps even be reborn as an Angel but for some forsaken reason you’re staying here! On this awful planet full of war, death, and disease! I want to go home! Just pick something.”
(Read replies for the continued story) | \[Poem\]
One wish between heaven and hell, a ghost travels through.
When people mention purgatory they forgot they’re living it,
forgetful of their grandma watching over you when fucking.
​
I don’t see any other ghosts, presences feel odd now, like wind,
a cold breeze means you’ve slipped past someone else,
a warm one is someone you once knew. I found these out
watching my friends die for decades and following their passing.
​
One wish, that’s all I need to decide on and it’ll all be over,
Heaven for free or hell on earth—immortality is nice, albeit transparent.
The life I lived meant nothing to me, nor does the present. I don’t know
how many others have chosen the life I live, as ghastly apparitions,
But the feeling to not be alone, when you mix with something else,
that lingering touch is enough to send shivers through nothingness.
​
I don’t see any reason to make a wish, to make a decision. I’ve lived
my life regretfully but fully in the undead, I’ve traveled continents
and watched mountains form under the pressure of time.
​
One wish, I wish that I had no wish. To stay here, amongst the living,
that’s enough for me. But to make such a wish, such a request to the gods,
would be the death of what I love. So, I hope their omnipresent minds can’t see
a ghost’s thoughts, living outside their jurisdiction of the living. | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | When the veil of death falls upon a human soul, they are given choices. One, dread and ancient, a humanoid silhouette standing with thousands of eyes upon pearl-white wings and a wheel made from pearls fused together. The wheel is also on fire. Next to them stands a handsome or perhaps beautiful individual with some slight goathorns, hooves and a red tail. They are always wearing whatever the dead human soul would have considered stylish and expensive in life.
The ancient thing speaks in a deep monotone voice, offering passage towards paradise. Forgiveness from all sins, and life eternal in peaceful bliss. The other one, the debonair individual, offers them a bargain, a single wish, and they go to hell. You have an infinite time to pick. But while picking, you roam the Earth as a spectre, a distant echo of what you were, a soul without a receptacle, a hollow voice in the dark, distant and insubstantial.
Most people take the angel's offer, though due to the natural charm of the devil, and the fact that the demon cares enough to dress up smart and act personable, a great number of people also pick them. Of course, most people wish to come back to life when they pick the demon, thinking they've outsmarted Hell. Well, they haven't. You just go straight to Hell the second time you die.
A few are so indecisive that they remain in the ghostly void, to the great consternation of the demon. The angel doesn't particularly care one way or the other. It has a task, and it will wait patiently until it can bring a soul back or the soul is taken by the demon. But most pick pretty quickly. Interestingly, the demon and the angel will not divulge what will happen, if one should go with either. The angel does not tell you what awaits in Heaven, nor does the demon gloat about what tortures you will endure in Hell. And they won't even begin to speak of their counterpart's option at all, if you ask them.
Most who do not pick are little more than tortured wild souls, who fear going ahead, fear what comes in Heaven as much as they fear Hell. You feel nothing while a ghost, all sound is muted, all colours are grey, all is dull and sterile. Only the angel and the demon feels real. You can smell the brimstone, you can feel the heat of the angel's burning wheel.
They will both insist that they are the only spiritually real things that exist. And that you must eventually pick. But if one notices things, one can see that strangely, the stars are still the same. The rest of the world feels insubstantial, unreal, except the angel, the demon, and the stars. So when I left my body, broken and battered as it was by harsh years and harsher illness, I decided that I wanted to see the stars before I picked. Because they seemed so much more real than all other things.
And as my spiritual shape flew up through the atmosphere of Earth, I began to see things, something which the grey air and dull unreal world of the surface had hidden. Two swollen and disgusting things. One covered in Nazca-line sized religious imagery, and one covered in demonic regalia. One was ivory-white, one was like lava. But both things, both vile things had terrible open mouths, and from above I could see that inside one was Hell, in the other, Heaven. And like an anglerfish tricks its prey with a lure, the angels and demons leading souls into the mouths were attached with strange fleshy tendrils to the spiritual worms. And though Heaven and Hell were what I saw, I recognised it from afar, away from the unreal fog covering the astral plane, as an illusion.
The angels and the demons did not lead to paradise or to perdition. But merely to serve the souls of mankind as food to monstrous things. Things born of hatred, zealotry, sadism, and evil. Things which promise difference, but are as one. And gone from the confusing state of being a soul caught in their weakening mists, I felt what it was like to be a true human spirit. Raw power, the power of humanity which because of the foul worm-twins feasting on us before we could truly access it, had grown to unspeakable levels. Whether a true heaven or true hell awaited, these impostors, these parasites, would die by my hand. By the hand of humanity. To show true death to them, I called on the dreams of men, the dreams of death. Using our power, the power that mankind was meant to have in death, the power to make our own forever, our own paradises or hells as we so desired and deserved, I reached into the collective dreamscape of humanity. And from it I pulled a black hooded robe. From it I pulled a scythe. And from it, I pulled memories of what we fear in our deaths.
For mankind has always thought of death, and given it a personality, a nature. Made death from a mere cessation of physical life, into an entity that we fear and respect. Thanatos, Astwihad the breaker of bones, Mictlantecutli, Níðhǫggr, Hel, Yama, and countless others. And warding my spiritual form with the midnight-cloak of death, armed with the tool meant to harvest all mankind in one fell swing, I marched through the confines of space towards the worm-gods. I grew myself in size, grew until my spirit could fit the Moon into the palm of my hand.
The wormgods, screeching and whining, took rest from their relentless consumption of human souls, to gaze upon me. ''*And what, are you supposed to be? This is our spot, our feast.*'' Their voices were like the screeching of pestilent little creatures, vermin, but without the redeeming qualities usually found in rats and cockroaches.
**DEATH.**
I did not give those parasite creatures time to answer. I did not let them prepare to fight. I swung the great scythe, born from the collective dread of billions of humans, who had feared the same death for thousands upon thousands of years. They had grown fat and lazy, feasting for countless aeons. Humanity had had a lot of time to dream of death. Enough to kill even parasite wormgods.
Once there was a choice. Heaven with an angel, a wish followed by an eternity in Hell. Both were lies. Now mankind must find their own paradise. But now, I lessen my size, I sit down my spirit upon the Moon, and watch with scythe in hand, as mankind, in death, are able to choose freely and without deceit for the first time. And should there be other parasites out there, other things that scuttle, lie, cheat, and feast upon souls. I still hold the scythe. And if my eternity will be spent protecting the souls of mankind, then so be it.
[/r/Apocalypse](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | \[Poem\]
One wish between heaven and hell, a ghost travels through.
When people mention purgatory they forgot they’re living it,
forgetful of their grandma watching over you when fucking.
​
I don’t see any other ghosts, presences feel odd now, like wind,
a cold breeze means you’ve slipped past someone else,
a warm one is someone you once knew. I found these out
watching my friends die for decades and following their passing.
​
One wish, that’s all I need to decide on and it’ll all be over,
Heaven for free or hell on earth—immortality is nice, albeit transparent.
The life I lived meant nothing to me, nor does the present. I don’t know
how many others have chosen the life I live, as ghastly apparitions,
But the feeling to not be alone, when you mix with something else,
that lingering touch is enough to send shivers through nothingness.
​
I don’t see any reason to make a wish, to make a decision. I’ve lived
my life regretfully but fully in the undead, I’ve traveled continents
and watched mountains form under the pressure of time.
​
One wish, I wish that I had no wish. To stay here, amongst the living,
that’s enough for me. But to make such a wish, such a request to the gods,
would be the death of what I love. So, I hope their omnipresent minds can’t see
a ghost’s thoughts, living outside their jurisdiction of the living. | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | Three stood in the back of a cinema, watching a movie with the seated audience. Well, one didn't stand, rather ... floated in mid air in a sitting position. The floating man was enjoying the movie way more than his two companions - one in a white robe, the other in a red suit. "Well?" said the person in red.
The floating man, surprised by the noise, looked at his companion in shock.
"You forgot about us, didn't you?" asked the one in white robes.
"No! Not at all... it's just that this is an important decision, which I won't be able to change after. I need time to think this through!"
"In a cinema?!" asked the demon.
"Come on! My favourite book was just adapted into a movie! And it looks like they didn't butcher it!"
"To tell the truth, it was quite enjoyable so far", the angel had to agree.
"Since when do you even have a favourite book?!" asked the demon with growing frustration.
"Shut up, my favourite part is coming! I wonder if they left it like in the book..."
*On the screen, Detective Black and Officer Matthews were examining a dead body.*
*"What is that red stuff... you see, near his hands?" pointed the officer.*
*"Seems the victim attempted to write the killer's name!"*
*"Look. I know that this guy was stabbed multiple times and wrote this with his own blood during his last moments, but I just have to say this... That guy has the worst handwriting ever"*
The audience roared with laugher, the floating man the loudest and for the longest, but nobody seemed disturbed.
*"Who is the victim, anyway?"* *asked Matthews.*
*"Let's see", muttered Detective Black as he opened the victim's wallet, "... Dr. Sylvester Asher"*
*"Oh, a doctor. Makes perfect sense."*
The floating man roared with laugher yet again.
"Anyway, what did you want?" he turned to the demon.
"Since when do you even have a favourite book?"
"I have been reading over people's shoulders since I died. I mean, you should know, you were both there!"
The demon sighed. The angel, patient as ever, just smiled and continued watching the movie with the ghost. It was actually quite good, they had to agree.
"You're never going to choose, are you?"
"What? Of course I will. I just have to think about it. Currently, there's this thing I've been wondering about this whole ordeal..."
"Yes? Ask away!"
"If you have any questions, we are here for you..."
"What would happen if I made a wish, and I wished that I would go to heaven and stay there forever instead of going to hell?"
Both demon and angel went silent.
"Good question" said the demon, wanting to say more, but lacking words.
"We never thought about that. I wonder if there is a protocol or something to follow in that case." added the angel.
"Maybe, we could send him to purgatory or something."
"We should really think about this."
"Yeah."
"This will shut them up for some time", thought Ogg, as he continued watching the movie. He wondered if the rest of the book series was going to get adapted as well. | # The Final Choice
“It’s a shortcut, we’ll get home faster,” Greg said, begging his wife to follow him into the alley. “Fine.” Said Lauren. Greg heard footsteps, and a man holding a gun appeared in front of him.
“Hand over your valuables, and we all walk away,” said the stranger.
Greg leapt between the stranger and his wife to protect her. The sudden movement startled the stranger, and he fired. Greg felt the bullet enter his chest, his breath gone. He heard two more gunshots boom, their echoes screaming between the buildings. He never felt himself hit the ground.
Greg was floating above his body. His wife and the gunman were frozen in time. A voice filled his awareness, “Greg, you have one Final Choice to make on Earth. I will give you as much time as you need to decide. During that time, you will be a ghost. Your choices are; you may ask for one wish, but you will spend eternity in Hell. Or you may forgo your wish, and you get to spend eternity in Heaven. Time starts now.”
Lauren dropped down onto her husband’s body, tears welling in her eyes, as his ghost watched from above. “VALUABLES, NOW,” the stranger shouted at grieving woman. Greg felt the power of the wish within him and knew he could save his wife. “I wish my wife was safe,” he told the power.
Greg knew his wish was granted the moment he made it, but he was not around to see. He was in a large cave, dull brown with jagged walls fifty feet high. The ceiling matched the walls, uneven and sharp. The ground was flat and dusty. Ahead of him was a line of hundreds of people. He turned, and behind him stood dozens more. The cave stretched as far as Greg could see in both directions, forty feet across at least, although everyone stood in the center.
A demon with red skin, holding a clip board approached Greg.
“I am Dremonda. Hell is full right now. I know you humans are eager to enter, but we need time to devise torture for all of you.” Said the demon.
“I don’t think any of us are eager. I needed my wish to save my wife. I never wanted to come to Hell.” Greg replied.
“Humans always waste their wishes on the happiness or safety of others, the rest remain as ghosts, waiting for some great epiphany. The ultimate way to use their wish to help Earth or someone on it. The smart ones give up their wish or use it to send someone better than themselves to Heaven.” Said Demonda. “Enacting the Final Choice was the greatest trick my boss ever played on the Creator.” | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | "I need to see her before I decide."
I couldn't give these strange winged beings a straight answer for the choices they had laid before me, nor did I care about my new incorporeal form. All I could think of was my Samantha who had been next to me during the crash.
It was just a regular day, a normal day that took a turn for the worse. All it took was one text on my phone "I'll just look down for a second" I thought. One second was all it took to run that light. I suppose it didn't matter how it happened, who had texted me or even where we were going. There was no turning back now, but I had to know what became of her.
Thankfully there were some advantages to being able to float through anything I pleased instantly. My two new comrades in death wordlessly trailed behind me, observing my actions as I discovered how to navigate the world in my new form. Apparently some time had passed after my demise as I was drawn to Sam's bedside in the hospital rather than the smoldering wreck that was our car.
Even asleep her entrancing face warmed my now cold heart. "At least she made it" I thought, a melancholic smile spreading across my face for the first time since my death. I cursed my new existence as I reached for her hand only to watch my own phase through hers and the bed itself, doomed to the position of an observer to the living.
Time works differently for the dead I learned, as I watched the sun, moon, and clouds fly by through the window at speeds that made them appear as if a blurry photo. The days turned to weeks as I watched her sleep, the doctors and nurses slowly checking on her less and less. Even her once close family only visited on the odd occasion...
and it was all my fault.
She had a wonderful life ahead of her, she was going to be a doctor and save people. I worked three jobs just to make rent and help her stay school. I knew she hated to see me work my hands to the bone just for her. Every hard day I always would picture her beautiful face and inspiring smile and I knew I'd gladly pay any price to keep her happy. Sam had always dreamed about how she was going to help people, children and the world, I on the other hand always felt lucky just to be around her. Even luckier that she saw something in me enough to go on that first date, I was so proud of her and what she had accomplished...and now all of that was gone. Thanks to my own carelessness I had taken her entire future from her and now she even had to wait on the afterlife. She deserved better than being left to this fate.
I knew my answer to the choice I was given.
My two winged companions never faltering in their duty to await my decision eyed me. One with a saddened yet knowing look and the other a devilish grin.
Seeing her family's faces as they watched her wake from that deep sleep...knowing that she'd be able to live and follow her dreams, that was worth any price I had to pay a thousand times over. The last vision I see before the demons drag me to their fiery realm is her beautiful visage, aged and wise paying respects to a moss covered grave with tears in her eyes.
"I love you" my voice carries through my increasingly hot surroundings, through time and a world away, yet I see it, slowly the corners of her mouth turn up and I get to see it. Even as the flames envelop me and my hearing is drowned out by the screams, all I can picture is that wonderful loving smile. | # The Final Choice
“It’s a shortcut, we’ll get home faster,” Greg said, begging his wife to follow him into the alley. “Fine.” Said Lauren. Greg heard footsteps, and a man holding a gun appeared in front of him.
“Hand over your valuables, and we all walk away,” said the stranger.
Greg leapt between the stranger and his wife to protect her. The sudden movement startled the stranger, and he fired. Greg felt the bullet enter his chest, his breath gone. He heard two more gunshots boom, their echoes screaming between the buildings. He never felt himself hit the ground.
Greg was floating above his body. His wife and the gunman were frozen in time. A voice filled his awareness, “Greg, you have one Final Choice to make on Earth. I will give you as much time as you need to decide. During that time, you will be a ghost. Your choices are; you may ask for one wish, but you will spend eternity in Hell. Or you may forgo your wish, and you get to spend eternity in Heaven. Time starts now.”
Lauren dropped down onto her husband’s body, tears welling in her eyes, as his ghost watched from above. “VALUABLES, NOW,” the stranger shouted at grieving woman. Greg felt the power of the wish within him and knew he could save his wife. “I wish my wife was safe,” he told the power.
Greg knew his wish was granted the moment he made it, but he was not around to see. He was in a large cave, dull brown with jagged walls fifty feet high. The ceiling matched the walls, uneven and sharp. The ground was flat and dusty. Ahead of him was a line of hundreds of people. He turned, and behind him stood dozens more. The cave stretched as far as Greg could see in both directions, forty feet across at least, although everyone stood in the center.
A demon with red skin, holding a clip board approached Greg.
“I am Dremonda. Hell is full right now. I know you humans are eager to enter, but we need time to devise torture for all of you.” Said the demon.
“I don’t think any of us are eager. I needed my wish to save my wife. I never wanted to come to Hell.” Greg replied.
“Humans always waste their wishes on the happiness or safety of others, the rest remain as ghosts, waiting for some great epiphany. The ultimate way to use their wish to help Earth or someone on it. The smart ones give up their wish or use it to send someone better than themselves to Heaven.” Said Demonda. “Enacting the Final Choice was the greatest trick my boss ever played on the Creator.” | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | ~A completely non-original story~
I sat beside my great, great, great, great grandson on a sofa, pumping my fist as the big breasted animated characters bobbed across the screen. I had heard the boy refer to the show as... anime or something, but I honestly didn’t exactly care, I just was enjoying the TV. I’d sit in front of it all day, or at least until they turned it off. But when they did that, I’d just drift to another house.
“Heeey, wouldn’t it be like, great if you wished to experience a life like that,” a tall woman with big breast sat beside me, looking remarkably close to the women on screen. “Reborn into another world, get magic fancy powers and good babes, ya could totally wish for that.”
“And go to hell when I die?” I retorted, “shush, I’m trying to listen.”
“They’re speaking Japanese what’s there to—“
“I said shut up.”
The woman fell silent, sending a look to the tall man in white leaning against the door frame with a rather forsaken expression. Dark bags hung under his abnormally translucent eyes. I appreciated his unworldly beauty though.
Unlike the demon who likes to startle me by reappearing as whatever person would shake me the most, the angel’s form remained constant. The only thing that changed was the dying enthusiasm.
When I first died back, a horrible and somewhat embarrassing accident that I really, really would rather not talk about, the Angel had been super peppy. He told me heaven was ready to welcome me home, the loving admiration in his eyes literally glowing. It’s amazing what a few hundred years does to a person.
See, upon death, I was also greeted by a devil. They appeared to me as an old crush, the blacksmith’s daughter who ended up marrying a far richer man than me, swinging their arm around my shoulder and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Just sell my soul to hell and I could have any wish I wanted granted. The implications were vast and huge. The only thing I couldn’t wish for was to bring someone else back to life. Apparently death was permanent even in death. Well, of course I could wish for a month or so of extra life. That one was tempting. Apparently most people take it. But then I realized that I would’ve just spent that month wasting away longer in the fields. Any traveling would’ve taken far too long too, and I didn’t exactly want my wife’s last memories of me being a man who slept around with other women and indulged in luxuries we technically couldn’t afford just because I was trying to scrounge up a few days worth of heaven on earth. By that mentality, I would be better off going to heaven. I almost did. Almost.
But then the Angel and Devil smiled at me and said this, “take your time in deciding. There’s no rush.”
“No rush?” I had said in return.
“Yep, you can think on it as long as you want. Hang around and watch the family for a little while until you feel secure enough to leave and wait for them in heaven,” The Angel said. His voice echoed as smooth as silk.
“Or get salty at them for living like you never existed and smite their asses’s house to wait for them in hell!” The demon laughed.
“Cool,” I said. My legs carried me around in a ghostly float as I phased through buildings and walls. I found that contrary to typical ghost beliefs, I could go anywhere.
Oh, so I did.
I floated across the ocean, floated up mountains, and even dragged my little after life crew into the depths of the jungle. The Angel followed me around, praising the creation of life while the demon tried to tempt me into claiming it for my own or remake it.
After a while, wandering around became ... boring, so I decided to stalk my blood line. My children went on to have many other children, but what became even more interesting was the evolution of the rest of the world. I found myself amazed as people learned to fly in fancy machines and carriages started rolling on their own.
One day I stuck my head inside of those self driving carriages, and That’s when I had a wonderful realization. I had the rest of eternity. I could continue to watch these amazing evolutions.
The Angel tried to reassure me that I could do so from heaven but the devil reminded me that I would also be, well, in heaven, far away, and tried to have me wish for the ability to personally experience technological wonders in the flesh for a day.
Oh, but no, all the demon did was further confirm my desire. Especially when the TV came out, I found myself glued to the screen, watching show after show. If I didn’t like one, I’d go find another tv or another. All while my little demon and Angel friend followed me around.
By now, late into the year, 2021, the Angel had lost all interest in trying to convince me one way or another. He had more or less fallen mute. Even the devil lacked energy even though they continued in their temptation, offering more and more outlandish things. Like now, as it tried to offer me a life in an alternate reality.
“Are you quite.. suuure? I mean come on dude, hell isn’t all that bad.”
“Nah, I like it here. If I leave, I won’t get to see the new movies coming out.”
“But theaters are basically dead, ya know pandemic and all that. I could bring them back—“
“Someone will be watching it on their TV, I’ll find it.” I smiled and waved my hand at the demon. “Now seriously, shush. Can’t you guys just leave me alone?”
“No.” The angel’s voice cracked from his lips. I looked up in surprise. He hadn’t spoken in forever. “No, no, no, gosh usually you foolish people pick someone by now, but we *have* to stay with you until you choose. No one has gone as long as you!! Most people get bored! I’ve heard the horror stories of being trapped on earth for around 200 hundred years, but this is ridiculous! For the love of all things holy. Pick something please!” At this point he was on his knees. “I just wanna go home. I haven’t seen my wife in so long.”
“You have a wife?” The demon and I nearly said in unison. The Angel, now crying, glared at us.
“Yes! And I could’ve had a kid by now if you hadn’t trapped me down here for so long!!”
“Bet she left you,” the demon laughed.
“Angels do not act on such feeble emotions, but oh how I Hope she did. I would rather that then the ever lasting loneliness that has been damned upon her! Why are humans like this?! You could live a life of bliss without pain and just relax, perhaps even be reborn as an Angel but for some forsaken reason you’re staying here! On this awful planet full of war, death, and disease! I want to go home! Just pick something.”
(Read replies for the continued story) | # The Final Choice
“It’s a shortcut, we’ll get home faster,” Greg said, begging his wife to follow him into the alley. “Fine.” Said Lauren. Greg heard footsteps, and a man holding a gun appeared in front of him.
“Hand over your valuables, and we all walk away,” said the stranger.
Greg leapt between the stranger and his wife to protect her. The sudden movement startled the stranger, and he fired. Greg felt the bullet enter his chest, his breath gone. He heard two more gunshots boom, their echoes screaming between the buildings. He never felt himself hit the ground.
Greg was floating above his body. His wife and the gunman were frozen in time. A voice filled his awareness, “Greg, you have one Final Choice to make on Earth. I will give you as much time as you need to decide. During that time, you will be a ghost. Your choices are; you may ask for one wish, but you will spend eternity in Hell. Or you may forgo your wish, and you get to spend eternity in Heaven. Time starts now.”
Lauren dropped down onto her husband’s body, tears welling in her eyes, as his ghost watched from above. “VALUABLES, NOW,” the stranger shouted at grieving woman. Greg felt the power of the wish within him and knew he could save his wife. “I wish my wife was safe,” he told the power.
Greg knew his wish was granted the moment he made it, but he was not around to see. He was in a large cave, dull brown with jagged walls fifty feet high. The ceiling matched the walls, uneven and sharp. The ground was flat and dusty. Ahead of him was a line of hundreds of people. He turned, and behind him stood dozens more. The cave stretched as far as Greg could see in both directions, forty feet across at least, although everyone stood in the center.
A demon with red skin, holding a clip board approached Greg.
“I am Dremonda. Hell is full right now. I know you humans are eager to enter, but we need time to devise torture for all of you.” Said the demon.
“I don’t think any of us are eager. I needed my wish to save my wife. I never wanted to come to Hell.” Greg replied.
“Humans always waste their wishes on the happiness or safety of others, the rest remain as ghosts, waiting for some great epiphany. The ultimate way to use their wish to help Earth or someone on it. The smart ones give up their wish or use it to send someone better than themselves to Heaven.” Said Demonda. “Enacting the Final Choice was the greatest trick my boss ever played on the Creator.” | |
[WP] Whenever someone dies, a team of an angel and a devil appear before them to give them a choice: either they can go to heaven, or they can have one wish granted and go to hell. They have as much time as they want to decide and can stay on Earth as a ghost until they do. | When the veil of death falls upon a human soul, they are given choices. One, dread and ancient, a humanoid silhouette standing with thousands of eyes upon pearl-white wings and a wheel made from pearls fused together. The wheel is also on fire. Next to them stands a handsome or perhaps beautiful individual with some slight goathorns, hooves and a red tail. They are always wearing whatever the dead human soul would have considered stylish and expensive in life.
The ancient thing speaks in a deep monotone voice, offering passage towards paradise. Forgiveness from all sins, and life eternal in peaceful bliss. The other one, the debonair individual, offers them a bargain, a single wish, and they go to hell. You have an infinite time to pick. But while picking, you roam the Earth as a spectre, a distant echo of what you were, a soul without a receptacle, a hollow voice in the dark, distant and insubstantial.
Most people take the angel's offer, though due to the natural charm of the devil, and the fact that the demon cares enough to dress up smart and act personable, a great number of people also pick them. Of course, most people wish to come back to life when they pick the demon, thinking they've outsmarted Hell. Well, they haven't. You just go straight to Hell the second time you die.
A few are so indecisive that they remain in the ghostly void, to the great consternation of the demon. The angel doesn't particularly care one way or the other. It has a task, and it will wait patiently until it can bring a soul back or the soul is taken by the demon. But most pick pretty quickly. Interestingly, the demon and the angel will not divulge what will happen, if one should go with either. The angel does not tell you what awaits in Heaven, nor does the demon gloat about what tortures you will endure in Hell. And they won't even begin to speak of their counterpart's option at all, if you ask them.
Most who do not pick are little more than tortured wild souls, who fear going ahead, fear what comes in Heaven as much as they fear Hell. You feel nothing while a ghost, all sound is muted, all colours are grey, all is dull and sterile. Only the angel and the demon feels real. You can smell the brimstone, you can feel the heat of the angel's burning wheel.
They will both insist that they are the only spiritually real things that exist. And that you must eventually pick. But if one notices things, one can see that strangely, the stars are still the same. The rest of the world feels insubstantial, unreal, except the angel, the demon, and the stars. So when I left my body, broken and battered as it was by harsh years and harsher illness, I decided that I wanted to see the stars before I picked. Because they seemed so much more real than all other things.
And as my spiritual shape flew up through the atmosphere of Earth, I began to see things, something which the grey air and dull unreal world of the surface had hidden. Two swollen and disgusting things. One covered in Nazca-line sized religious imagery, and one covered in demonic regalia. One was ivory-white, one was like lava. But both things, both vile things had terrible open mouths, and from above I could see that inside one was Hell, in the other, Heaven. And like an anglerfish tricks its prey with a lure, the angels and demons leading souls into the mouths were attached with strange fleshy tendrils to the spiritual worms. And though Heaven and Hell were what I saw, I recognised it from afar, away from the unreal fog covering the astral plane, as an illusion.
The angels and the demons did not lead to paradise or to perdition. But merely to serve the souls of mankind as food to monstrous things. Things born of hatred, zealotry, sadism, and evil. Things which promise difference, but are as one. And gone from the confusing state of being a soul caught in their weakening mists, I felt what it was like to be a true human spirit. Raw power, the power of humanity which because of the foul worm-twins feasting on us before we could truly access it, had grown to unspeakable levels. Whether a true heaven or true hell awaited, these impostors, these parasites, would die by my hand. By the hand of humanity. To show true death to them, I called on the dreams of men, the dreams of death. Using our power, the power that mankind was meant to have in death, the power to make our own forever, our own paradises or hells as we so desired and deserved, I reached into the collective dreamscape of humanity. And from it I pulled a black hooded robe. From it I pulled a scythe. And from it, I pulled memories of what we fear in our deaths.
For mankind has always thought of death, and given it a personality, a nature. Made death from a mere cessation of physical life, into an entity that we fear and respect. Thanatos, Astwihad the breaker of bones, Mictlantecutli, Níðhǫggr, Hel, Yama, and countless others. And warding my spiritual form with the midnight-cloak of death, armed with the tool meant to harvest all mankind in one fell swing, I marched through the confines of space towards the worm-gods. I grew myself in size, grew until my spirit could fit the Moon into the palm of my hand.
The wormgods, screeching and whining, took rest from their relentless consumption of human souls, to gaze upon me. ''*And what, are you supposed to be? This is our spot, our feast.*'' Their voices were like the screeching of pestilent little creatures, vermin, but without the redeeming qualities usually found in rats and cockroaches.
**DEATH.**
I did not give those parasite creatures time to answer. I did not let them prepare to fight. I swung the great scythe, born from the collective dread of billions of humans, who had feared the same death for thousands upon thousands of years. They had grown fat and lazy, feasting for countless aeons. Humanity had had a lot of time to dream of death. Enough to kill even parasite wormgods.
Once there was a choice. Heaven with an angel, a wish followed by an eternity in Hell. Both were lies. Now mankind must find their own paradise. But now, I lessen my size, I sit down my spirit upon the Moon, and watch with scythe in hand, as mankind, in death, are able to choose freely and without deceit for the first time. And should there be other parasites out there, other things that scuttle, lie, cheat, and feast upon souls. I still hold the scythe. And if my eternity will be spent protecting the souls of mankind, then so be it.
[/r/Apocalypse](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | She hadn't ever really believed in heaven or hell, she just did her best to live an honest life because that's what she thought was right. Even if she had believed, she didn't think she'd imagine angels to be more terrifying than demons. Well, now she's dead and they stand before her, giving her the choice of either going to heaven or getting one wish granted at the price of eternal damnation.
"So you mean that if I use that wish, I go to hell, but I can wish for anything?“ She asked the pair that had just materialised before her.
"Well, there are some rules." the angel stated, seemingly impatient.
"You can not wish for a new life nor can you wish for someone's death. And of course no wishes for more wishes." surprisingly the demon seemed milder and more patient.
"How long do I have to decide? And are there any other rules? How many choose to get a wish instead of going to heaven? I mean, why would anyone who's dead anyway throw away an eternity of bliss for one wish?“ She didn't really understand so she couldn't help but bombard them with questions.
The angel seemed to get annoyed with her questions while the demon seemed to perk up.
"You can take as much time as you need. No changing the past. Only a handful of people have ever used their wish." the angel was once more the one to answer her with its annoyed tone.
"If I want to use my wish, and my wish would be for someone else's wish to count as mine, would that work? Because I don't want my sister to spend eternity in hell, and I know that she will use her wish to make things better for others. She has never cared what happens to her, she was always the one looking out for others at cost of her own happiness and health. How should I word it so that happens in that case?" She had already decided to use her wish, but she wanted to be careful how she word it so that she'd get what she wanted.
The angel looked, disappointed?
"If that is what you wish for, then all you need to do is to confirm that is your wish. But if your sister chooses heaven, you will still have used your wish. Would you be OK with that?" the demon softly replied with a sad look in its eyes.
"Yes, that is my wish, and I'm OK with that. I'll gladly burn if that means that my sister is guaranteed into heaven." The angel frowned at her answer and dissappeared.
The demon held out its hand towards her with a soft smile and congrulated her on passing the test as a golden gate appeared before them. | |
[WP] Your arch-nemesis is a telepathic. Things get complicated in a battle when you realize they can recall every embarrassing moment you dread to remember and use it against you. | “What do we have here? Oh look, someone had a rough childhood…” I could sense his smirk, even if he didn’t show his face.
“Come on, really?” I said, trying to make that memory disappear. I was *nine*! “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“I mean… not really, no. I have to sleep sometimes, so why not have some fun while I’m at it?” I could almost see him shrug, but a school corridor and kids running away with my backpack still felt too real. “Hm… what is *that?*”
I froze. “No. Really, don’t touch that thing. Nuh-uh. Let’s go back to the time I wet my bed on that school trip in second grade, shall we?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, hiding stuff? We shouldn’t have secrets before each other.” He tried again.
“No. Please. Don’t...”
“Got it!” he exclaimed. “What on…”
The school disappeared. I could see him now, floating in the void, with a surprise painted across on his face. Next to him, there was a young girl in a snow-white dress.
“Run,” I whispered.
“Come on, really? Twelve years?” she asked me. “We were just having a little fun!”
“What is going on here?” he asked.
“Run!” I yelled, and I could see he finally took me seriously. He turned away, but the girl simply appeared in front of him before he could move.
“Now, now, why won’t you stay a little longer?” A bloodied knife flashed in her hand. “It will be fun!” | Oh no. Shit, goddammit, fuck! No, stop looking at that! That was _so_ embarrassing! I can’t believe you are seriously laughing at the time I accidentally dropped yogurt on top of Calvin’s head. I had the biggest crush on him back then! It was an accident, but the whole school laughed at him and called him “yogurt head” for the rest of the year.
He barely knew I existed before that, but after, he freaking hated my guts. He never forgave me and I had to change schools because I couldn’t live with the shame of what I had done. I still can’t even smell yogurt because of that. Okay, are you done now? I’m about to give up, honestly, I can’t take this shit anymore. This is too much…
Wait, hold on, what are you doing? No! Don’t you dare! Leave that alone, you psycho! I don’t want to remember walking in on my parents having sex, you pervert!!!
Edit: grammar and minor changes/additions. | |
[WP] When intelligent species from different planets go to war, their respective deities fight as well. The earthlings' indecisiveness about religion has the invading pantheon outnumbered a hundred to one. | The One God of Conquest was an expert at fighting other deities. Make the fight in uncomfortable settings, stagnate it, wield the belief of trillions like a deft hammer and send their gods into the dirt while the armies flooded onto their world, whittling at their strength and the belief they drew from.
But nothing could have prepared him for the complicated beat-down he was getting. He was the only deity of his people because he'd killed the others, as had been the case elsewhere. The most he'd ever had to fight was fifteen!
It was a shock to pull into orbit and be greeted by six or seven tentacular creatures who assaulted him without a word. Few believers, but the deities of the insane, and they served as a useful distraction before he punted Cthulu back into the ocean.
Passing over the most militarily powerful nation, his ships caught the attention of their sensors and shortly, their gods. Prepared this time, he caught the first flying haymaker from Jesus with one hand, only to be struck upside the head by an invisible assailant. Electricity cracked and brimstone filled the air, and the brawl was on even as his ships began the invasion.
The invisible one, a shoot-off of the main religion, was dealt with swiftly, smashed into Mt Rushmore and wiping it clean. Jesus took a moment's more work, requiring a tackle across the Atlantic before being pinned under Stonehenge, buying him time to breath just as news of the battle reached other continents, and more believers joined the fight. Another deity came out of the south, sword in hand and engaging in a flurry of violent strikes as new strength surged under the rock, Christ blasting his way out from underneath.
Then something new. The identities of the two deities clashed, hard. Different things believed about each by massive groups, and so the only thing they could do, they did. They multiplied, and the Conquerer was assaulted by a dozen angry, confused deities on all sides. They were weak, but their numbers and confusion tossed him about until he broke free, launching himself southward. Underneath, the still-growing horde of minor variations of the same gods followed. He had never seen this, and it was almost scary how many were on the hunt, weak as they were individually.
Passing over Greece, he dropped into the site of the old pantheon. A few smaller, older ones here were quick to destroy, but his time was limited. He kept going, to rome, where a brief spat in the Coliseum finished the last of the deities there just as the fastest of the horde, the invisible bastard yet again, hit him square in the face and had a pillar obliterated against it for its trouble. He stood his ground for a short while, prophets and deity alike being ground into the rubble before more arrived and he took off once again, eastward.
He landed in the Himalayas, crashing into the peak of K2. There, a deity waited, a simple man in robes.
"Turn back, conqueror. You will not win this."
"It will take time, but none of you can stop me. I am fueled by the might of trillions. Your small world cannot beat me."
"It can survive you. Bend and yield, only to snap back and deliver a stinging blow. It isn't worth the pain of failure. As we speak, the bulk of the Islamic and Christian faiths rise and the foes you face will multiply in strength and number. Even now, the Hindu gods ascend into the mountains. Only China sends little aid, but to run there is to be pinned again as Japan sends its finest to cover the gap."
"You speak as if I have not faced many before. In this desolate range I will end your pantheons. These mountains will be layered with your dead."
"So be it." The Buddha rose and struck, a hand flying forward and smiting him to the ground. He rose angrily, hand ripping a boulder out of the stone to smash the insolent deity, only to hit empty air. He spun around, striking him in the arm. A responding kick bounced off the Conquerer's leg, and the Buddha was knocked down the slope by a wild shove. A wily foe, but a weak one in comparison.
He looked about, tapping into the eyes in his ships overhead to find the foe, and his heart dropped. From the south, a tide climbed the foothills. Chasing from the west and north were the horde, and in the east another force raced over the sea, far off but on their way.
Humanity never knew why, exactly, the alien menace was gone within hours without a trace. Theories abounded but not one of them knew the truth, while among the stars, the Conqueror did their damndest to keep anybody from ever finding them again. | While the forces of Thulan (known to Earthlings as Proxima Centauri b) were making landfall on Earth, the deities of the four main Thulan religions; Drachna, El'guah Intraks, and Uvjozi were ready to fight Allah and Yahweh, the gods of Earth's two main religions. They had expected to fight the duo two-on-one (with a dozen gods from Thulan's minor religions playing backup), but were surprised when they found that the "duo" was actually three similar yet different forms of Allah and six hundred different yet similar gods, all calling themselves either Yahweh or God. The over six hundred variations of Yahweh and Allah were accompanied by six hundred Hindu gods, not to mention the gods of various other religions that made Earth's pantheon appear more like a sports crowd than any other pantheon the Thulans had ever seen. The Thulan gods knew they were in for a tough battle, unless, however, they could get the Earthlings (and by extension their army of deities) to fight amongst themselves. | |
[WP] You have a tapeworm living inside of you. It's actually a pretty friendly tapeworm. Sure, he's a two-foot-long parasitic worm, but Jeffrey listens to your problems and gives you good advice. | I was staring again, but luckily nobody was paying attention to me. It was early into lunch hour and the cafeteria was bustling. Emma was sitting in a corner with her nose in a book. It was a really good novel - I read it last month - but that didn’t surprise me. Emma had great taste in books.
“Just go talk to her, man,” Jeffrey said from beneath my ribcage.
I jumped a little with shock. Jeffrey was usually asleep at lunch, but seemed like he was up early today.
“I can’t just go talk to her, you know that. She doesn’t even know I exist.”
I felt Jeffrey wriggle around as he struggled to get comfortable, clearly preparing for a pep talk, and I grimaced. I hated his pep talks.
“You listen to me. You’re a good kid! Why shouldn’t you go talk to her? You like the same books, you think she’s cute, and you’ve got a way healthier gut biome than any of the other idiots in this place.”
I quickly looked away as Emma looked up from her book to check the clock on the wall behind me.
“Shut up shut up shut up she’ll hear you,” I said through gritted teeth.
Jeffrey sat quietly until Emma was immersed again in Chapter 7.
“If you don’t go talk to her I’m going to make sure you die of malnutrition,” he whispered.
I rolled my eyes.
“If you make me die of malnutrition you’re just going to have to find a new host. And we both know you HATE leaving the house.”
I felt him shift in annoyance.
“Ok, fine. But if you don’t talk to her I’m going to slither out of you right now and everyone’s going to think you’re a weirdo with a worm coming out of your ass. How about that.”
“You wouldn’t -”
I felt Jeffrey begin to move lower.
“Fuck, okay okay,” I jumped up quickly and started walking before I could second guess myself. “Fuck, I’m so nervous.”
“You got this dude!” Jeffrey said encouragingly.
Meanwhile, Emma sat nervously, rereading the same sentence over and over without caring. Andy had stood up and was walking towards her. He was wearing the blue sweater she liked and he looked so cute.
“I think it’s happening,” she whispered.
“Just be yourself! You got this!” Jessica hissed from her upper intestine. | I groaned in pain as I shifted in my bed.
"Oh, Jeffrey, I don't feel so good," I said.
I grabbed my phone and checked my face in the camera. "I look paler than before." I rubbed what was left of my plump cheeks. "I'm looking like a skeleton now, buddy. You think I should get checked up?"
"Oh, no no no!" a faint voice grumbled from within the depths of my shallow belly. "You're looking just fine in here! Just fine. In fact--"
"Ow!" I grasped my stomach. "What was that?"
"Nothing!" Jeffrey, the two-foot-long parasitic worm, said. "I was just tasting your liver--er--*examining* your liver; all is good in here, my boy! Now go ahead and get some more *Z's* or whatever you kids call it these days. I go through them so quick--"
"--I think I'm going to get checked out, Jeffrey." I wobbled off of my bed and stood on shaky legs. I gazed down my body and noticed how bad I had truly become. "Sheesh! I swear I've been eating; I've had pizza three times this week alone."
"Yummy." Jeffrey squirmed from within. "Get that special pizza we ordered--what was it again?"
"The raw fish and shrimp pizza?" I tossed on a shirt that looked more like a trench coat.
"Yeah, that one! It's great!"
"I don't know, Jeffrey. I think that may be the reason I'm so sick." I tried to throw on some shorts but realized my underwear fit me like a pair of baggy shorts.
"Hey, kid!" Jeffry rumbled. "What do you think you're doing? You've been asking a ton of questions lately. Hey, I know! What about that one girl you've been talking about? What was her name again?"
"The one who dumped me because I became too skinny?"
"That's the one!"
"Samantha? I don't really talk to her no more."
"Oh man, you have to tell me the deets, my friend--how about you rest in bed and tell me all about it."
I scratched my head and wobbled from a sudden wave of weakness. "I guess so. I'm feeling pretty tired."
I trust fell into my bed and closed my eyes. "Well, I think Samantha--OW!"
"Sorry, kid," Jeffrey said. "Was just reexamining your liver--all is well. Continue your story."
r/AJHWriting | |
[WP] After hours in the labor the doctor is finally holding your child. Before anyone can say anything, your baby speaks... "New life, who dis?" | Amy took the baby from the doctor, sure what she thought she heard was a fever dream or some complication of the pain killers. She looked down at her precious boy. Adam, she knew instantly.
Adam winked at her. Could babies wink?
It wasn't until years later, when the peculiar events with Adam moved from a handful to a smothering mountain, that she confronted him.
"What are you?" she asked her four year old, making eye contact with him through the rear view mirror as he sucked on an ice cream in the mini van idling in the drive way.
"Homo Sapien, just like you," he said with a smirk.
"Four year olds don't say homo sapiens, four year olds don't gawk at women on the street. You spoke to me the moment you were born, some dumb joke. Tell me what you are."
Adam let the smile fall from his face, not seeming upset, merely disinterested, as if the whole situation was terribly droll, and he'd seen it too many times.
He sighed. "Can't we keep it up a little longer? We have fourteen more years together, assuming I don't go through the elaborate hassle of getting emancipated. I'm not use to being this young this late. The laws have gotten terribly complicated now."
"What do you mean not used to being this young."
"Fine," he said, unbuckling his booster seat and climbing into the front seat, bringing his clanking lunch box. "My name is Adam and I am your son. My name was Walter and I was Emily Stone's son and there are thirty and one lives between those."
"I, I don't understand." Amy said, crying. "What are you saying."
"I, whatever you wish to call the persistent I, am a very specific kind of Immortal. Whenever I kill someone and eat of their flesh, my consciousness travels to their body, as it was when they were a baby. I then live that life until I complete the ritual again."
"So, you killed my real son and ate him?" Amy said, not bearing to look to the thing beside her anymore.
"Technically yes, but just a token amount. And besides, you never even knew that version of your son. I don't even think his name was Adam, actually. Were you between two choices? Jeff maybe?"
"Jonathan," Amy said mutely.
"Yeah, that was it. I was very old at the time and the poor boy wasn't much older than this when I performed the ritual. This is close to the furthest forward I've been actually. Can't say I'm a fan, honestly. You see, if I perform the ritual on someone much younger than me, my birth effectively travels forward in time. By using the ritual on someone older than me, I go all the way back to their birth, so I can travel back in time. Since this way seems like it's headed somewhere rather unpleasant, I think I'll explore the past a bit. Is grandad home?"
"I wouldn't tell you," Amy said, pulling the car into reverse and slamming little Adam into the floorboards.
"That's fine, I'm patient, Amy. I can take the slow way." She saw the flash of gunshot but was dead before she could register the bang.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Rockwell, it's a healthy baby girl. What's her name?"
"Amy," the tired woman said, starting down at the baby with the most curious smile.
---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. |
Life, Anisah found, had a way of taking from you things you hadn’t even known you had. She had never thought to doubt whether her daughter would be a newborn, and yet that was just a preconception she held. And it was stolen from her when her daughter struggled to speak moments after being born. She would have thought it a part of the delirium of giving birth, but by the way the healer reacted, she knew she hadn’t misheard.
“New life. Who this?” In broken speech, as though each word was a struggle. And from the mouth of a babe, it would be.
The anguish that flooded her came from somewhere deep, somewhere at a center of her being. It threatened to drown her entirely. The baby she had long been waiting for was a reincarnation.
“It isn’t unheard of. I’m sure you’ve heard some stories yourself,” said Healer Merewode. He held her child and studied her face as though ready to take her apart to learn how she worked. “But it is rare, especially in these days. People in this age just don’t have the necessary strength of feeling that keeps them tied to the land of the living. No big wars or disasters. Not around here anyway.”
He handed her daughter over, looking reluctant as he did. Anisah looked at the small life she could easily grasp within her hands. She felt the warmth she gave off and the breath that escaped from her nose as she slept. And she knew she could love her, nonetheless. Her past life was the past. She would give her a new one, one happy enough to free her from a third, if such a thing were even possible.
“Your name is Renee.” Renee opened her eyes and Anisah knew she understood.
She was a bright girl, though that might be to be expected from someone with memories from a past life. She learned to speak and to walk quicker than any child she or her husband, Atgas, had ever heard of. Perhaps, she learned too much, saying words they had never taught her.
Despite the first words she had uttered, Renee did not seem to recall much of her last life. Even when she began to grasp language, she did not have much to say about who she had been, although she was firm that she had lived before. She mentioned mountains, though there were none around in any direction as far as the eye could see.
She had nightmares, and frequently. Her cries woke them almost every night and when she woke up, there would be panic in her eyes. Each time, Anisah thought of Healer Merewode’s mention of war and disaster. Looking at how much past pain her daughter’s slight frame held, she believed it.
Sometimes she would try to speak and nonsense would come out, but it wasn’t a baby’s babbling. It was clear she was truly saying something, but it wasn’t in any language that Anisah knew, though Atgas said it reminded him of some Evuri he had once heard.
He seemed unnerved by the whole thing and tried to make her stop every time she would slip into her unknown tongue. But she didn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, which seemed to bother him even more. She watched her husband unravel over the months as he helped raise their daughter.
“She’s still our daughter, Atgas. A past life doesn’t have to decide who she is now.”
“I know, and I’m trying to love her. I do love her. I just want her to live this life, now. Not relive what’s already done.”
She could see how hard he struggled with accepting a reincarnation and she tried not to push him too far with it. He did seem to try. Anisah even spoke to Renee about it and asked her to do her best not to speak in other languages. If she had to, she could do it only around her and not her father. Perhaps it was for the best. The less she lingered in the past, the better a chance there would be for her to forget her traumas and what had kept her here.
It wasn’t perfect, and there were slip-ups, but it seemed to work for a time. But things took a turn for the worse when Renee began to move around more. She grew fast and had better control of her body than one might expect for her age, but she was still a child. She tried to do things that perhaps she had done before, but was incapable of in her current body. When she broke things, Atgas would grow angry at her attempts to act as an adult. When she accidentally cut Anisah in an attempt to use a knife, his eyes held a fury that she tried to calm. She assured him it was just a shallow cut, and that Renee had just been playing.
Atgas was silent for most of the day, and when he finally spoke, it was to address their child.
“You are a wraith. A spiteful spirit that refused to move on, and you killed my daughter the moment you took her place.” Those were the last words he said before leaving. He simply put on a coat and walked out the door. She had not heard from him since. Renee had simply watched him without a word throughout the whole thing.
“They always leave me,” she said with a shrug when Anisah tried to explain what had happened. It had broken her already shattered heart further to hear those words said so matter of fact. She, at least, would not leave her.
Anisah raised her daughter the best she could, even alone. She taught her how to read or at least helped her remember. She doted on her when she could. She made her clothes, fed her treats when she could afford them, and most of all loved her.
She did her best to teach her to enjoy this life, always telling her that her past did not matter. She hoped Renee took it seriously. It was hard to tell at times.
On a rare, free afternoon, Anisah and Renee sat in their living room, making shapes out of the clouds.
“That one looks like a pony,” Anisah said, pointing to a cloud with four wisps leading out from the bottom.
“Nuh-uh,” said Renee. “That’s way too big! It’s a warhorse, not a pony.” Renee looked up from Anisah’s lap, looking confident in her knowledge.
“Have you seen-” Anisah started. But no, she did not want to bring up any memories. “I’m going to make it so your second life is full of ponies, not warhorses,” she promised. Renee looked at her with a puzzled look on her face.
“But this isn’t my second life, Mommy. It’s my 15th.”
​
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[WP] The shadows that you sometimes see darting in the corner of your eyes have been getting more defined as of late | "Did you see that?"
"What?"
"*Nevermind*."
Luke looked across the table at me like he always does when it happens -- like I'm nuts. Only for a moment, but, long enough to get the message across. He's polite that way, doesn't want me to feel worse than I already do. Besides, I agree with him that it's time I saw someone. That it's been going on for too long now. And how lately, it's only gotten worse.
I don't know how I'll describe it when I go in, or even what kind of therapist I should be seeing. Whether an ophthalmologist -- you know, an eye doctor -- or a psychiatrist. Friends have been to leaning it towards the latter. But I really don't know. Am I actually going insane? What if I'm not imagining things at all?
*What if the shadows are real?*
Luke was staring at me, his eyes big with concern and kindness. He could tell it was still on my mind. "Your move," he said, with a warm smile.
I picked up the dice, gave them a shake, and rolled. Community Chest. "Advance to Go, collect $200."
"I swear you get that card way more than chance."
"I'm gifted that way," I grinned. The tension lifted slightly. He poured another glass of wine.
"Have you given any thought about seeing someone?"
"You know I have," I said, looking away.
"I'm a little worried about you. You know I'm a worrier."
"Yeah, I know."
I liked that he was a worrier; no better affirmation of love, than worry. We've been together four years now, and engaged for two. I know how that sounds, how long engagements don't usually bode too well, but, truth is, we like it this way. Two unashamed procrastinators wouldn't have it any different.
The citronella candle flickered in a wisp of breeze. It was a warm night, the humidity blanketing without being sticky. Peak Monopoly weather, I thought, leaning back in the chair. Luke said, "Well, that wine's going straight through me. Back in a tick," his tone more upbeat. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked past.
I took a deep breath, and calmness overcame me like bathwater. Maybe it was the wine, but I didn't care. For a moment, awareness of the shadows had vanished. It was just me, the glass, the low sibilant buzzing of the the cicadas in the garden. I should have learnt by now what the previous weeks had been trying to tell me. How it was always worse when I wasn't ready, when it took me by surprise. It was like it knew.
*It knew it right now.*
The glass fell from my hand, but I didn't hear it break. *Something was different this time*. There was no confusion, not an ounce of doubt. *It was real.* Every muscle tensed and froze and I could barely breathe. In the corner of my eye, in the blurriness of periphery, there it was, quivering without shape, pitch black, a presence of sheer, utter dread. *It wasn't hiding.* Tears welled in my eyes. *Turn your head, Sam, turn it, turn it now.*
Slowly, my neck started to twist. One degree, two, three. *It's still there.* Four, five. *Look at it, quickly, do it, do it now.* I turned fully and faced straight towards the shadowy blackness, and suddenly gone was the fear inside me. But in the visual swirl of the turn, everything had changed.
In place of the shadow, standing motionless, expressionless, somehow inhuman as he stared back at me, was Luke. My Luke. Only, not Luke at all. I didn't have time to ask him how -- I barely had time to think. Shadows suddenly rose from every corner of my visual field, and it was a convergence of vines and horns and contorted clawed limbs, them all jet black, the aperture through which I saw the world rapidly closed as I was taken deep into that infinite darkness, and I barely had time to whisper, *I'll always love you.* | It was hopeless. At first I thought it was just from coming home tired, the blurry sweeping dark that would rush past just out of sight. The eye drops didn't work, neither did the sleep mask. Somehow even through the thick fabric I could still see the glaring black figure, shapeless but somehow familiar. God I'm so tired, work has been stressful since my supervisor, Lisa, took her leave. Cuba, it sounded nice and I was kinda jealous, I wish I could have come with her. Like a whimpering puppy I watched as she left for the day, my mind screaming to follow her out, grab her and wrap my hands around her soft, fragile frame. But it's not like my wife would approve of that kind of "behaviour".
Ah fuck, my eyes burned at the thought of her hopping on that plane, stopping off at Paradise...surely to escape the disgustingly frigid weather in this hell we all lived in.
But as I said, it was hopeless.. I was hopeless! Letting a fucking woman control me. Of course the spark in our marriage ended years ago, and after learning that she couldn't bear my children and was effectively useless as a woman, I knew it wasn't going to last, our marriage was a mistake.
What was the point anyway, sure I could day dream about Lisa dancing around half naked, breasts jiggling to the music, pretend I was in Cuba holding - caressing that dainty, supple, tanned body of hers. But she's always watching me, she doesn't abide by my boundaries, she doesn't care about my authority. What am I supposed to do? Fucking women these days!
It's getting worse, my vision is going now, luckily I know the way around my house in the dark, I've done this enough times to memorize where everything is. Everything she needs.
The shapeless void waits for me just past the door to the basement. I grab the equipment, what I could scrounge for that evening without being caught and headed down, immersing myself in the inky stairway.
She watched me all day, but I'm usually good at watching my thoughts, making sure I don't make anything too obvious, my last defence for my privacy.
I open the old bathroom, the smell of mold and copper hit me like a familiar but annoying aquaintence. She watches me, she always watches me, I don't even think she blinks anymore. She is so hungry these days, of course... Once she found out about Lisa, she couldn't have that...I suppose that means Lisa will be on permanent vacation, what a shame. That tight little body could have been mine, but of course my wife has to have everything. I throw the severed arm to the pale, rotten thing I married, and sighed in relief as my vision cleared and my surroundings came back to me.
God I'm tired, I've gotta find an easier way to hunt, she is always hungry, and I'm running out of livestock | |
[WP] The shadows that you sometimes see darting in the corner of your eyes have been getting more defined as of late | "Did you see that?"
"What?"
"*Nevermind*."
Luke looked across the table at me like he always does when it happens -- like I'm nuts. Only for a moment, but, long enough to get the message across. He's polite that way, doesn't want me to feel worse than I already do. Besides, I agree with him that it's time I saw someone. That it's been going on for too long now. And how lately, it's only gotten worse.
I don't know how I'll describe it when I go in, or even what kind of therapist I should be seeing. Whether an ophthalmologist -- you know, an eye doctor -- or a psychiatrist. Friends have been to leaning it towards the latter. But I really don't know. Am I actually going insane? What if I'm not imagining things at all?
*What if the shadows are real?*
Luke was staring at me, his eyes big with concern and kindness. He could tell it was still on my mind. "Your move," he said, with a warm smile.
I picked up the dice, gave them a shake, and rolled. Community Chest. "Advance to Go, collect $200."
"I swear you get that card way more than chance."
"I'm gifted that way," I grinned. The tension lifted slightly. He poured another glass of wine.
"Have you given any thought about seeing someone?"
"You know I have," I said, looking away.
"I'm a little worried about you. You know I'm a worrier."
"Yeah, I know."
I liked that he was a worrier; no better affirmation of love, than worry. We've been together four years now, and engaged for two. I know how that sounds, how long engagements don't usually bode too well, but, truth is, we like it this way. Two unashamed procrastinators wouldn't have it any different.
The citronella candle flickered in a wisp of breeze. It was a warm night, the humidity blanketing without being sticky. Peak Monopoly weather, I thought, leaning back in the chair. Luke said, "Well, that wine's going straight through me. Back in a tick," his tone more upbeat. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked past.
I took a deep breath, and calmness overcame me like bathwater. Maybe it was the wine, but I didn't care. For a moment, awareness of the shadows had vanished. It was just me, the glass, the low sibilant buzzing of the the cicadas in the garden. I should have learnt by now what the previous weeks had been trying to tell me. How it was always worse when I wasn't ready, when it took me by surprise. It was like it knew.
*It knew it right now.*
The glass fell from my hand, but I didn't hear it break. *Something was different this time*. There was no confusion, not an ounce of doubt. *It was real.* Every muscle tensed and froze and I could barely breathe. In the corner of my eye, in the blurriness of periphery, there it was, quivering without shape, pitch black, a presence of sheer, utter dread. *It wasn't hiding.* Tears welled in my eyes. *Turn your head, Sam, turn it, turn it now.*
Slowly, my neck started to twist. One degree, two, three. *It's still there.* Four, five. *Look at it, quickly, do it, do it now.* I turned fully and faced straight towards the shadowy blackness, and suddenly gone was the fear inside me. But in the visual swirl of the turn, everything had changed.
In place of the shadow, standing motionless, expressionless, somehow inhuman as he stared back at me, was Luke. My Luke. Only, not Luke at all. I didn't have time to ask him how -- I barely had time to think. Shadows suddenly rose from every corner of my visual field, and it was a convergence of vines and horns and contorted clawed limbs, them all jet black, the aperture through which I saw the world rapidly closed as I was taken deep into that infinite darkness, and I barely had time to whisper, *I'll always love you.* | It’s been three months. Three months since a drink, a smoke, a wank, a relief. Yet I find relief in the discomfort. In the hope that not hiding from pain will amount to something. Will make up for what I haven’t amounted to.
I occasionally catch a glimpse of a roach skittering across the wall in the periphery. Even as my neck snaps I know there’s nothing there. The roaches here are brazen and cocky. They jeer in full view before slipping away into the hidden spaces they know I can’t reach.
The periphery has always hidden from me. The shadow to the light of perception. There’s no glory in hiding there. Only fear, hesitation, or malice.
Whispers. Memories. Familiar faces in indifferent eyes. Answers lie in the questions. Shyness is the nature of change. A roach cleans itself after contact with a human. After contact with me. Is that why I’m so quick to kill them as they jeer?
The things I blind myself with hide in the periphery. So I look forward even as I grasp at the edges of hidden things. Tasting essential truths, smelling ozone and fire.
The desperation to see what cannot be seen is rooted in fear. And hope. The missing piece is right there, just out of view, hiding in the periphery. Yet what draws my attention is a roach. | |
[WP] Your home is super duper haunted. It makes the news for odd events that befall your land. Quite frankly you have no idea why it bothers people .The demons and ghosts respect their leases, pay rent on time, leave you alone unless they need maintenance. Why do demons need wifi? Who knows. | I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard I was awarded an estate through the will of a long lost relative I’d never even heard of. I’d been adopted because of the stigma around half demon half human kids. I knew it must have been rough on my bio parents and despite being raised in foster care I was okay with them having given me up. They’d made their choices.
But I was fresh out of college, job prospects were bleak and getting that letter in the mail had been one of the best things that had happened to me. I’d almost thought it was a scam until I realized the lawyers were legit and within the month I was a proper home owner.
The house was gorgeous, a sprawling colonial style mansion at the back of a small gated property. It was 15 minutes off a major highway but managed to feel really isolated and serene.
It was only as I unpacked my stuff from my car that I remembered one of the lawyers saying I’d have to deal with some tenants.
Shit, I thought, I’m a damn landlord now.
I made my way up the stone steps and fiddled with my keys before the door swooped open and I was greeted by three...beings.
The first one was unmistakably a demon. He had a hell’s fire shade of red skin and two spiralling black horns near his temples. But he was also wearing a bookish pair of spectacles, an aglet sweater over trousers and...yeah, dress shoes.
The second was a ghost. She was model thin and pretty in a fragile kind of way. Probably because her head had a gash across her right temple and her tutu was messy with dried black blood. Okay, kind of gross.
And the last...well. He looked human but something about him didn’t seem right. I’d have to ask what he was later.
The three of them stared at me and I realized I should introduce myself.
“Hey, I’m Jules, and I’m moving in.”
“Wait a second,” the human-ish guy said, “you can’t just move in.”
I blinked. “Uh...Last I checked I own this place. So yeah, I’m moving in.”
His eyes widened and he took a step back. “You’re the new landlord? But you— you’re—“
I rolled my eyes. “Just because I’m human passing doesn’t make me human, damn.” I kept bangs over my forehead to hide the tiny horns I kept shaved down but I pushed up my hair to show them. “Are we good here? Woop-de-doo I’m part of the supernatural club. Now, is anyone gonna give me a tour?”
“Forgive our rudeness,” the ballerina said in an ethereal, haunting voice, “we just never get any roommates since this place is haunted.”
I looked a little harder at the modern expanse before me. “This place is haunted?”
The demon laughed. “Your blood must be supremely watered down if you can’t even feel that, halfling.”
I bristled at that and stormed past the three of them. It was awkward as they stood in the foyer and watched me struggle with all of my stuff and not even one of them offered to help me. Okay so I doubted the ghost could do much but there wasn’t even a half hearted attempt. It was a stressful half hour and by the end I found a room I liked and slammed the door.
Things were fine mostly, they minded their business and I minded my own and we co-existed peacefully. No matter how hard I tried to sense things the place still didn’t seem haunted to me. Anya, the Russian ballerina ghost was definitely the nicest but it was hard to be friends with her when all she liked to talk about was ballet. I had two left left.
The demon’s name was Eric and he was actually a professor, and the human-ish guy was Steve. He was a “professional” streamer and it turned out he was a fairy. That meant he was immortal, could turn into a small sprite and he could give out blessings if he so desired.
Anya was the one who eventually told me the reason the place was haunted. She told me to look up some newspaper clippings about the property and do an actual google search. When I finally did, I was shocked.
The place was a 300 year old accident trap sitting on top of a gateway to Hell.
I sat back from my computer desk in shock. But some things started to make more sense then. The house probably had ten rooms and I hadn’t really gone into the unused ones. I’d never felt like I needed to go into them which made no sense. This was my property and I should’ve inspected everything properly. It was like something I could touch or see was keeping me away.
That’s when I decided to do some exploring. The first room I went into seemed normal. Just a nice empty room with a big bay window and a massive blood stain right in the corner of the room. Wait. What?
I blinked and it was gone but I knew I’d seen it... it had been right there. And the blood had looked fresh. It was as though for a second that harsh rusty ichor was lodged in my nostrils and the sight was stark against the relative beauty of the room.Just as soon as I noticed it, it was gone.
I went closer to the spot and the unsightly smear appeared again. This time I tried to touch it, and I could feel the hot, sticky texture of fresh blood before I experienced a memory that wasn’t my own.
“Push my lady, you must push,” my midwife had always been sharp tongued but at this point she may as well have had a voice of iron and fire. Her yells were shrill but could not override my own crude screams.
I knew I had to birth a son for my lord after two daughters but this child was splitting me in twain. I was being sawed in half by the babe and the pressure felt as though it would kill me.
I’d been a vision at court, and when my season had come I had the pick of all eligible bachelors. I had a good constitution, good child rearing hips and yet this pregnancy had been a disaster from the start.
The pain was a terrible thing scraping my throat raw and grounding me down until I was just one long scream as my body was torn asunder from that terrible pressure between my hips.
“There’s too much blood,” my midwife murmured softly, her voice the softest I’d ever heard it. She was an older matron with a stern, grizzled face but she looked heartbroken. “My lady— you must—“
I stepped away, feeling sick and disoriented when I was unable to stop hearing the woman’s screams. Holy shit. I tried to get out of the room but something made me stop. I turned and I saw a heavily pregnant woman, holding her hand over her belly. She gave me an unimpressed look as she walked around the space.
“Well?” She said with a raised brow.
“Well?” I echoed.
“Well, I would like to rent the room where I died if that’s alright with you. What’s the rate?”
And that’s how I got another tenant. | A match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on the point of view. For you, it's certainly heaven.
You've had your fill of dirty tenants, unwilling to pay, searching for excuses and using every loophole to abuse your goodwill. Hell is others said Sartres. Sartres didn't have tenants, tenants are another kind of others that made the rest look like friendly drinking buddies by comparison. And hell filled with drinking buddies isn't so bad all in all.
A ghost hands you a drink, it's careful not to let the red drool dripping from it's lips fall inside. It has to keep a handkerchief beneath the mouth so as to not dirty everything. A permanent problem, one it didn't care when alive, one it never ceaseds to solve on its own now that he's not. In life, it died from overeating. In death, it learned to stay clean and enjoy an uneventful and quiet day.
Only in death do they learn how good life could be by being polite, and they cling to it to the last. Unable to feel, yet hungry to live like they never were before death.
You open the door to the cellar. A shakled man sobs and begs for mercy, asking what he has done. Nothing really. Well, except annoy another landlord who paid you a small fortune to be rid of him. You have neither pity nor hate, it is business, and you delight in the knowledge that death will teach him valuable lessons like common courtesy.
A snap of your fingers and the ghost with the red drool comes over, licking its lips in anticipation. Before the man could scream, it was on him. Eating limbs whole, tearing them apart with a powerful jaw, stomach distending to burst to accomodate the pounds of flesh. In a minute, it has licked to the very last drop of blood.
Later that day, a wail comes up from the cellar. The man has risen again, a ghost, still shakled. They all had a peculiarity.
"I don't want to die."
But you have.
"I don't want to leave."
You know. Will he pay rent?
"Of course! I promise!"
Then he shall seek his previous landlord.
He left. Like others, he will be polite, pay on time, and clean up after him. Until the day he realizes he does not feel nor remember what it is to be alive. Then, he will become a it. And slowly dissolve in oblivion.
Except the it that follows you, it kept the delight to eat his fill, and you work well together. It pours you a glass. You raise a toast to this wonderful partnership. | |
[WP] Your home is super duper haunted. It makes the news for odd events that befall your land. Quite frankly you have no idea why it bothers people .The demons and ghosts respect their leases, pay rent on time, leave you alone unless they need maintenance. Why do demons need wifi? Who knows. | Yeah I signed a lease with the devil, but the housing market is tough these days, and it was this or my mom's boyfriend's basement, for $1000/ month. My current place is $900 a month, all utilities included, beautiful forest surrounding the grounds with tons of wildlife, creek and swamp adjacent with an old flour wheel still able to turn. It's the most free I've ever felt franky. Some might think that demons and ghosts for housemates would be a horror, but they would be wrong. I'll tell you what's a horror... Your boyfriend refusing to do the dishes or fold laundry because they make more money than you, even though you split everything "50/50". I was desperate to get out of that situation, desperate enough to reply to that too good to be true listing, meet up in my now remote forest home, and sign a contract with the literal devil.
I met my roommates Asmodeus and Kaitlyn in the open floor kitchen the day of. They brewed me a tea and let me vent about my ex Brad. Laughing hysterically at my comedic catharsis, listening intently as I poured my heart out.
"Veronica, I know exactly what you're talking about. The only reason I'm a ghost is because my fucking stupid ex husband murdered me the day before I was supposed to take the bar exam. I was haunting my old apartment trying not to make the new family living there feel too creeped out before I read the listing Satan posted. Thank God for Harbinger Manor, if I didn't have this place I was going to start haunting them just to not go insane." Kaitlyn said comfortably as she put her cold weightless hand on my shoulder.
"Oh my Go-" I started to reply before quickly looking at Satan who curled his lip and lifted his eyebrow slyly in the exact manor my mother did growing up. Taking a deep breath and relaxing I composed myself, "Kaitlyn that's so horrible, I'm so sorry that happened to you."
"No worries, it was 40 years ago and Asmodeus has done an amazing time helping me adjust and getting our revenge." She said before lovingly looking at the tall handsome man with curly dirty blond hair in a tight shirt and slacks.
"I got him to fall in love with a prostitute, who gave him syphilis. Then got him fired for sexual harassment. With no money or health insurance the syphilis ravaged his body until he went insane and eventually died." Asmodeus chuckled out with such pride.
Satan quickly added, "And trust me hell is not treating him well." He paused before changing to a more serious tone, "The thing is Veronica, we can give you a full floor to yourself, lower the rent if you like, make changes to the home, give you your own full bathroom, but we need an alive human tenant to live here to help us sort of go back and forth with things like paying the mortgage and property taxes, calling repairmen, telling off the catholic protestors, you know things that wouldn't be very easy for us."
"Huh I wouldn't have imagined that the devil wouldn't be able to just outright buy his own home." I questioned.
"You'd be surprised but hell isn't a very capitalist enterprise, and this home was repossessed by the government and sold on GSA auctions along with all the forest grounds. Buying this allows us to do all my rituals and whatnot. But you know what they say there's no avoiding death and taxes." He responded.
"Wow, so will there be a lot of people coming and going?" Thinking of how much I hate the party scene.
"No worries." Asmodeus answered with his deep and sensual voice, "we own all 666 acres of this property and we have put a parking lot, barn and trail on the other side of the land. There will be people, but the only ones that come here are the news reporters and the occasional angry catholic protestor."
"Think of it as a liaison position as well as roommate. We need someone to get the wifi setup, call the plumber, tell the news reporters off, you know things the undead have trouble with. Honestly Veronica, we can't have just anyone as a roommate and it's been a nightmare trying to find someone, we just think you would be amazing." Kaitlyn chimed in with such effervescence.
"So, what do you think?" Satan said with such a charming smile I instantly knew why they say good looks are devilish.
"When can I move in?" I said before gleefully signing Veronica Price on my new lease on life. | A match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on the point of view. For you, it's certainly heaven.
You've had your fill of dirty tenants, unwilling to pay, searching for excuses and using every loophole to abuse your goodwill. Hell is others said Sartres. Sartres didn't have tenants, tenants are another kind of others that made the rest look like friendly drinking buddies by comparison. And hell filled with drinking buddies isn't so bad all in all.
A ghost hands you a drink, it's careful not to let the red drool dripping from it's lips fall inside. It has to keep a handkerchief beneath the mouth so as to not dirty everything. A permanent problem, one it didn't care when alive, one it never ceaseds to solve on its own now that he's not. In life, it died from overeating. In death, it learned to stay clean and enjoy an uneventful and quiet day.
Only in death do they learn how good life could be by being polite, and they cling to it to the last. Unable to feel, yet hungry to live like they never were before death.
You open the door to the cellar. A shakled man sobs and begs for mercy, asking what he has done. Nothing really. Well, except annoy another landlord who paid you a small fortune to be rid of him. You have neither pity nor hate, it is business, and you delight in the knowledge that death will teach him valuable lessons like common courtesy.
A snap of your fingers and the ghost with the red drool comes over, licking its lips in anticipation. Before the man could scream, it was on him. Eating limbs whole, tearing them apart with a powerful jaw, stomach distending to burst to accomodate the pounds of flesh. In a minute, it has licked to the very last drop of blood.
Later that day, a wail comes up from the cellar. The man has risen again, a ghost, still shakled. They all had a peculiarity.
"I don't want to die."
But you have.
"I don't want to leave."
You know. Will he pay rent?
"Of course! I promise!"
Then he shall seek his previous landlord.
He left. Like others, he will be polite, pay on time, and clean up after him. Until the day he realizes he does not feel nor remember what it is to be alive. Then, he will become a it. And slowly dissolve in oblivion.
Except the it that follows you, it kept the delight to eat his fill, and you work well together. It pours you a glass. You raise a toast to this wonderful partnership. | |
[WP] Your home is super duper haunted. It makes the news for odd events that befall your land. Quite frankly you have no idea why it bothers people .The demons and ghosts respect their leases, pay rent on time, leave you alone unless they need maintenance. Why do demons need wifi? Who knows. | I feel for the people who wake up to a ghost vomiting blood on their ceiling. I really do. But it’s not Jeffrey’s fault he has gastrointestinal issues, and the guy has never missed a rent payment.
Okay, maybe that’s a low bar, but you wouldn’t believe the problems I’ve had with tenants in the past. Some don’t pay rent. Some throw wild parties. Some destroy appliances. But you know what all my bad tenants had in common? They were all alive.
I only rent to dead people now. Demons, ghosts, the occasional banshee swinging a flaming mace and chain over his head as he screams. These tenants respect my property.
Take the demon in room 202, Kevin. He emailed me asking if it was okay if he sacrificed seven goats in his apartment. I told him it was fine as long as he didn’t leave a mess. He said all the blood would be absorbed into the inverted pentagram he was using to summon Alastor, the chief executioner to the monarch of Hell. I asked him how long Alastor would be staying, and Kevin told me he’d only be there for a night of satanic rituals; he knows the rule that any guests staying longer than two weeks need to be named on the lease.
Talk about considerate.
r/bakerhillbooks | A match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on the point of view. For you, it's certainly heaven.
You've had your fill of dirty tenants, unwilling to pay, searching for excuses and using every loophole to abuse your goodwill. Hell is others said Sartres. Sartres didn't have tenants, tenants are another kind of others that made the rest look like friendly drinking buddies by comparison. And hell filled with drinking buddies isn't so bad all in all.
A ghost hands you a drink, it's careful not to let the red drool dripping from it's lips fall inside. It has to keep a handkerchief beneath the mouth so as to not dirty everything. A permanent problem, one it didn't care when alive, one it never ceaseds to solve on its own now that he's not. In life, it died from overeating. In death, it learned to stay clean and enjoy an uneventful and quiet day.
Only in death do they learn how good life could be by being polite, and they cling to it to the last. Unable to feel, yet hungry to live like they never were before death.
You open the door to the cellar. A shakled man sobs and begs for mercy, asking what he has done. Nothing really. Well, except annoy another landlord who paid you a small fortune to be rid of him. You have neither pity nor hate, it is business, and you delight in the knowledge that death will teach him valuable lessons like common courtesy.
A snap of your fingers and the ghost with the red drool comes over, licking its lips in anticipation. Before the man could scream, it was on him. Eating limbs whole, tearing them apart with a powerful jaw, stomach distending to burst to accomodate the pounds of flesh. In a minute, it has licked to the very last drop of blood.
Later that day, a wail comes up from the cellar. The man has risen again, a ghost, still shakled. They all had a peculiarity.
"I don't want to die."
But you have.
"I don't want to leave."
You know. Will he pay rent?
"Of course! I promise!"
Then he shall seek his previous landlord.
He left. Like others, he will be polite, pay on time, and clean up after him. Until the day he realizes he does not feel nor remember what it is to be alive. Then, he will become a it. And slowly dissolve in oblivion.
Except the it that follows you, it kept the delight to eat his fill, and you work well together. It pours you a glass. You raise a toast to this wonderful partnership. | |
[WP] Your home is super duper haunted. It makes the news for odd events that befall your land. Quite frankly you have no idea why it bothers people .The demons and ghosts respect their leases, pay rent on time, leave you alone unless they need maintenance. Why do demons need wifi? Who knows. | “What was it this time?” I asked the demon.
Charlie had the decency to look chagrined at the blood dripping down the walls, shoving his hands, which, like the rest of him, had dark red skin, into his pockets. “Sharon broke up with me.”
My eyes widened. “No! Oh, man, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” He sighed, glancing to the paint I’d brought over, which matched the bedroom wall of the room he rented in my home. “She just went back to live with her mom, who’s still in Hell, so I won’t even have the pleasure of bumping into her every once in a while.”
“Well, help yourself to a beer or two of mine,” I told him. “This too shall pass.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Leaving the room, my pace quickened as I reached the top of the stairwell, hearing the buzz of the doorbell.
The house hadn’t always belonged to me, of course. It was left to me by grandparents, my grandmother having been a psychic. She’d noticed two spirits here but told them they could stick around. As long as they didn’t cause trouble, of course. When grandpa died and then granny died shortly after, the house went to me, and I was flattered, as I’d assumed I’d be renting the rest of my millennial life.
Granny and grandpa were still here, of course, in the master bedroom on the third floor. But the house was still in my name.
Swinging open the door, I gave a friendly smile to the woman and her son on the front doorstep. “Hey there,” I said. The weather outside beyond my property seemed party cloudy, but per usual, there was a large, dark gray cloud that hung over the house, stretching to the edge of the front and back yards. It usually rained every two days or so, which meant I’d needed to invest in some better irrigation to reroute the water, but everything was green all the time, which was nice. And my garden prospered easily.
“Hi,” said the woman tentatively. “I’m Harriet, this is Billy. We were coming through town on a road trip, and someone told us about this place, and we thought-”
“Of course, sure,” I said, nodding. “We get visitors all the time. Usually I ask for some notice, it’s all on the website, but if this is more impromptu than that, no worries. It’s $50 per person, so $100 for the two of you.”
Her eyes bulged in shock. “A hundred dollars? For a tour of a house?”
“The most haunted house in the country,” I corrected her. “But seriously, I’m a writer, and an average one at that. I make my money off rent and tourists and sell maybe three books a month. This house is a home, but it’s also a business. So? What’ll it be?”
Harriet let out an indignant huff but nodded as she came inside. “All right. Better be worth it.”
“I make no promises,” I replied, which only got me another look from her.
“Whoa,” Billy breathed. At this point he was only looking at the home itself, which was sizeable, well cared for, and over a hundred years old, so ‘whoa’ wasn’t uncommon. The woman took five twenties from her pocket and reluctantly handed them over.
I rang the doorbell three times in succession, which alerted everyone to tourists being on the premises, before shutting the front door. “So, this is Lawrence House, built by Mr. Lawrence in 1893,” I told them. “But what he didn’t know was that the house was built on a confluence of several ley lines, and choosing this site determined the fate of the house long before it was even built.”
“Boo!” exclaimed a young man, popping up from beneath the floorboards.
The tourists both shrieked and I grinned at the specter now floating a foot above the ground. “This is Arnold, he lives here and has for about five years. He was gruesomely murdered,” I said, my voice lowering to drive home the point.
“It’s true,” Arnold told them, lowering himself to the floor so he stood there like any living person would. Except for his semi-transparency. That was something he could turn on and off, though, so he was playing his role here for the tourists. “I was the victim of a serial killer twenty years ago. He strung me up and slit my throat, draining it into a bowl,” he whispered. “And it was never confirmed, but some say he was a vampire because according to him-”
“This is not something I want my son to hear!” Harriet cried, covering her son’s ears.
I shared a baffled look with Arnold before looking back to her. “He looks old enough. What is he, twelve? Thirteen?”
“Twelve,” she said sharply.
“You know this is a *haunted house tour*,” I said slowly. “What were you expecting?”
“Not tales of serial killers who string people up,” she hissed.
I let out a sigh. “All right. It’s not true anyway. Arnold died of a heart attack.” The woman blinked in surprise. “This house was bought by my grandparents in 1960,” I said, leading them into the living room. The looks on their faces to see another demon there, complete with the same red skin as Charlie and horns, was sufficient enough reaction I supposed. “That’s Jay, he’s one of two demons who have a room here, though he prefers to hang out in the living room, extrovert that he is.”
“Hey guys,” he said with a salute. Probably most surprising to the visitors was that he was knitting, halfway through a scarf. Used to the weather in Hell, central Florida wasn’t that difficult for him most of the time, but he did have trouble during the few days of winter we suffered through.
“Over here is the kitchen,” I continued. “We stock blood for the demons, though they usually drink it as a treat, like we drink wine. And despite my best efforts, sometimes things do break down in the presence of the ghosts that live here, so we try to keep things running smoothly by sticking to older tech. My computer is in my room, which is warded for protection. No garbage disposal, no microwave, not even a TV.”
“You don’t have TV?” Billy asked, horrified even beyond when he’d set his sights on Jay.
“Nope,” I replied. “But the hardline internet works in my room so I can get Netflix and anything else I want to stream.” Billy seemed calmed by that reply.
I showed them upstairs next, popping in on each of the guests, the ghosts going translucent. The pipes rattled, the house creaked ominously around us, and the occasional light flickered, but that was just par for the course living here, not purposeful special effects. If anyone lost their temper, I’d usually need to change a bulb or two, and I joked that soon I’d have to buy stock in the Philips company. We also looked in on Charlie as he continued to paint over the blood trailing down his wall, who was putting in some extra effort to look grouchy, though to me he just looked constipated.
They had another jump scare as a little girl popped into existence seemingly out of nowhere, but I skipped the story about how she’d slit the throats of her parents and haunted the nearest place she could find that suited her devilish demeanor. I also skipped the truth, that she’d died from leukemia. They were here for the unnatural, and cancer was too horribly familiar. My favorite part was introducing them to my grandparents, who were still as lovely a couple as they had been when they’d been alive.
After the tour was completed, I sent the family off with a Polaroid of them with all my tenants, and they seemed satisfied with their visit. But as I went to shut the door behind them, Thomas Russell was walking up the steps to my front porch. And per usual, he looked cranky. “Russell,” I sighed. “What can I do for you today?”
“I heard that now your haunted house is spreading through word of mouth!” he snapped. “This is an affront to God, not a tourist destination.”
“Can’t it be both?” I asked blandly.
His eyes narrowed, not amused. “I’m bringing it up at the next town council meeting and I’m not letting this go just because you’ve bought off the mayor.”
“Bought off- I bring in tourists!” I exclaimed. “I don’t bribe him with piles of cash!”
“Just consider yourself on notice. This will not stand.” The man spun on his heel and clomped down the steps from my porch.
“What was that about?” asked Jay, knitting needles clicking away in his hands, the ball of yarn floating mid-air beside him.
“Just a retiree with nothing better to do than irritate me,” I replied. Shutting the door, I nodded toward the kitchen. “How about a glass of AB for you and Charlie? You guys did great with this impromptu drop-in.”
“O-neg for me,” Jay replied. “I’m watching my weight.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | A match made in heaven. Or hell, depending on the point of view. For you, it's certainly heaven.
You've had your fill of dirty tenants, unwilling to pay, searching for excuses and using every loophole to abuse your goodwill. Hell is others said Sartres. Sartres didn't have tenants, tenants are another kind of others that made the rest look like friendly drinking buddies by comparison. And hell filled with drinking buddies isn't so bad all in all.
A ghost hands you a drink, it's careful not to let the red drool dripping from it's lips fall inside. It has to keep a handkerchief beneath the mouth so as to not dirty everything. A permanent problem, one it didn't care when alive, one it never ceaseds to solve on its own now that he's not. In life, it died from overeating. In death, it learned to stay clean and enjoy an uneventful and quiet day.
Only in death do they learn how good life could be by being polite, and they cling to it to the last. Unable to feel, yet hungry to live like they never were before death.
You open the door to the cellar. A shakled man sobs and begs for mercy, asking what he has done. Nothing really. Well, except annoy another landlord who paid you a small fortune to be rid of him. You have neither pity nor hate, it is business, and you delight in the knowledge that death will teach him valuable lessons like common courtesy.
A snap of your fingers and the ghost with the red drool comes over, licking its lips in anticipation. Before the man could scream, it was on him. Eating limbs whole, tearing them apart with a powerful jaw, stomach distending to burst to accomodate the pounds of flesh. In a minute, it has licked to the very last drop of blood.
Later that day, a wail comes up from the cellar. The man has risen again, a ghost, still shakled. They all had a peculiarity.
"I don't want to die."
But you have.
"I don't want to leave."
You know. Will he pay rent?
"Of course! I promise!"
Then he shall seek his previous landlord.
He left. Like others, he will be polite, pay on time, and clean up after him. Until the day he realizes he does not feel nor remember what it is to be alive. Then, he will become a it. And slowly dissolve in oblivion.
Except the it that follows you, it kept the delight to eat his fill, and you work well together. It pours you a glass. You raise a toast to this wonderful partnership. |
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