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You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He cut the child's throat so quickly, the only sign was the scarlet line blooming against alabaster skin.
_____________
And within an hour, the tumor on his thyroid was excised. | Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her long black hair muzzled gently against his reddened eyes and the touch of her soft skin comforted him somehow, despite the absence of warmth. Letting his tears fall to the painted red lips below him, he pulled his face away from hers and gazed lovingly at the spiritless body in his arms. The wine-stained cocktail dress hugged her limp form in a way that flattered her even in death. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the engraved lettering. "Daddy's little girl" he whispered shortly, and his face once again returned in tears to the soothing nest of hair surrounding her lifeless expression.
Nathaniel cried with her body in his arms. Her greasy black hair pressed against his tear-filled eyes as he tried to ignore the frosty touch of her cracked skin against his. He pulled himself away from her unrecognizable face and let his gaze fall upon the broken, twisted body before him. Her torn cocktail dress pressed firmly against her bony figure, displaying more of her secondhand physique than he cared to see. His eyes glanced up to the silver necklace he had given her years before, and he traced his fingers along the long worn out engraving. "Daddy's little girl" he sneered sarcastically, and his face once again returned in tears to the wiry mat of hair surrounding her forgotten face. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He loved dogs and children. He was a painter and he bought his girlfriend one of those newfangled handheld cameras which she loved filming him with.
He was an idealist, a truly dedicated leader, and a great speaker.
---
His name was Adolf Hitler. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | He held their child in his arms. She was all he had left, after all. This child held all of his hopes, all of his dreams for his marriage and family. His wife had died in childbirth, and he missed her terribly. He could smell her hair in the pillows on the bed at night. He remembered waking up and seeing her beautiful, soft face lying serenely with eyes still closed... Her heart beating as gently as her breath that tickled his nose. He just couldn't let that go. He held the child in his arms and vowed never to forget the woman he had loved.
He held their child in his arms. She was all he had to remember her by, after all. This child was part of his dream for a happy family; a happy marriage. He missed his wife terribly, and now the child they had borne was the very thing that had killed her. He looked at the baby with a mixture of nostalgia and anguish... How could something so beautiful hold such a horrible curse? He vowed never to forget how his wife was taken from him. This child's curse wouldn't hurt him twice. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He helped set up an orphanage/shelter for children.
He licked his lips seductively. | He's gorgeous. He has golden blond hair that always seems to sit in the right place, and his facial structure has trim cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff. His eyelashes are so long that they look almost feminine, and they compliment his baby blue eyes. He is a determined fellow, and likes making goals and takes a certain pride out of completing difficult tasks. If asked, he does housework without complaint, although not always up to your high standards. You can often catch him with a book, especially when he knows he'll have a chance to read. If you are sad or tired, tea will occasionally appear, or at the least the kettle turned on. When he holds you, his arms feel like home. And they are.
He's unkempt. He rarely gets haircuts, so he always looks a bit shaggy. His age hasn't caught up to him yet, so his features tend to look juvenile. Often he will cultivate a goatee, but even when he takes the time to shave, it's never a clean shave. He always cuts corners like that. Sometimes he'll get a burst of energy, and will work out for days, only to spend days afterward slovenly over-eating. If you beg, he'll help out with chores, but he never really finishes the job. He'll put away the dishes... in the wrong place. Or maybe clean the bathroom.... and ignore the floor, countertop, toilet, and tub. He can be overly sentimental, and dislikes replacing old, worn items. That leads to him using the torn, stained, dirty backpack he's had over 15 years, or wearing clothes from his tweens. It occurs to you that maybe you should have left him with his mother. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | He's gorgeous. He has golden blond hair that always seems to sit in the right place, and his facial structure has trim cheekbones and just the right amount of scruff. His eyelashes are so long that they look almost feminine, and they compliment his baby blue eyes. He is a determined fellow, and likes making goals and takes a certain pride out of completing difficult tasks. If asked, he does housework without complaint, although not always up to your high standards. You can often catch him with a book, especially when he knows he'll have a chance to read. If you are sad or tired, tea will occasionally appear, or at the least the kettle turned on. When he holds you, his arms feel like home. And they are.
He's unkempt. He rarely gets haircuts, so he always looks a bit shaggy. His age hasn't caught up to him yet, so his features tend to look juvenile. Often he will cultivate a goatee, but even when he takes the time to shave, it's never a clean shave. He always cuts corners like that. Sometimes he'll get a burst of energy, and will work out for days, only to spend days afterward slovenly over-eating. If you beg, he'll help out with chores, but he never really finishes the job. He'll put away the dishes... in the wrong place. Or maybe clean the bathroom.... and ignore the floor, countertop, toilet, and tub. He can be overly sentimental, and dislikes replacing old, worn items. That leads to him using the torn, stained, dirty backpack he's had over 15 years, or wearing clothes from his tweens. It occurs to you that maybe you should have left him with his mother. |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | She was devilishly smart with a taste for Biggie Smalls and champagne. She'd often lay in your lap as you read, happy to be near you and feel your warmth and your scent. Her kisses tasted like vanilla and the feeling of her nails on your skin would send shivers up your spine.
She was perfect, and you loved her.
She was smart, possibly too smart for your own good. Smart enough at least to know that she could take advantage of how trusting you were, how utterly in love you were with her. While she was laying in your lap while you read, she would be texting her friends to keep quiet about the previous night and the man who had to sneak out of her house minutes before you arrived. You can only wonder now the times she kissed you, was it to hide the taste of another man? The awful image of those nails digging into the skin of someone else while you were at home.
She was manipulative, cruel, and ruined you and you loved her.
| In a city where the poor were a majority but always ignored and discriminated against, where the government is very corrupt, a place that the rest of the world does not respect. One man set out to change that. He was rich, yes, but he built parks, gave food to the poor, created jobs, and other cool stuff. He became a sort of Robin Hood of the 20th century. He loved spending time with his family. When he was killed by his political enemies, he was greatly mourned by millions of people and many still mourn him today.
_________________________________________________
In a war-torn small nation, one man decided to take advantage of the situation and get rich. He did not care who he had to kill, who he had to intimidate, and who he had to rule by fear. He was a drug smuggler and would do whatever was necessary to keep getting money regardless of who he had to hurt. He put out a bounty on police officers in his nation and sometimes would have a bomb placed in civilian sites where his political enemies might be. When he was killed by a joint operation many celebrated his death.
Pablo Escobar |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | In a city where the poor were a majority but always ignored and discriminated against, where the government is very corrupt, a place that the rest of the world does not respect. One man set out to change that. He was rich, yes, but he built parks, gave food to the poor, created jobs, and other cool stuff. He became a sort of Robin Hood of the 20th century. He loved spending time with his family. When he was killed by his political enemies, he was greatly mourned by millions of people and many still mourn him today.
_________________________________________________
In a war-torn small nation, one man decided to take advantage of the situation and get rich. He did not care who he had to kill, who he had to intimidate, and who he had to rule by fear. He was a drug smuggler and would do whatever was necessary to keep getting money regardless of who he had to hurt. He put out a bounty on police officers in his nation and sometimes would have a bomb placed in civilian sites where his political enemies might be. When he was killed by a joint operation many celebrated his death.
Pablo Escobar |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He cut the child's throat so quickly, the only sign was the scarlet line blooming against alabaster skin.
_____________
And within an hour, the tumor on his thyroid was excised. | In a city where the poor were a majority but always ignored and discriminated against, where the government is very corrupt, a place that the rest of the world does not respect. One man set out to change that. He was rich, yes, but he built parks, gave food to the poor, created jobs, and other cool stuff. He became a sort of Robin Hood of the 20th century. He loved spending time with his family. When he was killed by his political enemies, he was greatly mourned by millions of people and many still mourn him today.
_________________________________________________
In a war-torn small nation, one man decided to take advantage of the situation and get rich. He did not care who he had to kill, who he had to intimidate, and who he had to rule by fear. He was a drug smuggler and would do whatever was necessary to keep getting money regardless of who he had to hurt. He put out a bounty on police officers in his nation and sometimes would have a bomb placed in civilian sites where his political enemies might be. When he was killed by a joint operation many celebrated his death.
Pablo Escobar |
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for.
- - -
I need you. You're my everything. You're the only thing I have to live for. | She was devilishly smart with a taste for Biggie Smalls and champagne. She'd often lay in your lap as you read, happy to be near you and feel your warmth and your scent. Her kisses tasted like vanilla and the feeling of her nails on your skin would send shivers up your spine.
She was perfect, and you loved her.
She was smart, possibly too smart for your own good. Smart enough at least to know that she could take advantage of how trusting you were, how utterly in love you were with her. While she was laying in your lap while you read, she would be texting her friends to keep quiet about the previous night and the man who had to sneak out of her house minutes before you arrived. You can only wonder now the times she kissed you, was it to hide the taste of another man? The awful image of those nails digging into the skin of someone else while you were at home.
She was manipulative, cruel, and ruined you and you loved her.
|
You can use real people if you fancy. | [WP] Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them. | He cut the child's throat so quickly, the only sign was the scarlet line blooming against alabaster skin.
_____________
And within an hour, the tumor on his thyroid was excised. | She was devilishly smart with a taste for Biggie Smalls and champagne. She'd often lay in your lap as you read, happy to be near you and feel your warmth and your scent. Her kisses tasted like vanilla and the feeling of her nails on your skin would send shivers up your spine.
She was perfect, and you loved her.
She was smart, possibly too smart for your own good. Smart enough at least to know that she could take advantage of how trusting you were, how utterly in love you were with her. While she was laying in your lap while you read, she would be texting her friends to keep quiet about the previous night and the man who had to sneak out of her house minutes before you arrived. You can only wonder now the times she kissed you, was it to hide the taste of another man? The awful image of those nails digging into the skin of someone else while you were at home.
She was manipulative, cruel, and ruined you and you loved her.
|
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I can still hear him scream. His voice rang through the night as blood bright as crimson illuminated off my teeth. I didn't have long before someone came looking for him. I ran back to the woods to escape the sound. The sound of worried mothers and angry fathers looking for their little boy. After what feels like ages I stop and lay my back against a tree. My stomach is boiling, I'm going to vomit. I hunch over as a torrent of red escapes my stomach. I want so bad to sate the hunger. It makes my skin crawl and my eyes burn. I cant keep anything down, no matter what i eat it just comes back up. I thought....I dont know what i thought. A child lays dead under the full moons glow for sake of a few satisfying bites ending in nothing but the same familiar pain. I wish so madly for the release of death that i long so much. I call out to God to release me from my fate. Nothing. There is no God that would do this, no God would make a beast without a purpose. I close my eyes and wish it all away. I want to cry but these damn eyes know only how to seek out another victim. I compose myself and stand up. I need to eat. | Adam stared down at the great lumbering beast as he hoisted the still smoking gun up onto his shoulder. The fur covered monster propped itself up against a tree and stared back at him with fearful eyes, its raggedy breath seemed to reverberate in his mind. It certainly didn't look like it ate babies. Adam wondered what to do as it dragged its long arm across the dirt and tentatively placed its hand over the wound in its left shoulder.
They remained this way for several seconds, silently eying each other. It was clear that Adam had the upper hand here, the monster was weak and in no shape to fight back. Its brow furrowed and it uttered one word: "Why?"
Adam was astonished. "You speak English?"
The monster seemed to contemplate the question before answering. "Of course. My race has studied your people for many generations, we have learnt from you. We lived in peace in the forests until now."
Adam felt anger rise up inside of him. "That's not true! That's not true! You kill babies! You kidnap children and eat them!" He raised the butt of the gun, intending to strike the beast. It let out a small yelp and cowered in fear, shielding its face with its arms. Adam lowered the gun. This didn't make any sense. All the stories that his pa had told him about monsters roaming the forest, snatching up anyone who delved too deep... They didn't match up to the image of this helpless creature before him.
Again the monster spoke, it's deep gravelly voice echoing around the clearing.
"I never hurt a child. I never ate a baby... None of us did. All we wanted to do was live peacefully in the forest and not interfere with man. We fear your guns and yours knives, your chaotic lifestyle, we are sad for the beasts you call horses. You treat them so cruelly, subjecting them to slavery. We did not want to be treated the same. You call us 'monster' but who is the true monster?"
Adam looked at the gun in his hands. A wave of guilt hit him and he dropped it on the ground. "What have I done?" He thought. "This isn't monster, it's a frightened animal and I've condemned it..."
In the distance, the sound of dogs barking and frantic voices could be heard. A horn sounded. They had picked up the trail, Adam's father would be here soon. Adam looked at the beast again and saw fear in its eyes like nothing he had ever seen before. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I wish I had a bed to hide under. Even a closet to lurk in would be nice. I’m stuck peering through the windows of Peter’s shitty excuse for a bedroom in this single-wide disaster you can't really call a home.
My job is pretty easy, normally. Get your assignment. Stalk, creep, hide, just exist so these little brats know you’re there, but just out of reach. You get these little shits riled up just when mom and dad are about to fall asleep, or better yet, about to finally get some time alone to try and make another one of these little monsters. Then, you nudge the closet door or you tug on the covers. I like to tap on the window glass, or if you get a really bad shithead, you whisper something vile they couldn’t have heard anywhere else. Then their parents blame each other for saying something disgusting around the kid or letting little Bobby watch some R-rated movies before bed. But then, the parents stop being completely indifferent fucksticks, and they decide to console their kid. They turn off their apathy for one moment to let this little bedwetter know that he has love in his life, that someone cares enough to respond to his screams. Then my job is done, and it’s on the next assignment. This is easy street. It beats the shit out of haunting houses in the middle of Arizona like my cousin. “Oh, it’s a dry heat,” he says. Bullshit. I visited in the middle of July once, and I still haven’t recovered from the burns on the pads of my feet, and I finally got my claws sharpened after they almost melted off. Do not wake up early in Scottsdale. Fuck, just don’t go to Scottsdale. But still, I would prefer that to Peter’s house.
When I first got this assignment, I knew I must have pissed someone off up the chain. Maybe it was at the Christmas party when I told my boss Jason’s wife she had a nice rack. To be fair, if my wife had thickets of green hair billowing out of the top of her blouse for everyone to see, we might not have gotten divorced. Anyway, this assignment was hell. Trailer park kids are never easy. These kids are brave and stupid, a horrible combination. Some gravelly voice under your mattress whispers something like “I’m going to claw your throat out and drink your blood until your heart stops beating” and you’d think the fartsniffers would just get mom and dad and be done with it. No. These are the kids that grab their dad’s deer knife and start swinging willy-nilly in the dark. My neighbor Bill is on disability after that happened to him. The time off is nice, but the pay is crap. Fucker asked me for bus money the other day. The nerve.
So, once I found Peter’s trailer, I figured I was in for the long haul. On the first night, I made my arms look like scraggly tree limbs. I beat them against the window for about twenty minutes. Once Peter was looking right at me, I opened my eyes so he could see the large yellow circles and black slits peering back through the window. Peter just turned away and tried not to cry too loudly. I kept doing the tree arm thing for a while, but he wouldn’t cry out or leave his room. I’m pretty sure he wet his bed though. I lurked around the other windows. No parents anywhere. I saw they had a car port. No cars. There was a beat up old bike that looked like a Harley but it was missing an engine. The frame was rusted. I wasn’t doing any good here without someone home to comfort this kid. At least I’m laying the groundwork though. Tomorrow night it is.
The next night, the plan was to get the hell out of this trailer park. Get this kid some sympathy and move the fuck on. I was going to sneak into the bedroom and try to hide under a pile of clothes. The kid freaks. Parents come in. I sneak out. Bim bam boom, and I get that much closer to my pension. The only problem is, I don’t see any parents again. I’m not sitting under a pile of shitstained underpants all night for these assholes. I decide to just do the tree limb thing again. I take my shirt off and get my arms as thin as possible. I position them in the light perfectly. This is still an art you know. No one respects this, but we take it seriously. Anyhow, I’m getting set up, and I’m about to open my eyes. That’s when I hear it. Peter’s dad is home. At first, I think this is perfect, it’ll be a short night. Then I hear stumbling. He’s in the kitchen, and I hear pans and glasses everywhere. He’s bitching about Fruit Loops in the sink or something. Peter’s door flies open. His dad kneels down next to the pile of rags Peter pretends is a bed. His dad smells the urine from the night before. He immediately turns from something that appeared to be a sympathetic drunk to a monster worse than us. He picks up the old, soaked towel and he rubs Peter’s face in it. I wouldn’t even do that to my dog. Then he smacks Peter across the cheek. Peter seems unfazed. His dad can’t stand it. He smacks him again. The smacks soon turn into punches. Peter and I made eye contact, but he didn’t scream. He didn’t say anything. He just took it. There were tears without sounds. Soon, his dad got tired and passed out. I just went home. Fucking trailer parks.
The next night I came back just to watch little Peter. Same routine. Dad comes home. Peter says nothing. Dad beats the shit out of him. How do you even deal with this? You hear stories, but you don’t get training on this shit. I told Jason about what I saw, but he gave me this “don’t talk about my wife’s tits, and I won’t give you shit assignments” look and told me to figure it out. I just kept coming back, night after night to see the same thing. Dad comes home. Peter gets beat. He’s just so defeated. I start following him to school. He doesn’t talk to anyone. His walk home? He just goes out in the woods now to be alone. No one asks him how he’s doing. No one wants anything to do with this dirty, piss-soaked kid. He’s someone else’s trash.
I just keep seeing this day after day and night after night. Eventually, Peter is out in the woods burning his piss clothes so his dad doesn’t find them. This turns into burning trash and things he finds along the way home from school. I saw him try to take home a stray dog the other night. His dad told him how stupid he was and put out his cigarettes on the dog. The next day, Peter took the dog with him to the woods. He tied him to a tree and kicked him until he couldn’t walk any more. He left him tied to the tree and went home to receive his own beating.
The following days the abuse just kept coming and going. Peter gets burnt, kicked, and degraded. Peter goes to the woods and burns, kicks, and degrades the dog. The dog lasted for a few weeks. Peter burned it to ash once it died. He seemed so satisfied with himself. That was the last straw for me.
Peter went home that night. His dad came into his room. His dad noticed that Peter’s shoes were covered in mud and ash. He took the shoes and beat Peter’s feet and ankles so badly that he had to drag himself to the bathroom that night. His dad passed out halfway between the kitchen and his bedroom. Peter was convulsing all night while sobbing. Once it stopped, and he lay there quiet, I went back to the car port. Next to the engineless Harley was a can of gasoline. I covered the door in gas and made a trail to the propane tank out back. I took out the matches Peter had used to light the fires in the woods. I’m not a religious guy, but I said every prayer I knew that night. I struck the entire book of matches and dropped it into the puddle. Peter didn’t make a noise.
On to the next one.
| Adam stared down at the great lumbering beast as he hoisted the still smoking gun up onto his shoulder. The fur covered monster propped itself up against a tree and stared back at him with fearful eyes, its raggedy breath seemed to reverberate in his mind. It certainly didn't look like it ate babies. Adam wondered what to do as it dragged its long arm across the dirt and tentatively placed its hand over the wound in its left shoulder.
They remained this way for several seconds, silently eying each other. It was clear that Adam had the upper hand here, the monster was weak and in no shape to fight back. Its brow furrowed and it uttered one word: "Why?"
Adam was astonished. "You speak English?"
The monster seemed to contemplate the question before answering. "Of course. My race has studied your people for many generations, we have learnt from you. We lived in peace in the forests until now."
Adam felt anger rise up inside of him. "That's not true! That's not true! You kill babies! You kidnap children and eat them!" He raised the butt of the gun, intending to strike the beast. It let out a small yelp and cowered in fear, shielding its face with its arms. Adam lowered the gun. This didn't make any sense. All the stories that his pa had told him about monsters roaming the forest, snatching up anyone who delved too deep... They didn't match up to the image of this helpless creature before him.
Again the monster spoke, it's deep gravelly voice echoing around the clearing.
"I never hurt a child. I never ate a baby... None of us did. All we wanted to do was live peacefully in the forest and not interfere with man. We fear your guns and yours knives, your chaotic lifestyle, we are sad for the beasts you call horses. You treat them so cruelly, subjecting them to slavery. We did not want to be treated the same. You call us 'monster' but who is the true monster?"
Adam looked at the gun in his hands. A wave of guilt hit him and he dropped it on the ground. "What have I done?" He thought. "This isn't monster, it's a frightened animal and I've condemned it..."
In the distance, the sound of dogs barking and frantic voices could be heard. A horn sounded. They had picked up the trail, Adam's father would be here soon. Adam looked at the beast again and saw fear in its eyes like nothing he had ever seen before. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I wish I had a bed to hide under. Even a closet to lurk in would be nice. I’m stuck peering through the windows of Peter’s shitty excuse for a bedroom in this single-wide disaster you can't really call a home.
My job is pretty easy, normally. Get your assignment. Stalk, creep, hide, just exist so these little brats know you’re there, but just out of reach. You get these little shits riled up just when mom and dad are about to fall asleep, or better yet, about to finally get some time alone to try and make another one of these little monsters. Then, you nudge the closet door or you tug on the covers. I like to tap on the window glass, or if you get a really bad shithead, you whisper something vile they couldn’t have heard anywhere else. Then their parents blame each other for saying something disgusting around the kid or letting little Bobby watch some R-rated movies before bed. But then, the parents stop being completely indifferent fucksticks, and they decide to console their kid. They turn off their apathy for one moment to let this little bedwetter know that he has love in his life, that someone cares enough to respond to his screams. Then my job is done, and it’s on the next assignment. This is easy street. It beats the shit out of haunting houses in the middle of Arizona like my cousin. “Oh, it’s a dry heat,” he says. Bullshit. I visited in the middle of July once, and I still haven’t recovered from the burns on the pads of my feet, and I finally got my claws sharpened after they almost melted off. Do not wake up early in Scottsdale. Fuck, just don’t go to Scottsdale. But still, I would prefer that to Peter’s house.
When I first got this assignment, I knew I must have pissed someone off up the chain. Maybe it was at the Christmas party when I told my boss Jason’s wife she had a nice rack. To be fair, if my wife had thickets of green hair billowing out of the top of her blouse for everyone to see, we might not have gotten divorced. Anyway, this assignment was hell. Trailer park kids are never easy. These kids are brave and stupid, a horrible combination. Some gravelly voice under your mattress whispers something like “I’m going to claw your throat out and drink your blood until your heart stops beating” and you’d think the fartsniffers would just get mom and dad and be done with it. No. These are the kids that grab their dad’s deer knife and start swinging willy-nilly in the dark. My neighbor Bill is on disability after that happened to him. The time off is nice, but the pay is crap. Fucker asked me for bus money the other day. The nerve.
So, once I found Peter’s trailer, I figured I was in for the long haul. On the first night, I made my arms look like scraggly tree limbs. I beat them against the window for about twenty minutes. Once Peter was looking right at me, I opened my eyes so he could see the large yellow circles and black slits peering back through the window. Peter just turned away and tried not to cry too loudly. I kept doing the tree arm thing for a while, but he wouldn’t cry out or leave his room. I’m pretty sure he wet his bed though. I lurked around the other windows. No parents anywhere. I saw they had a car port. No cars. There was a beat up old bike that looked like a Harley but it was missing an engine. The frame was rusted. I wasn’t doing any good here without someone home to comfort this kid. At least I’m laying the groundwork though. Tomorrow night it is.
The next night, the plan was to get the hell out of this trailer park. Get this kid some sympathy and move the fuck on. I was going to sneak into the bedroom and try to hide under a pile of clothes. The kid freaks. Parents come in. I sneak out. Bim bam boom, and I get that much closer to my pension. The only problem is, I don’t see any parents again. I’m not sitting under a pile of shitstained underpants all night for these assholes. I decide to just do the tree limb thing again. I take my shirt off and get my arms as thin as possible. I position them in the light perfectly. This is still an art you know. No one respects this, but we take it seriously. Anyhow, I’m getting set up, and I’m about to open my eyes. That’s when I hear it. Peter’s dad is home. At first, I think this is perfect, it’ll be a short night. Then I hear stumbling. He’s in the kitchen, and I hear pans and glasses everywhere. He’s bitching about Fruit Loops in the sink or something. Peter’s door flies open. His dad kneels down next to the pile of rags Peter pretends is a bed. His dad smells the urine from the night before. He immediately turns from something that appeared to be a sympathetic drunk to a monster worse than us. He picks up the old, soaked towel and he rubs Peter’s face in it. I wouldn’t even do that to my dog. Then he smacks Peter across the cheek. Peter seems unfazed. His dad can’t stand it. He smacks him again. The smacks soon turn into punches. Peter and I made eye contact, but he didn’t scream. He didn’t say anything. He just took it. There were tears without sounds. Soon, his dad got tired and passed out. I just went home. Fucking trailer parks.
The next night I came back just to watch little Peter. Same routine. Dad comes home. Peter says nothing. Dad beats the shit out of him. How do you even deal with this? You hear stories, but you don’t get training on this shit. I told Jason about what I saw, but he gave me this “don’t talk about my wife’s tits, and I won’t give you shit assignments” look and told me to figure it out. I just kept coming back, night after night to see the same thing. Dad comes home. Peter gets beat. He’s just so defeated. I start following him to school. He doesn’t talk to anyone. His walk home? He just goes out in the woods now to be alone. No one asks him how he’s doing. No one wants anything to do with this dirty, piss-soaked kid. He’s someone else’s trash.
I just keep seeing this day after day and night after night. Eventually, Peter is out in the woods burning his piss clothes so his dad doesn’t find them. This turns into burning trash and things he finds along the way home from school. I saw him try to take home a stray dog the other night. His dad told him how stupid he was and put out his cigarettes on the dog. The next day, Peter took the dog with him to the woods. He tied him to a tree and kicked him until he couldn’t walk any more. He left him tied to the tree and went home to receive his own beating.
The following days the abuse just kept coming and going. Peter gets burnt, kicked, and degraded. Peter goes to the woods and burns, kicks, and degrades the dog. The dog lasted for a few weeks. Peter burned it to ash once it died. He seemed so satisfied with himself. That was the last straw for me.
Peter went home that night. His dad came into his room. His dad noticed that Peter’s shoes were covered in mud and ash. He took the shoes and beat Peter’s feet and ankles so badly that he had to drag himself to the bathroom that night. His dad passed out halfway between the kitchen and his bedroom. Peter was convulsing all night while sobbing. Once it stopped, and he lay there quiet, I went back to the car port. Next to the engineless Harley was a can of gasoline. I covered the door in gas and made a trail to the propane tank out back. I took out the matches Peter had used to light the fires in the woods. I’m not a religious guy, but I said every prayer I knew that night. I struck the entire book of matches and dropped it into the puddle. Peter didn’t make a noise.
On to the next one.
| "Daddy please come help me! There's a monster in my closest, daddy please!" The son shrieked, his cry heard from well below his bed. The father came and the doors swung open. The shadow behind the closet watched, with terror in his eyes, the monster before him coming to rip him away from Earth. The closet then opened, and the shadow faded away, destroyed by the room's little light. "See son, there's no monster here! Now go back to bed!" The room's door shut and the child sighed, the monster in the closet no more. Beneath the bed, though, lurked a shadow's fatherless son. He wept, he wailed, the shadow cried in pain. His father gone, and the child to blame. He reached ahead, the light now off, to take the child from his bed. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I wish I had a bed to hide under. Even a closet to lurk in would be nice. I’m stuck peering through the windows of Peter’s shitty excuse for a bedroom in this single-wide disaster you can't really call a home.
My job is pretty easy, normally. Get your assignment. Stalk, creep, hide, just exist so these little brats know you’re there, but just out of reach. You get these little shits riled up just when mom and dad are about to fall asleep, or better yet, about to finally get some time alone to try and make another one of these little monsters. Then, you nudge the closet door or you tug on the covers. I like to tap on the window glass, or if you get a really bad shithead, you whisper something vile they couldn’t have heard anywhere else. Then their parents blame each other for saying something disgusting around the kid or letting little Bobby watch some R-rated movies before bed. But then, the parents stop being completely indifferent fucksticks, and they decide to console their kid. They turn off their apathy for one moment to let this little bedwetter know that he has love in his life, that someone cares enough to respond to his screams. Then my job is done, and it’s on the next assignment. This is easy street. It beats the shit out of haunting houses in the middle of Arizona like my cousin. “Oh, it’s a dry heat,” he says. Bullshit. I visited in the middle of July once, and I still haven’t recovered from the burns on the pads of my feet, and I finally got my claws sharpened after they almost melted off. Do not wake up early in Scottsdale. Fuck, just don’t go to Scottsdale. But still, I would prefer that to Peter’s house.
When I first got this assignment, I knew I must have pissed someone off up the chain. Maybe it was at the Christmas party when I told my boss Jason’s wife she had a nice rack. To be fair, if my wife had thickets of green hair billowing out of the top of her blouse for everyone to see, we might not have gotten divorced. Anyway, this assignment was hell. Trailer park kids are never easy. These kids are brave and stupid, a horrible combination. Some gravelly voice under your mattress whispers something like “I’m going to claw your throat out and drink your blood until your heart stops beating” and you’d think the fartsniffers would just get mom and dad and be done with it. No. These are the kids that grab their dad’s deer knife and start swinging willy-nilly in the dark. My neighbor Bill is on disability after that happened to him. The time off is nice, but the pay is crap. Fucker asked me for bus money the other day. The nerve.
So, once I found Peter’s trailer, I figured I was in for the long haul. On the first night, I made my arms look like scraggly tree limbs. I beat them against the window for about twenty minutes. Once Peter was looking right at me, I opened my eyes so he could see the large yellow circles and black slits peering back through the window. Peter just turned away and tried not to cry too loudly. I kept doing the tree arm thing for a while, but he wouldn’t cry out or leave his room. I’m pretty sure he wet his bed though. I lurked around the other windows. No parents anywhere. I saw they had a car port. No cars. There was a beat up old bike that looked like a Harley but it was missing an engine. The frame was rusted. I wasn’t doing any good here without someone home to comfort this kid. At least I’m laying the groundwork though. Tomorrow night it is.
The next night, the plan was to get the hell out of this trailer park. Get this kid some sympathy and move the fuck on. I was going to sneak into the bedroom and try to hide under a pile of clothes. The kid freaks. Parents come in. I sneak out. Bim bam boom, and I get that much closer to my pension. The only problem is, I don’t see any parents again. I’m not sitting under a pile of shitstained underpants all night for these assholes. I decide to just do the tree limb thing again. I take my shirt off and get my arms as thin as possible. I position them in the light perfectly. This is still an art you know. No one respects this, but we take it seriously. Anyhow, I’m getting set up, and I’m about to open my eyes. That’s when I hear it. Peter’s dad is home. At first, I think this is perfect, it’ll be a short night. Then I hear stumbling. He’s in the kitchen, and I hear pans and glasses everywhere. He’s bitching about Fruit Loops in the sink or something. Peter’s door flies open. His dad kneels down next to the pile of rags Peter pretends is a bed. His dad smells the urine from the night before. He immediately turns from something that appeared to be a sympathetic drunk to a monster worse than us. He picks up the old, soaked towel and he rubs Peter’s face in it. I wouldn’t even do that to my dog. Then he smacks Peter across the cheek. Peter seems unfazed. His dad can’t stand it. He smacks him again. The smacks soon turn into punches. Peter and I made eye contact, but he didn’t scream. He didn’t say anything. He just took it. There were tears without sounds. Soon, his dad got tired and passed out. I just went home. Fucking trailer parks.
The next night I came back just to watch little Peter. Same routine. Dad comes home. Peter says nothing. Dad beats the shit out of him. How do you even deal with this? You hear stories, but you don’t get training on this shit. I told Jason about what I saw, but he gave me this “don’t talk about my wife’s tits, and I won’t give you shit assignments” look and told me to figure it out. I just kept coming back, night after night to see the same thing. Dad comes home. Peter gets beat. He’s just so defeated. I start following him to school. He doesn’t talk to anyone. His walk home? He just goes out in the woods now to be alone. No one asks him how he’s doing. No one wants anything to do with this dirty, piss-soaked kid. He’s someone else’s trash.
I just keep seeing this day after day and night after night. Eventually, Peter is out in the woods burning his piss clothes so his dad doesn’t find them. This turns into burning trash and things he finds along the way home from school. I saw him try to take home a stray dog the other night. His dad told him how stupid he was and put out his cigarettes on the dog. The next day, Peter took the dog with him to the woods. He tied him to a tree and kicked him until he couldn’t walk any more. He left him tied to the tree and went home to receive his own beating.
The following days the abuse just kept coming and going. Peter gets burnt, kicked, and degraded. Peter goes to the woods and burns, kicks, and degrades the dog. The dog lasted for a few weeks. Peter burned it to ash once it died. He seemed so satisfied with himself. That was the last straw for me.
Peter went home that night. His dad came into his room. His dad noticed that Peter’s shoes were covered in mud and ash. He took the shoes and beat Peter’s feet and ankles so badly that he had to drag himself to the bathroom that night. His dad passed out halfway between the kitchen and his bedroom. Peter was convulsing all night while sobbing. Once it stopped, and he lay there quiet, I went back to the car port. Next to the engineless Harley was a can of gasoline. I covered the door in gas and made a trail to the propane tank out back. I took out the matches Peter had used to light the fires in the woods. I’m not a religious guy, but I said every prayer I knew that night. I struck the entire book of matches and dropped it into the puddle. Peter didn’t make a noise.
On to the next one.
| So here we are again my darling Lisbeth. I stand over your bed tall and gaunt, my skin grey and my hair the color of ash, my face is scarred and my hands are almost skeletal, but my eyes are still the same vibrant green that you fell in love with all those years ago. you sleep soundly, almost a shame to disturb your perfect sleep, but I know I have to. I remember when we first met; a warm summer day in London ,very rare, you walked into my book shop wearing a simple yellow dress and a sun hat. I stammered and stuttered as you asked questions about the different books I had in stock and by the time you were through you had talked me into dinner. This of course led to courtship and then to marriage. Those were the happiest years of my life I realize as I gently stroke your forehead; at least until the war.
The war to end all wars they called it, and I was thrown into to fight for the glorious British empire. After months of fighting I was sent home with a death sentence of trench foot and infection. You were distraught of course and called the best doctors until every one said I was a goner and to pick a nice soft spot to dig a grave, and in the depths of despair she came. She offered a way to heal me; for a price she would reverse my sickness and injury making me stringer than I was before. You agreed saying no price was to high for my life; I was to sick to argue. The woman waved a hand over me and my wounds disappeared and I could breathe well for the first time in months, and the woman left saying nothing. We did not notice the downside until the next day when your own father visited our small home and defiled you. soon every man save for me would go mad in our presence turning into a slave to their own lust; no matter where we went it happened again and again until you could not take it any longer and hung yourself in our home. Part of me knew it was better and to be happy you would no longer suffer. Soon after your death thew woman appeared before me and decreed:
Your wife will pay the price for your life
She will be reborn again and again until kingdom come
Upon her first blood each incarnation will be defiled by man
until you end her suffering by your hand
I was taken aback and started to protest until pain erupted through me as my skin shifted to grey and the woman disappeared. Years later I found you again defiled and broken a girl of only twelve destroyed in so many ways/ In trying to break the curse that befalls us both I had learned many mystical arts and made your second death painless, and so here we are once again; your first blood staining the sheets of your bed as you sleep fitfully. I lift my hand and a ring of paper surrounds your neck; you wake as your lungs burn and see me standing over you. I lean down and whisper "I am sorry my love; I meant to kill you in your sleep" and kiss your forehead as the last of your life fades away. When the deed is done I make for you a paper flower and place it in your still warm hands before reentering the darkness of the closet. Before I leave this place through the shadow I look back and whisper:
"goodbye my love until we next meet" | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | In an explosion of out-of-season clothing and plastic hangers, the monster roared into the room, upsetting the pine-slatted doors from their hinges. A toy robot came sputtering to life, alternately lighting the room with flashes of red and green. In a christmas colored strobe the goat horned lurker silently strode to the bed over soft tan carpeting and lifted the boy up by his foot for inspection. Urine flowed off the boy and onto the bed and the child began to squirm against the monster's rough iron grasp.
The beast made its way through the shadow corridors which connect worlds. The rust-stained burlap sack was moving furiously in different directions, but the boy's screams were muted in the void.
The boy felt the sack upend and he spilled out, his eyes bleary and unused to light. The boy looked around and it appeared to be a stone house with stained glass windows. A fire burned in a fireplace and at the end of the table was a devilish man with large horns who appeared to be eating a roast of some sort.
The child stood up and felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and turned to see the massive beast-man who captured him.
"Good," croaked the reddish devil-man at the table. "It's always good to see it when someone makes it." The monster turned to eye the young man, and his eyes reflected goldenrod yellow in the firelight. "You are no doubt terrified by what has transpired and you have every reason to be. Rest assured, we mean you no harm. Quite the opposite - and before you go into hysterics, allow me a moment to speak. The majority of the people on your planet have been killed by a natural cataclysm. Jorrgrin here, your captor, and nearly 100 others from our clan tried to bring as many young ones like you here as we could. We could only bring the young ones, because as you'll note when next viewing your reflection, you have aged significantly traveling between worlds - quite simply, your elders would not have survived the journey. Shortly we will bring you to a camp we have made for others in asylum from their world, but first, see for yourself."
Jorrgrin, never loosening his grip, produced a intricately inlaid silver and gold hand mirror. The boy held it up and took one look before dropping it and cracking the glass. He crumpled to the floor and began sobbing in heaves and waves, though the tears never made it to the ground past his bushy grey beard and long tangles of hair.
| Panic surged through my veins! Тhe last. I am the last. The cursed ritual must be performed now. Generation after generation, my ancestors performed the sacred ritual - take a princess, and eat her. Just one. The rite signifies the passing of our kind into manhood. I tried it once - a small redhaired girl. I woke up in the castle, on my knees at her feet, yelping "I wont hurt a hair on your head". I, the weakest of them all, the only dragon in existence that cannot devour a princess, am also the last, forced to an eternity in this god forsaken castle. The last of the great dragons.
The world swirled around me, another symptom of an unfulfilled ritual. It will get progressively worse until the princess is marked. Adrenaline carried away some of the spin. I wont hurt a hair on your head.
I flew out to the kingdom- they had a hat festival. The princesses would be wearing the grandest of hats, and in the preparations, they would be easy to spot. I'd take the oldest. Yes, the oldest. The heiress was foul tempered and it was said the only ones she loved are her own kin. She should be easy to carry off. The rite... I wont hurt a hair on your head. The memory swirled away. I flew out.
Runa: Little May was running around, showing the hat box to everyone around. She was twelve, but had grown up nicely in the last few months. The odd child The hat was lovely - a golden bird, flying about the sea of green. The hat maker had made a masterpiece for me. Oh joy. Yes, all for the heiress to the throne. Little May's own hat was much simpler - a gold cylinder with a lizard wrapped around it. I hated this festival. Our big holiday truly divided us into classes. The next in line got a magical bird, and the little princess got a silly sleeping lizard. Still, May, ten years younger than I, sprung up during the summer into a beautiful young woman, had a different disposition - happy, bumbling little girl. Hey light locks bounced as gave me my hat, green eyes twinkling. The bird flew off and sat on her shoulder. May gave the little creature back to me, and put on her own hat. The lizard stayed still as May poked it. Her eyes got sad. "He wont wake up". She looked up at me. "He will" I smiled at her. A shadow covered our smiles. A creature flew low overhead.
The people scattered beneath me as my shadow fell over them. Now that the rite would be performed, my head was a clear as a bell. The deep magic that would destroy me in case of disobedience also protects me as long as the rite is prepared. ''I wont touch a hair on your head" My head ached with the memory, and a wave ran down through the spine and to my wings. My wings buckled. I pushed the thought out and straightened out. The world stopped spinning, I lowered, looking at the preparations for the festival. There! The traditional gold of the princesses hats gave them away. The younger moved swiftly for such a gentle creature. Her golden hat matched the gold of her curls. My head started spinning again. The magic knew she was not the one. I had to look at my mark now. I rushed upward, the pain in my wings nearly grounding me, and did a loop. "Don't resist" the magic whispered. "Your full birthright". I completed the loop and found the gold again. This time, I forced myself to stare at my mark. My princess. The eldest stood tall, her dark hair behind her. She held the hat in her hands. A golden bird would be my mark. Tomorrow, I would take her. I was relieved not to look at her face any longer. Her dark eyes knew.
Runa: May stayed on the ground long after the creature was gone. I followed it with my eyes. How lovely it would be, the dragon carrying me away. It would make May the heiress, and she deserved and wanted it more. And I would be free. As I continued pondering the idea, another creature wandered into our spring day. Tall, blonde, and very thin, Violetta DeMouve was third in line for the throne since her father died, behind May and I. And she made sure we never forgot it - a cold indifference to me, the ugly duck, and vicious hate toward the beautiful May. Even now, her eyes scouted the scene for a change to make us miserable. Her little silk shoes wandered toward May, still on the ground. Crack! "Whoops" Violetta said. May's eyes filled with tears. Her little golden cylinder was in pieces on the ground, the little lizard disintegrated by Violetta's heel. I felt my fury rising. May cried on the ground, and Violetta's eyes were locked on the hat in my hands. I smiled at May and helped her up. A princess must always behave. A princess must always be polite. This princess wanted to tear Violetta's own hat off her perfect hair, and stomp it into the mud. I hated when May cried. And suddenly - an idea. No need to destroy Violetta's hat - just get May a better one. I held out my hat. "For you, for tomorrow, sweetheart". May's 12 year old eyes widened - the golden bird was a sure with in the competition tomorrow. And she would be the one wearing it.
I sat in the great hall, it's dark sides enveloping me. I knew every inch of it. The dark walls continued upward until they faded into darkness. The walls were once covered in murals, the best human artists invited to paint the dragon's castle. That was many years ago. The paint was gone, the family painted had rot into dust. I tried not to remember that they were my family. I knew if I followed the walls into darkness, аt the domed ceiling was a painting of my mother and I. The painter said walls would depict the entire dynasty. Тhe magic liked my train of thought. Yes, thoughts of the dynasty behind me are good. I remembered my grandfather, a young man still when the castle was finished. His light brown hair, the blue eyes. Only the medallion on his neck revealed his true self - a dragon, a dark beast. I remember he stood in this very room- the light from the sunlit windows enveloping him from all sides, making the mosaic at his feet sparkle. He answered then "Of course they will. Once these wall are full, we will build more". Then he tilted his head back and laughed, a booming wave of sound. My mother's silver bell echoed him. I remember her face, light brown eyes, a smile. She looked down at me, smiled, and tickled my nose. "Look at the silly painter, my sweet baby" I heard my own giggling in the memory, and saw my baby hands playing with her pretty hair. I remembered the mosaic on the floor, my small feet feeling the smooth pieces of color, and my young eyes seeing how bright and yellow the light was in the room. I remembered another face: golden curls, huge purple eyes, the woman's face soaking in the sunlight from the newly built room. My betrothed. My only love. I saw the faces of my family: aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents, all with a medallion around their neck. I heard their laughter, and felt the wind as my father tossed me up. I remember looking at the beautiful dome above me, my mothers face smiling at me from the mural. I looked at her arms. There I was, surrounded my those who loved me, my love next to me. Darkness fell on me like a concrete plate, the faces disappeared. I sat, alone in the dark hall, the mosaic shattered at my feet. When did they close the shutters? The entire castle was dark now, falling apart, not enough magic left behind to keep it together. It died with them, with my great clan. The walls were filled with their faces, and there would be no more. The painter whose bones were long turned to dust was right after all. Only I was left - a dark memory, unable to even into a human anymore. No magic. No hope. I prepared for tomorrow, the last tribute to my dying race.
This time, I was sneaking. The princesses would be carried inside if there was danger - I would have one shot. I could see the golden hats from far away, a little star to guide me. I could see it - the golden bird of my mark. The magic swelled in my veins - not enough to rebuild my castle, it was enough to keep me chained. If I were to turn back now I would fall, be ripped apart by the magic. "Feed me!" it screamed. I remembered the dark ruins of my halls, and my mothers somber eyes as she breathed her last breath. The fire that burned away the murals, and interiors. My fathers last cry of fury, as he lead the charge. My sister's body, shattered on the mosaic, her weak wings unable to carry her out. My love's last words as she died in my arms: "I will return to you". And the red - haired princess, backing away, her eyes wide with fear as I writhed on the ground under the magic. I watched the walls of my home collapse under their own weight. This was my end, my last payment to the magic that had kept me alive for a thousand years - one princess. I completed my dive, and jammed into the ground right in front of the golden bird. I heard screaming around me, and the princess collapsed. I swept her up with one claw, and with the other arm, slashed across her chest and neck. Her head tipped back, the hat with the golden bird falling off. I saw the golden curls scattering across her shoulders, and face, blood seeping from her horrid wounds. And a desperate scream from the one that should have been my mark: "Maaaaaaayyyy!!!" The name of my beloved hit me with all it's force. "I will return to you." I brushed the golden curls from the princesses face, and stared into my beloved's purple eyes. She was dead. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | We are the unwanted children of the very first bonfires. Man learned to strike two stones together near a heap of dry leaves and twigs to keep the darkness away at night. They huddled near the warmth of the yellow flames, keeping a furtive eye on the flickering shadows. Their children, always the most imaginative and easily frightened of their kind, fed us with their fear and nervous curiosity. We grew stronger over millennia of cold nights. We watched the fledgling race grow into villages, towns, cities and nations. They invented candles, torches, matchsticks and lightbulbs. Their lights cast many shadows; our numbers grew, feeding off the irrational fear of every member of the growing population. We were grateful. The other animals don’t feel fear the same way. We flocked to civilization and competed for sustenance.
Then, they turned on us. Shamans and priests cast us out. They weaponized symbols and rituals to hurt us. They burnt away the shadows, chasing after us with wild shouts, pitchforks and blazing torches. Why?
Fear is a byproduct of the human mind, much like carbon dioxide is that of the respiratory system. Would you ruthlessly chop down trees because they have evolved to use your waste products to their benefit? We don’t feed man’s fear; we feed *on* it.
Over thousands of years of abuse and toxic hatred, our features have contorted. My own visage is pitted with scars and lumps. We clung to the human race, hiding under beds, in closets, behind bookcases and in basements. Like the victim of an abusive relationship, we just couldn’t leave. We consumed their fear and let their bigotry consume us.
The history of our kind is a story of dependence and unwarranted abuse. Tonight, we strike back. Tonight, horror will drown out all your emotions. Tonight, we will feast on the purest of fears; the fear of your children.
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^long ^time ^lurker, ^first ^time ^poster. ^any ^feedback ^would ^be ^highly ^appreciated! | Panic surged through my veins! Тhe last. I am the last. The cursed ritual must be performed now. Generation after generation, my ancestors performed the sacred ritual - take a princess, and eat her. Just one. The rite signifies the passing of our kind into manhood. I tried it once - a small redhaired girl. I woke up in the castle, on my knees at her feet, yelping "I wont hurt a hair on your head". I, the weakest of them all, the only dragon in existence that cannot devour a princess, am also the last, forced to an eternity in this god forsaken castle. The last of the great dragons.
The world swirled around me, another symptom of an unfulfilled ritual. It will get progressively worse until the princess is marked. Adrenaline carried away some of the spin. I wont hurt a hair on your head.
I flew out to the kingdom- they had a hat festival. The princesses would be wearing the grandest of hats, and in the preparations, they would be easy to spot. I'd take the oldest. Yes, the oldest. The heiress was foul tempered and it was said the only ones she loved are her own kin. She should be easy to carry off. The rite... I wont hurt a hair on your head. The memory swirled away. I flew out.
Runa: Little May was running around, showing the hat box to everyone around. She was twelve, but had grown up nicely in the last few months. The odd child The hat was lovely - a golden bird, flying about the sea of green. The hat maker had made a masterpiece for me. Oh joy. Yes, all for the heiress to the throne. Little May's own hat was much simpler - a gold cylinder with a lizard wrapped around it. I hated this festival. Our big holiday truly divided us into classes. The next in line got a magical bird, and the little princess got a silly sleeping lizard. Still, May, ten years younger than I, sprung up during the summer into a beautiful young woman, had a different disposition - happy, bumbling little girl. Hey light locks bounced as gave me my hat, green eyes twinkling. The bird flew off and sat on her shoulder. May gave the little creature back to me, and put on her own hat. The lizard stayed still as May poked it. Her eyes got sad. "He wont wake up". She looked up at me. "He will" I smiled at her. A shadow covered our smiles. A creature flew low overhead.
The people scattered beneath me as my shadow fell over them. Now that the rite would be performed, my head was a clear as a bell. The deep magic that would destroy me in case of disobedience also protects me as long as the rite is prepared. ''I wont touch a hair on your head" My head ached with the memory, and a wave ran down through the spine and to my wings. My wings buckled. I pushed the thought out and straightened out. The world stopped spinning, I lowered, looking at the preparations for the festival. There! The traditional gold of the princesses hats gave them away. The younger moved swiftly for such a gentle creature. Her golden hat matched the gold of her curls. My head started spinning again. The magic knew she was not the one. I had to look at my mark now. I rushed upward, the pain in my wings nearly grounding me, and did a loop. "Don't resist" the magic whispered. "Your full birthright". I completed the loop and found the gold again. This time, I forced myself to stare at my mark. My princess. The eldest stood tall, her dark hair behind her. She held the hat in her hands. A golden bird would be my mark. Tomorrow, I would take her. I was relieved not to look at her face any longer. Her dark eyes knew.
Runa: May stayed on the ground long after the creature was gone. I followed it with my eyes. How lovely it would be, the dragon carrying me away. It would make May the heiress, and she deserved and wanted it more. And I would be free. As I continued pondering the idea, another creature wandered into our spring day. Tall, blonde, and very thin, Violetta DeMouve was third in line for the throne since her father died, behind May and I. And she made sure we never forgot it - a cold indifference to me, the ugly duck, and vicious hate toward the beautiful May. Even now, her eyes scouted the scene for a change to make us miserable. Her little silk shoes wandered toward May, still on the ground. Crack! "Whoops" Violetta said. May's eyes filled with tears. Her little golden cylinder was in pieces on the ground, the little lizard disintegrated by Violetta's heel. I felt my fury rising. May cried on the ground, and Violetta's eyes were locked on the hat in my hands. I smiled at May and helped her up. A princess must always behave. A princess must always be polite. This princess wanted to tear Violetta's own hat off her perfect hair, and stomp it into the mud. I hated when May cried. And suddenly - an idea. No need to destroy Violetta's hat - just get May a better one. I held out my hat. "For you, for tomorrow, sweetheart". May's 12 year old eyes widened - the golden bird was a sure with in the competition tomorrow. And she would be the one wearing it.
I sat in the great hall, it's dark sides enveloping me. I knew every inch of it. The dark walls continued upward until they faded into darkness. The walls were once covered in murals, the best human artists invited to paint the dragon's castle. That was many years ago. The paint was gone, the family painted had rot into dust. I tried not to remember that they were my family. I knew if I followed the walls into darkness, аt the domed ceiling was a painting of my mother and I. The painter said walls would depict the entire dynasty. Тhe magic liked my train of thought. Yes, thoughts of the dynasty behind me are good. I remembered my grandfather, a young man still when the castle was finished. His light brown hair, the blue eyes. Only the medallion on his neck revealed his true self - a dragon, a dark beast. I remember he stood in this very room- the light from the sunlit windows enveloping him from all sides, making the mosaic at his feet sparkle. He answered then "Of course they will. Once these wall are full, we will build more". Then he tilted his head back and laughed, a booming wave of sound. My mother's silver bell echoed him. I remember her face, light brown eyes, a smile. She looked down at me, smiled, and tickled my nose. "Look at the silly painter, my sweet baby" I heard my own giggling in the memory, and saw my baby hands playing with her pretty hair. I remembered the mosaic on the floor, my small feet feeling the smooth pieces of color, and my young eyes seeing how bright and yellow the light was in the room. I remembered another face: golden curls, huge purple eyes, the woman's face soaking in the sunlight from the newly built room. My betrothed. My only love. I saw the faces of my family: aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents, all with a medallion around their neck. I heard their laughter, and felt the wind as my father tossed me up. I remember looking at the beautiful dome above me, my mothers face smiling at me from the mural. I looked at her arms. There I was, surrounded my those who loved me, my love next to me. Darkness fell on me like a concrete plate, the faces disappeared. I sat, alone in the dark hall, the mosaic shattered at my feet. When did they close the shutters? The entire castle was dark now, falling apart, not enough magic left behind to keep it together. It died with them, with my great clan. The walls were filled with their faces, and there would be no more. The painter whose bones were long turned to dust was right after all. Only I was left - a dark memory, unable to even into a human anymore. No magic. No hope. I prepared for tomorrow, the last tribute to my dying race.
This time, I was sneaking. The princesses would be carried inside if there was danger - I would have one shot. I could see the golden hats from far away, a little star to guide me. I could see it - the golden bird of my mark. The magic swelled in my veins - not enough to rebuild my castle, it was enough to keep me chained. If I were to turn back now I would fall, be ripped apart by the magic. "Feed me!" it screamed. I remembered the dark ruins of my halls, and my mothers somber eyes as she breathed her last breath. The fire that burned away the murals, and interiors. My fathers last cry of fury, as he lead the charge. My sister's body, shattered on the mosaic, her weak wings unable to carry her out. My love's last words as she died in my arms: "I will return to you". And the red - haired princess, backing away, her eyes wide with fear as I writhed on the ground under the magic. I watched the walls of my home collapse under their own weight. This was my end, my last payment to the magic that had kept me alive for a thousand years - one princess. I completed my dive, and jammed into the ground right in front of the golden bird. I heard screaming around me, and the princess collapsed. I swept her up with one claw, and with the other arm, slashed across her chest and neck. Her head tipped back, the hat with the golden bird falling off. I saw the golden curls scattering across her shoulders, and face, blood seeping from her horrid wounds. And a desperate scream from the one that should have been my mark: "Maaaaaaayyyy!!!" The name of my beloved hit me with all it's force. "I will return to you." I brushed the golden curls from the princesses face, and stared into my beloved's purple eyes. She was dead. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I heard Timothy's mom say once, "It takes a village to raise a child."
If she only knew.
I've been around longer than any of us others that are still here, those of us that are left. I showed up when Blurgle was still the head honcho, making baby Timmy laugh for no reason at all, no reason the humans could see anyway. I was here for the short tenure of Mr. Gobblepants, Timmy's imaginary friend he made when little Karen was born and mom didn't have as much time for him anymore. Yeah, Tim's been through quite a few "friends", but there's only ever been one monster. Me. The Spidersnake.
Things aren't like they used to be though. A simple appearance doesn't make him scream and cry for mommy anymore... it hasn't in over a month. Sure, I started working harder, but the returns have been diminishing, if you know what I mean. Last night he looked dead at me and I swear he almost couldn't see me at all, he just looked curious.
Tonight is going to be my last hurrah, I'm sure if it, so I'm going to give it my best. If this is it for me I want the others to remember. I want them to say, "Damn that Spidersnake was one helluva monster. Won't ever be another like him, no sir."
I wait until he's in bed and the parents are done checking on Karen in her room next door. She has a monster too, some wolf guy she picked up after getting nipped by an overly-excited puppy, but that's none of my concern. Things are quiet and dark, but the streetlight coming in through the window gives me plenty of shadows to play with. The A/C kicks on, fluttering the curtains and I make my move. I crawlither out of the closet, the sounds of the air blowing out of the vents muffles my movements, but he hears me. I sense his blood rushing slightly faster in his veins. Up the wall to the ceiling I go. Floorboards in the hallway creak and misdirect him. Dammit.
I wait on the ceiling, hanging right above him, until he looks back up. When he does, that'll be my cue.
He doesn't look up. I can tell he's about to drift off. I need to get his attention. I hiss and rub my scales against the ceiling. No response.
Finally he rolls on his back. I drop down with a raspy hiss, my eight legs splayed out to grab him. I land with my fangs inches from his face.
Nothing. He's not afraid of me anymore. He can't see me.
I chuckle to myself as I begin to lose feeling in my limbs.
"Good boy... you've gone and grown up on me."
I think that I actually feel a tear roll down my scaly face as I fade away into the stuff dreams, nightmares, and monsters are made of. | He didn't want to do it. His nature was urging him, ever so subtle. Small whispers about how delicious the outside world is. All the food you could eat. This notion was what led the monster out of his world and into ours. He was a stranger and he felt strange among these men who walk on two feet. He was frightened of the big ones. They made him feel small. The little ones though didn't scare him. They were kind, they could see the monster. They wanted to play. They wanted to play. The monster knew not what play was but tried to mimic the little ones. They laughed, they sung, until a subtle voice in his head reminded him that he was hungry. That he was getting so hungry. For the first time he smells the world around him. He lets it consume him. He notices the little ones again. The subtle voice again. The aches in the stomach. His body was telling him if he didn't eat he would die. In desperation for his survival he challenges one of his new friends. He screams as the monster comes down on him. Consuming him. Then the subtle voice vanishes from his head. And the monster is alone. Not knowing what is going on. The monster doesn't remember being so deathly hungry. He remembers his new friends though. He looks around for them and that's when he becomes aware of what he has done. The monster howls. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | "Please, little man, please stop."
"But this is *fun*." The fat boy giggled, poking again with the stick. It jabbed between my emaciated ribs. "Buck always bites me when I poke him."
The dog bounded around the fat boy, barking, as though he could sense the injustice.
"Please stop, little man. I'm trying to work. To build many things for you and your family."
His plump cheeks wobbled as he giggled again. "You can't tell me what to do. My daddy wouldn't like that."
He poked me again, dancing around like the fool he was. I tried to concentrate on my work. Maybe he would go away. I pounded another nail into the wood.
He shoved the stick into my ear. The wood stung as it splintered, and my face grew hot. I had to control myself.
"Stop. Now."
"I don't *want* to." He picked up another stick, and pranced around me, swatting at my ankles.
I could take it from the men. At least when they hurt me, it was with purpose. For respect, to teach a lesson, for faster work.
But this...this *child*, was beating me for mere entertainment. The fury bubbled inside me. I may be a slave, but I am still a *man*. I am more than a plaything. A human being.
He stuck me in the eye. Pain seared through to the back of my head. *Enough*.
"ENOUGH!" I heard myself yelling. I grabbed the stick, grounding the bark into dust with my calloused hand. I had become strong. Stronger than I ever have been. Wasted. The boy yelped, stumbling back. Too much. Too much.
"I AM NOT YOUR PLAYTHING! I AM NOT YOUR TOY! I AM A HUMAN BEING!"
He looked scared, eyes wide. I knew I should stop. I had gone too far already. But I couldn't. Fear. What does he know of fear? What does he know of pain?
I grabbed one of the sticks, the dog nipping at my feet, barking loudly.
*thwack*
I had not hit so hard, but the boy was screaming, crying for his mother. Already, I saw men running. I did not stop.
"HOW DOES THAT FEEL!? AGAIN, AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!" I punctuated each word with a blow. "FOR NOTHING!!"
I yelled many more things before the mother got there. Words spoken for more mouths than I and to more men than the boy.
The mother collapsed, cradling her son like he was shot, sobbing and moaning.
"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" she wailed.
I wanted to tell her. Tell her I had once cradled my own son, not so long ago, as she did. Lied to him, told him to be strong and all will be alright. We will find each other again. He will grow to be a man. 15 years and I have not seen him.
I sat back against the wall I had built and sobbed. Not for the punishment to come, but that I would never see him again. Because of her. *I* am the monster.
Strangely, the dog huddled next to me, put his head under my hand, and licked at my scrapes on my arms and legs. I pushed him away. They would kill him too if they found he took a liking to me. He had done nothing wrong. At least he could live.
When the men came, I did not fight. I was done. They grabbed me as the boy's father listened to his screaming child, his tale of innocence and fear. Fear.
As the man rose, red-faced and cursing, I smiled at him. His face twisted up as he drew his pistol and bashed me across the face with it. I felt wetness on my face. My fingers came up red with my blood. Red, same as their blood.
"WHY YOU SMILING, BOY?!" he spat.
"I'm going to see my wife now." I said calmly. She has been waiting for me. Maybe my son as well. I'll never know.
He reared back, spitting and yelling for his men to get back, aiming his pistol.
I looked at the dog. At least I would die looking at something of this earth.
Because as I gazed at the father, his wife, his son, and his men, I saw nothing, nothing but monsters. | And so, in the midst of a deep night, the thing laid awaiting in the shrubbery inside a local park. It shivered, a large twang of horror falling down its spine. It looked with eyes that did not see through the leaves of the shrubbery, dark with emerald tinge. It looked, and the eyes came across the silhouette of a small... thing. The thing in the shrubbery didn't recognise the other silhouetted thing for a single crippling moment, and then the realisation came to bear onto the thing in the shrubbery. It was a boy. A boy lost in the park. The deep night had been still for the time the thing had laid in the brush, and there was only a single, flickering street lamp belching out orange light onto the curving path that circled all of the park and matched the shape of the lake in the centre of the park. The lost boy walked into the light of the lamp. Snivelling tears wept and tumbled down the face of the lost boy, and he rubbed his eyes with damp hands, the eyes a puffy red. The boy went to speak, but his words were swallowed by the night, so that the thing could not properly hear him. *DO IT! DO IT NOW! DOITDOITDOITDOITDOIT* roared the voice inside the thing's head, it screamed and thrashed inside the thing's being, and went to burst out of the forehead of the thing. *HE'S RIGHT THERE, DO IT NOW,* it roared again, so loud that the thing could not bear it, so it heaved its' tufty furred paws and brought it to the side of the things head. It furrowed its brow in an attempt not to roar with the anger that filled him the past few times the rage overcame him. *WHY ARE YOU HESITATING DO AS I SAY YOU MONSTER, KILL THAT BOY, DO AS I SAY*, the voice raged again. No, thought the thing, why, why should I do that, it's just a boy! *DO AS I SAY* No!, the thing thought again, I.., it tried to think again but the voice screamed red-hot fire into the very mortal fibre of the thing. *GO DO IT NOW RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!*
And so the thing did as it was told. It leapt from the shrubbery as a flurry of wind hurled itself across the park, sweeping up felled leaves to disguise the noise of the thing. Panting with a zealous fervour, it sprinted on all fours and clawed the earth, bringing up reams of dirt onto its talons. No, it wanted to say, nononononononono, and it tried to stop but it could not. It tore across the ground at a breakneck pace towards the lamp, towards the boy. *YES*, the voice rumbled with a triumphant air as the thing went to lunge at the small boy, his back still turned. But something changed in the thing. It stopped all of a sudden, to the instant rage filled tirade of the voice inside its head. It breathed and slavered sloppily, it kept the eagle-like talons raised, it kept a red blooded glare, and steely fixated on the child. But it had stopped itself. For a brief moment of utmost clarity, it wondered if it had broken the voice, if it was free. But then the child turned and it saw the thing and the child screamed. The scream rang from the child's mouth and echoed across the park. *Oh,* the voice said quietly, almost muffled by the shriek of the boy, *it's almost a shame. Now you HAVE to kill him. Do it quick.* The voice was right, the thing realised and its face fell with sorrow. The child's scream had slowed now, and was replaced with snivels and gasps. But the damage was done. The thing could hear them. Men. Coming. For the boy, and when they saw the thing, *for the thing.* It was endangered now. The boy would tell the men where it went. And they would find it. And it would die. The thing raised the taloned paw again, and it opened its mouth and tried to speak, as these men did. "I'm so sorry, it wasn't my fault, I'm so sorry..." it wanted to say, but all that came from the mouth of the thing was a brutal roar, and so the child screamed again. The beast lunged at the boy, and sliced and slashed and ripped and tore and shredded and severed and eviscerated. And tears fled the eyes of the thing, and it ran. It ran like it did the time before, and the time before that. And the voice followed it.
18:07:23 GMT+0100 (GMT Daylight Time)
Er. So, that's all I could find myself doing in the short time I had. Tips and helpful advice and criticism on my overuse of the word and would be quite useful! | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I heard Timothy's mom say once, "It takes a village to raise a child."
If she only knew.
I've been around longer than any of us others that are still here, those of us that are left. I showed up when Blurgle was still the head honcho, making baby Timmy laugh for no reason at all, no reason the humans could see anyway. I was here for the short tenure of Mr. Gobblepants, Timmy's imaginary friend he made when little Karen was born and mom didn't have as much time for him anymore. Yeah, Tim's been through quite a few "friends", but there's only ever been one monster. Me. The Spidersnake.
Things aren't like they used to be though. A simple appearance doesn't make him scream and cry for mommy anymore... it hasn't in over a month. Sure, I started working harder, but the returns have been diminishing, if you know what I mean. Last night he looked dead at me and I swear he almost couldn't see me at all, he just looked curious.
Tonight is going to be my last hurrah, I'm sure if it, so I'm going to give it my best. If this is it for me I want the others to remember. I want them to say, "Damn that Spidersnake was one helluva monster. Won't ever be another like him, no sir."
I wait until he's in bed and the parents are done checking on Karen in her room next door. She has a monster too, some wolf guy she picked up after getting nipped by an overly-excited puppy, but that's none of my concern. Things are quiet and dark, but the streetlight coming in through the window gives me plenty of shadows to play with. The A/C kicks on, fluttering the curtains and I make my move. I crawlither out of the closet, the sounds of the air blowing out of the vents muffles my movements, but he hears me. I sense his blood rushing slightly faster in his veins. Up the wall to the ceiling I go. Floorboards in the hallway creak and misdirect him. Dammit.
I wait on the ceiling, hanging right above him, until he looks back up. When he does, that'll be my cue.
He doesn't look up. I can tell he's about to drift off. I need to get his attention. I hiss and rub my scales against the ceiling. No response.
Finally he rolls on his back. I drop down with a raspy hiss, my eight legs splayed out to grab him. I land with my fangs inches from his face.
Nothing. He's not afraid of me anymore. He can't see me.
I chuckle to myself as I begin to lose feeling in my limbs.
"Good boy... you've gone and grown up on me."
I think that I actually feel a tear roll down my scaly face as I fade away into the stuff dreams, nightmares, and monsters are made of. | And so, in the midst of a deep night, the thing laid awaiting in the shrubbery inside a local park. It shivered, a large twang of horror falling down its spine. It looked with eyes that did not see through the leaves of the shrubbery, dark with emerald tinge. It looked, and the eyes came across the silhouette of a small... thing. The thing in the shrubbery didn't recognise the other silhouetted thing for a single crippling moment, and then the realisation came to bear onto the thing in the shrubbery. It was a boy. A boy lost in the park. The deep night had been still for the time the thing had laid in the brush, and there was only a single, flickering street lamp belching out orange light onto the curving path that circled all of the park and matched the shape of the lake in the centre of the park. The lost boy walked into the light of the lamp. Snivelling tears wept and tumbled down the face of the lost boy, and he rubbed his eyes with damp hands, the eyes a puffy red. The boy went to speak, but his words were swallowed by the night, so that the thing could not properly hear him. *DO IT! DO IT NOW! DOITDOITDOITDOITDOIT* roared the voice inside the thing's head, it screamed and thrashed inside the thing's being, and went to burst out of the forehead of the thing. *HE'S RIGHT THERE, DO IT NOW,* it roared again, so loud that the thing could not bear it, so it heaved its' tufty furred paws and brought it to the side of the things head. It furrowed its brow in an attempt not to roar with the anger that filled him the past few times the rage overcame him. *WHY ARE YOU HESITATING DO AS I SAY YOU MONSTER, KILL THAT BOY, DO AS I SAY*, the voice raged again. No, thought the thing, why, why should I do that, it's just a boy! *DO AS I SAY* No!, the thing thought again, I.., it tried to think again but the voice screamed red-hot fire into the very mortal fibre of the thing. *GO DO IT NOW RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!*
And so the thing did as it was told. It leapt from the shrubbery as a flurry of wind hurled itself across the park, sweeping up felled leaves to disguise the noise of the thing. Panting with a zealous fervour, it sprinted on all fours and clawed the earth, bringing up reams of dirt onto its talons. No, it wanted to say, nononononononono, and it tried to stop but it could not. It tore across the ground at a breakneck pace towards the lamp, towards the boy. *YES*, the voice rumbled with a triumphant air as the thing went to lunge at the small boy, his back still turned. But something changed in the thing. It stopped all of a sudden, to the instant rage filled tirade of the voice inside its head. It breathed and slavered sloppily, it kept the eagle-like talons raised, it kept a red blooded glare, and steely fixated on the child. But it had stopped itself. For a brief moment of utmost clarity, it wondered if it had broken the voice, if it was free. But then the child turned and it saw the thing and the child screamed. The scream rang from the child's mouth and echoed across the park. *Oh,* the voice said quietly, almost muffled by the shriek of the boy, *it's almost a shame. Now you HAVE to kill him. Do it quick.* The voice was right, the thing realised and its face fell with sorrow. The child's scream had slowed now, and was replaced with snivels and gasps. But the damage was done. The thing could hear them. Men. Coming. For the boy, and when they saw the thing, *for the thing.* It was endangered now. The boy would tell the men where it went. And they would find it. And it would die. The thing raised the taloned paw again, and it opened its mouth and tried to speak, as these men did. "I'm so sorry, it wasn't my fault, I'm so sorry..." it wanted to say, but all that came from the mouth of the thing was a brutal roar, and so the child screamed again. The beast lunged at the boy, and sliced and slashed and ripped and tore and shredded and severed and eviscerated. And tears fled the eyes of the thing, and it ran. It ran like it did the time before, and the time before that. And the voice followed it.
18:07:23 GMT+0100 (GMT Daylight Time)
Er. So, that's all I could find myself doing in the short time I had. Tips and helpful advice and criticism on my overuse of the word and would be quite useful! | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | We lurk. Able bodied sable soldiers shadowed underneath the guise of darkness. Hiding under your bed or in your closet, ready to pounce on the little children who forgot to eat their vegetables or won't listen to their parents. Yeah, I know the stories.
So why are there never any actual attacks? Why are we so unsuccessful, when we live and breath and pine for terror? Why is your narrative so unlike reality? If we're so evil, how did your parents even make it out of childhood with our looming presence snorting down their sleeping napes?
I want you to think about it. With your 12 year old head, consider it for a moment. How do these bedtime stories start? 'They're hiding under your bed.'... 'They hide in your closet.' 'They hide.'... Have you ever even seen a monster before tonight?
...I have. Plenty of them. I am 300 years old and I have lived on every inhabited continent of this planet. Hiding under beds and inside closets transforms your eyes into a portal to hell. For 300 years I've watched the endless trespasses of your species. 'Loving' husbands with white knuckles that inspire fear so deep it drowns a woman's judgement. I have seen the demons of the holocaust raid the homes of their peers and friends on command of men they'll never meet. I have seen mothers poison their children with lies. Teaching hate. Justifying the ravenous cruelties your people commit against your own kind! Condoning it! Recycled ignorance and imagined self-importance becomes the first inheritance of a tainted generation. And that is just what I could see while blending away from humanity's omnipotent and vile whims in a child's closet.
And tonight, I saw a 12 year old boy, in all his curiosity, pay a night-time visit to strip the innocence away from a sister half his age. So what happens tomorrow? I don't know. I don't know what happens to her and I don't know what happens after I'm done with you. I don't know because I've never come out of hiding before.
I know this though: My fate will surely be worse than yours. Because even the thought of it has been enough to keep me hiding in the closet all these years. All these years I could have done something... You won't like this, but you are lucky that you got me kiddo, trust me, man is far scarier than any monster could ever be. | And so, in the midst of a deep night, the thing laid awaiting in the shrubbery inside a local park. It shivered, a large twang of horror falling down its spine. It looked with eyes that did not see through the leaves of the shrubbery, dark with emerald tinge. It looked, and the eyes came across the silhouette of a small... thing. The thing in the shrubbery didn't recognise the other silhouetted thing for a single crippling moment, and then the realisation came to bear onto the thing in the shrubbery. It was a boy. A boy lost in the park. The deep night had been still for the time the thing had laid in the brush, and there was only a single, flickering street lamp belching out orange light onto the curving path that circled all of the park and matched the shape of the lake in the centre of the park. The lost boy walked into the light of the lamp. Snivelling tears wept and tumbled down the face of the lost boy, and he rubbed his eyes with damp hands, the eyes a puffy red. The boy went to speak, but his words were swallowed by the night, so that the thing could not properly hear him. *DO IT! DO IT NOW! DOITDOITDOITDOITDOIT* roared the voice inside the thing's head, it screamed and thrashed inside the thing's being, and went to burst out of the forehead of the thing. *HE'S RIGHT THERE, DO IT NOW,* it roared again, so loud that the thing could not bear it, so it heaved its' tufty furred paws and brought it to the side of the things head. It furrowed its brow in an attempt not to roar with the anger that filled him the past few times the rage overcame him. *WHY ARE YOU HESITATING DO AS I SAY YOU MONSTER, KILL THAT BOY, DO AS I SAY*, the voice raged again. No, thought the thing, why, why should I do that, it's just a boy! *DO AS I SAY* No!, the thing thought again, I.., it tried to think again but the voice screamed red-hot fire into the very mortal fibre of the thing. *GO DO IT NOW RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!*
And so the thing did as it was told. It leapt from the shrubbery as a flurry of wind hurled itself across the park, sweeping up felled leaves to disguise the noise of the thing. Panting with a zealous fervour, it sprinted on all fours and clawed the earth, bringing up reams of dirt onto its talons. No, it wanted to say, nononononononono, and it tried to stop but it could not. It tore across the ground at a breakneck pace towards the lamp, towards the boy. *YES*, the voice rumbled with a triumphant air as the thing went to lunge at the small boy, his back still turned. But something changed in the thing. It stopped all of a sudden, to the instant rage filled tirade of the voice inside its head. It breathed and slavered sloppily, it kept the eagle-like talons raised, it kept a red blooded glare, and steely fixated on the child. But it had stopped itself. For a brief moment of utmost clarity, it wondered if it had broken the voice, if it was free. But then the child turned and it saw the thing and the child screamed. The scream rang from the child's mouth and echoed across the park. *Oh,* the voice said quietly, almost muffled by the shriek of the boy, *it's almost a shame. Now you HAVE to kill him. Do it quick.* The voice was right, the thing realised and its face fell with sorrow. The child's scream had slowed now, and was replaced with snivels and gasps. But the damage was done. The thing could hear them. Men. Coming. For the boy, and when they saw the thing, *for the thing.* It was endangered now. The boy would tell the men where it went. And they would find it. And it would die. The thing raised the taloned paw again, and it opened its mouth and tried to speak, as these men did. "I'm so sorry, it wasn't my fault, I'm so sorry..." it wanted to say, but all that came from the mouth of the thing was a brutal roar, and so the child screamed again. The beast lunged at the boy, and sliced and slashed and ripped and tore and shredded and severed and eviscerated. And tears fled the eyes of the thing, and it ran. It ran like it did the time before, and the time before that. And the voice followed it.
18:07:23 GMT+0100 (GMT Daylight Time)
Er. So, that's all I could find myself doing in the short time I had. Tips and helpful advice and criticism on my overuse of the word and would be quite useful! | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | "Please, little man, please stop."
"But this is *fun*." The fat boy giggled, poking again with the stick. It jabbed between my emaciated ribs. "Buck always bites me when I poke him."
The dog bounded around the fat boy, barking, as though he could sense the injustice.
"Please stop, little man. I'm trying to work. To build many things for you and your family."
His plump cheeks wobbled as he giggled again. "You can't tell me what to do. My daddy wouldn't like that."
He poked me again, dancing around like the fool he was. I tried to concentrate on my work. Maybe he would go away. I pounded another nail into the wood.
He shoved the stick into my ear. The wood stung as it splintered, and my face grew hot. I had to control myself.
"Stop. Now."
"I don't *want* to." He picked up another stick, and pranced around me, swatting at my ankles.
I could take it from the men. At least when they hurt me, it was with purpose. For respect, to teach a lesson, for faster work.
But this...this *child*, was beating me for mere entertainment. The fury bubbled inside me. I may be a slave, but I am still a *man*. I am more than a plaything. A human being.
He stuck me in the eye. Pain seared through to the back of my head. *Enough*.
"ENOUGH!" I heard myself yelling. I grabbed the stick, grounding the bark into dust with my calloused hand. I had become strong. Stronger than I ever have been. Wasted. The boy yelped, stumbling back. Too much. Too much.
"I AM NOT YOUR PLAYTHING! I AM NOT YOUR TOY! I AM A HUMAN BEING!"
He looked scared, eyes wide. I knew I should stop. I had gone too far already. But I couldn't. Fear. What does he know of fear? What does he know of pain?
I grabbed one of the sticks, the dog nipping at my feet, barking loudly.
*thwack*
I had not hit so hard, but the boy was screaming, crying for his mother. Already, I saw men running. I did not stop.
"HOW DOES THAT FEEL!? AGAIN, AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!" I punctuated each word with a blow. "FOR NOTHING!!"
I yelled many more things before the mother got there. Words spoken for more mouths than I and to more men than the boy.
The mother collapsed, cradling her son like he was shot, sobbing and moaning.
"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" she wailed.
I wanted to tell her. Tell her I had once cradled my own son, not so long ago, as she did. Lied to him, told him to be strong and all will be alright. We will find each other again. He will grow to be a man. 15 years and I have not seen him.
I sat back against the wall I had built and sobbed. Not for the punishment to come, but that I would never see him again. Because of her. *I* am the monster.
Strangely, the dog huddled next to me, put his head under my hand, and licked at my scrapes on my arms and legs. I pushed him away. They would kill him too if they found he took a liking to me. He had done nothing wrong. At least he could live.
When the men came, I did not fight. I was done. They grabbed me as the boy's father listened to his screaming child, his tale of innocence and fear. Fear.
As the man rose, red-faced and cursing, I smiled at him. His face twisted up as he drew his pistol and bashed me across the face with it. I felt wetness on my face. My fingers came up red with my blood. Red, same as their blood.
"WHY YOU SMILING, BOY?!" he spat.
"I'm going to see my wife now." I said calmly. She has been waiting for me. Maybe my son as well. I'll never know.
He reared back, spitting and yelling for his men to get back, aiming his pistol.
I looked at the dog. At least I would die looking at something of this earth.
Because as I gazed at the father, his wife, his son, and his men, I saw nothing, nothing but monsters. | Rupert growls at master
Rupert takes sharp claws out
Rupert stares directly at master
Master keeps laughing
Rupert quickly places a slice on master's neck
Master tries to cover wound so red water won't come out
Master' kneels down and sit
Rupert howls in the air
Master sits and lay quite
Rupert lies on master's lap like Rupert used to
Rupert stopped master from summoning other demons
Rupert, first demon, master summoned.
Now Rupert feels pain on stomach
Master stabbed Rupert
But Rupert only want Master to be happy
Rupert is getting dizzy now
I wish Master could sing his lullaby to Rupert
But Rupert is slowly seeing black now
Rupert will go sleep with Master now. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I heard Timothy's mom say once, "It takes a village to raise a child."
If she only knew.
I've been around longer than any of us others that are still here, those of us that are left. I showed up when Blurgle was still the head honcho, making baby Timmy laugh for no reason at all, no reason the humans could see anyway. I was here for the short tenure of Mr. Gobblepants, Timmy's imaginary friend he made when little Karen was born and mom didn't have as much time for him anymore. Yeah, Tim's been through quite a few "friends", but there's only ever been one monster. Me. The Spidersnake.
Things aren't like they used to be though. A simple appearance doesn't make him scream and cry for mommy anymore... it hasn't in over a month. Sure, I started working harder, but the returns have been diminishing, if you know what I mean. Last night he looked dead at me and I swear he almost couldn't see me at all, he just looked curious.
Tonight is going to be my last hurrah, I'm sure if it, so I'm going to give it my best. If this is it for me I want the others to remember. I want them to say, "Damn that Spidersnake was one helluva monster. Won't ever be another like him, no sir."
I wait until he's in bed and the parents are done checking on Karen in her room next door. She has a monster too, some wolf guy she picked up after getting nipped by an overly-excited puppy, but that's none of my concern. Things are quiet and dark, but the streetlight coming in through the window gives me plenty of shadows to play with. The A/C kicks on, fluttering the curtains and I make my move. I crawlither out of the closet, the sounds of the air blowing out of the vents muffles my movements, but he hears me. I sense his blood rushing slightly faster in his veins. Up the wall to the ceiling I go. Floorboards in the hallway creak and misdirect him. Dammit.
I wait on the ceiling, hanging right above him, until he looks back up. When he does, that'll be my cue.
He doesn't look up. I can tell he's about to drift off. I need to get his attention. I hiss and rub my scales against the ceiling. No response.
Finally he rolls on his back. I drop down with a raspy hiss, my eight legs splayed out to grab him. I land with my fangs inches from his face.
Nothing. He's not afraid of me anymore. He can't see me.
I chuckle to myself as I begin to lose feeling in my limbs.
"Good boy... you've gone and grown up on me."
I think that I actually feel a tear roll down my scaly face as I fade away into the stuff dreams, nightmares, and monsters are made of. | Rupert growls at master
Rupert takes sharp claws out
Rupert stares directly at master
Master keeps laughing
Rupert quickly places a slice on master's neck
Master tries to cover wound so red water won't come out
Master' kneels down and sit
Rupert howls in the air
Master sits and lay quite
Rupert lies on master's lap like Rupert used to
Rupert stopped master from summoning other demons
Rupert, first demon, master summoned.
Now Rupert feels pain on stomach
Master stabbed Rupert
But Rupert only want Master to be happy
Rupert is getting dizzy now
I wish Master could sing his lullaby to Rupert
But Rupert is slowly seeing black now
Rupert will go sleep with Master now. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | I heard Timothy's mom say once, "It takes a village to raise a child."
If she only knew.
I've been around longer than any of us others that are still here, those of us that are left. I showed up when Blurgle was still the head honcho, making baby Timmy laugh for no reason at all, no reason the humans could see anyway. I was here for the short tenure of Mr. Gobblepants, Timmy's imaginary friend he made when little Karen was born and mom didn't have as much time for him anymore. Yeah, Tim's been through quite a few "friends", but there's only ever been one monster. Me. The Spidersnake.
Things aren't like they used to be though. A simple appearance doesn't make him scream and cry for mommy anymore... it hasn't in over a month. Sure, I started working harder, but the returns have been diminishing, if you know what I mean. Last night he looked dead at me and I swear he almost couldn't see me at all, he just looked curious.
Tonight is going to be my last hurrah, I'm sure if it, so I'm going to give it my best. If this is it for me I want the others to remember. I want them to say, "Damn that Spidersnake was one helluva monster. Won't ever be another like him, no sir."
I wait until he's in bed and the parents are done checking on Karen in her room next door. She has a monster too, some wolf guy she picked up after getting nipped by an overly-excited puppy, but that's none of my concern. Things are quiet and dark, but the streetlight coming in through the window gives me plenty of shadows to play with. The A/C kicks on, fluttering the curtains and I make my move. I crawlither out of the closet, the sounds of the air blowing out of the vents muffles my movements, but he hears me. I sense his blood rushing slightly faster in his veins. Up the wall to the ceiling I go. Floorboards in the hallway creak and misdirect him. Dammit.
I wait on the ceiling, hanging right above him, until he looks back up. When he does, that'll be my cue.
He doesn't look up. I can tell he's about to drift off. I need to get his attention. I hiss and rub my scales against the ceiling. No response.
Finally he rolls on his back. I drop down with a raspy hiss, my eight legs splayed out to grab him. I land with my fangs inches from his face.
Nothing. He's not afraid of me anymore. He can't see me.
I chuckle to myself as I begin to lose feeling in my limbs.
"Good boy... you've gone and grown up on me."
I think that I actually feel a tear roll down my scaly face as I fade away into the stuff dreams, nightmares, and monsters are made of. | "Please, little man, please stop."
"But this is *fun*." The fat boy giggled, poking again with the stick. It jabbed between my emaciated ribs. "Buck always bites me when I poke him."
The dog bounded around the fat boy, barking, as though he could sense the injustice.
"Please stop, little man. I'm trying to work. To build many things for you and your family."
His plump cheeks wobbled as he giggled again. "You can't tell me what to do. My daddy wouldn't like that."
He poked me again, dancing around like the fool he was. I tried to concentrate on my work. Maybe he would go away. I pounded another nail into the wood.
He shoved the stick into my ear. The wood stung as it splintered, and my face grew hot. I had to control myself.
"Stop. Now."
"I don't *want* to." He picked up another stick, and pranced around me, swatting at my ankles.
I could take it from the men. At least when they hurt me, it was with purpose. For respect, to teach a lesson, for faster work.
But this...this *child*, was beating me for mere entertainment. The fury bubbled inside me. I may be a slave, but I am still a *man*. I am more than a plaything. A human being.
He stuck me in the eye. Pain seared through to the back of my head. *Enough*.
"ENOUGH!" I heard myself yelling. I grabbed the stick, grounding the bark into dust with my calloused hand. I had become strong. Stronger than I ever have been. Wasted. The boy yelped, stumbling back. Too much. Too much.
"I AM NOT YOUR PLAYTHING! I AM NOT YOUR TOY! I AM A HUMAN BEING!"
He looked scared, eyes wide. I knew I should stop. I had gone too far already. But I couldn't. Fear. What does he know of fear? What does he know of pain?
I grabbed one of the sticks, the dog nipping at my feet, barking loudly.
*thwack*
I had not hit so hard, but the boy was screaming, crying for his mother. Already, I saw men running. I did not stop.
"HOW DOES THAT FEEL!? AGAIN, AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!" I punctuated each word with a blow. "FOR NOTHING!!"
I yelled many more things before the mother got there. Words spoken for more mouths than I and to more men than the boy.
The mother collapsed, cradling her son like he was shot, sobbing and moaning.
"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" she wailed.
I wanted to tell her. Tell her I had once cradled my own son, not so long ago, as she did. Lied to him, told him to be strong and all will be alright. We will find each other again. He will grow to be a man. 15 years and I have not seen him.
I sat back against the wall I had built and sobbed. Not for the punishment to come, but that I would never see him again. Because of her. *I* am the monster.
Strangely, the dog huddled next to me, put his head under my hand, and licked at my scrapes on my arms and legs. I pushed him away. They would kill him too if they found he took a liking to me. He had done nothing wrong. At least he could live.
When the men came, I did not fight. I was done. They grabbed me as the boy's father listened to his screaming child, his tale of innocence and fear. Fear.
As the man rose, red-faced and cursing, I smiled at him. His face twisted up as he drew his pistol and bashed me across the face with it. I felt wetness on my face. My fingers came up red with my blood. Red, same as their blood.
"WHY YOU SMILING, BOY?!" he spat.
"I'm going to see my wife now." I said calmly. She has been waiting for me. Maybe my son as well. I'll never know.
He reared back, spitting and yelling for his men to get back, aiming his pistol.
I looked at the dog. At least I would die looking at something of this earth.
Because as I gazed at the father, his wife, his son, and his men, I saw nothing, nothing but monsters. | |
[WP] A monster attacks a child. Make me empathize with the monster. | We lurk. Able bodied sable soldiers shadowed underneath the guise of darkness. Hiding under your bed or in your closet, ready to pounce on the little children who forgot to eat their vegetables or won't listen to their parents. Yeah, I know the stories.
So why are there never any actual attacks? Why are we so unsuccessful, when we live and breath and pine for terror? Why is your narrative so unlike reality? If we're so evil, how did your parents even make it out of childhood with our looming presence snorting down their sleeping napes?
I want you to think about it. With your 12 year old head, consider it for a moment. How do these bedtime stories start? 'They're hiding under your bed.'... 'They hide in your closet.' 'They hide.'... Have you ever even seen a monster before tonight?
...I have. Plenty of them. I am 300 years old and I have lived on every inhabited continent of this planet. Hiding under beds and inside closets transforms your eyes into a portal to hell. For 300 years I've watched the endless trespasses of your species. 'Loving' husbands with white knuckles that inspire fear so deep it drowns a woman's judgement. I have seen the demons of the holocaust raid the homes of their peers and friends on command of men they'll never meet. I have seen mothers poison their children with lies. Teaching hate. Justifying the ravenous cruelties your people commit against your own kind! Condoning it! Recycled ignorance and imagined self-importance becomes the first inheritance of a tainted generation. And that is just what I could see while blending away from humanity's omnipotent and vile whims in a child's closet.
And tonight, I saw a 12 year old boy, in all his curiosity, pay a night-time visit to strip the innocence away from a sister half his age. So what happens tomorrow? I don't know. I don't know what happens to her and I don't know what happens after I'm done with you. I don't know because I've never come out of hiding before.
I know this though: My fate will surely be worse than yours. Because even the thought of it has been enough to keep me hiding in the closet all these years. All these years I could have done something... You won't like this, but you are lucky that you got me kiddo, trust me, man is far scarier than any monster could ever be. | They let him outside again.
He can't see me back here, but I can see him. Laughing. Playing. It's almost funny; he doesn't look the same as when I saw him last.
Some leaves rustle when I move closer, and even though he looks right at me, the setting sun glares right in his eyes. Perfect.
He goes back to playing with little plastic men, and I can smell him. He smells sweet; it must be the stickiness around his mouth. A rumble in my throat makes him look up, and when we lock eyes, I know it's time.
The others inside the house can't hear him, and my hand across his mouth does the job. I can hear his muffled cries as I plunge a nail into his stomach, and his little hands beat at mine. As I drag it through his tender flesh, a tear runs down my cheek.
Was this how it felt when he stepped on them?
His blood is drenching my hand, but I'm not done. Another nail should do the trick.
Two days old. Two days old and they...
His hands stop hitting mine, and I lay his body down on the ground. Now they'll know my pain. | |
[WP] You are traveling alone by train through the cold, snowy mountains. It's night time, everyone is asleep. Suddenly the train lurches to a stop.... | Charlie tossed the empty bottle of scotch from the caboose car, he listened for the shattering glass but it was drowned out by the giant steam engine whistle, then the locomotive brakes. He was reaching for a second bottle of scotch in his coat when the train came to a sudden halt and it dropped onto the track, there was no shatter. He could sense that he wasn't moving anymore, the air was still, the fresh blanket of snow undisturbed around him, not a bird’s call nor elk’s grunt hung in the air.
Charlie stepped off the caboose and had a piss on the tracks, then he turned to the train, there was still silence all around. He bent over to look for his bottle of scotch when a bright light appeared in the sky. He fell back in the snow and watched the light grow as it approached, the shape was circular, it made no noise and traveled quickly. It hovered over the train, he watched in a dizzied trance, not believing his drunken senses. Charlie suddenly felt himself being lifted and paralyzed by the light, everything was white, he was screaming but it was still silent.
Charlie woke up completely blacked out, he saw a light again over him, he felt cold and weak, his vision was blurry and his hearing still hard, he looked down and saw himself cut open. He could see his heart, his ribs, a pool of blood, he tried to react when a blurry figure, almost like a man forced his head back down and he passed out again. Charlie woke up again as he was being walked to a new room. He could barely move his muscles, he saw metal handrails, bright white floors and strange hands under his arms, they were small, thin and grey. He could see himself stood up in a tube, it began filling with a cold jelly, the two creatures walked out of the room and Charlie passed out again.
“Do you speak English?”
Charlie opened his eyes, the light was different, it was warmer, brighter. He saw a tall figure standing over him and jumped back.
“Didn't mean to startle you,” said the man, sharper to Charlie’s eyes.
“Where am I?”
“Some call it Yukon, where are you from?”
The man offered Charlie his hand and Charlie stood up. His mind was totally blank, the warm light felt harsh, he turned and saw a giant metal craft in the woods behind him. He had a flashback, he remembered the train, the surgery - he slowly lifted his shirt, a stitching ran through the middle of his chest, he could see the wire and staples holding tightly as his breathing became heavier. He remembered the tube, he could see himself taken out of the tube, then there was a violent rocking, loud rumblings and sirens, the two creatures dropped him and he fell.
“Are you a spaceman?”
Charlie turned to see the old man, he was dirty, his clothes were old and worn, he was missing teeth and his smell was starting to pierce Charlie’s sense of it. His dirty hair hung below his slack-jaw and he spoke with a relaxed tongue.
“I remember, I was travelling through the Rockies, I was drinking, trying to fall asleep. This craft hovered over the train,” Charlie lifted his shirt to the man. “They took me aboard, cut me open.”
The man examined Charlie’s stitches, then glanced over at the craft.
“There’s no train through the mountains.” said the man.
“If this is Yukon, there’s a train.”
“Ain't been no trains since the war.”
“What war?”
“The nuclear war,” answered the man.
“What year is it?”
“Couldn't say, I can tell you there’s been no trains for, why, at least a hundred years.”
A century out of time, the cold jelly kept him preserved, out of existence. It was almost too much, he fell to his knees and sobbed - his daughter, his brother, gone for decades, a great war. The man approached Charlie and offered him a sip of water from his canteen, Charlie took it and sat back, still trying to separate his coma dreams from memories. He handed the canteen back to the old man and asked “you got anything, stronger?”
The old man had a kind, breathy laugh. “Liquor is pretty hard to come by these days, man with liquor could barter just about anything he wanted."
Charlie motioned to the craft with his hands, and made for it. It was dark, but he could mostly make his way around. He reached for a handrail to help him up a slope and remembered being dragged through the hall. He saw two bodies at the end, one was in pieces and surrounded by heavy parts, the other just lay there. Charlie examined all the tools, but found nothing out of the ordinary, simple knives and saws, tweezers and bowls. He followed the light outside the hall to the control room, he guessed by the giant window. Dials and screens before him laughed in their alien language, nothing responded to anything he did. He examined a locker and found what seemed to be a few prods hung, and some guns. The prod projected an electric shock, the gun emitted a strange warm and heavy light. He took all he could carry back outside.
Charlie handed a prod and two guns to the old man and said, “there’s more inside, but I think you can make due with this.” The old man accepted the strange weapons and smiled at Charlie, who was looking at the sky and asked, “is it morning?”
“Yup,” answered the man.
Charlie figured south-east was to the right, and called after the old man, “I'll be headed this way."
"What's that way?"
"I left a bottle of scotch somewhere this way." | I have a final in about half an hour so once I finish that, I'll continue this one.
-------
The brakes held the tires in a vice grip, immediately slowing down the train. Unfortunately for me, I did not slow down with it. I fell forward, slamming my face against the ground in front of me. Dazed, I crawled under my seat and I listened. For what was only a few minutes felt like hours as I tried to discern any noises that were out of place. I scrunched my face in confusion and I felt my heartbeat growing rapidly. The sweating process started and I felt my skin grow cold and clammy. Simply put, I was afraid. Ear to the wall, I heard nothing. Silence. Something was wrong. By now, someone, anyone, would have gotten out to investigate or inquire or complain. I lowered my right hand to the side of my hip, and eventually felt the sharp coldness of my handgun. I blew out a sigh of relief. At least I have a means of defense.
I made my way outside, and was reminded of the never-ending silence. Where was everybody? I looked out of the nearest window, but my vision was obscured by a blizzard. Snow began to pack against the windows. The train seemed to still be running, as the lights and heating units were still working. "For how long?", I muttered to myself. My para-military training kicked in and I made the conscious decision to act. Main objectives, figure out what is wrong. Secondary objectives, search for others, assist and recruit, regain control of the situation. I reached the end of the car, and opened the door to cross into the next one. The dining car.
As I entered the next location, I met a 4 people. The bartender, the waitress, and a married couple. On the ground, spilled wine and food, with a broken glass or two. They were cleaning it up. They were as confused as I was. Physically, they seemed weak. The bartender, late twenties with a light build and decent height. The waitress, thin and attractive, but used to having others do the heavy work. The married couple were elderly. The woman was short and frail. The man, on a cane. I sighed. They would have to do. I began to introduce myself. | |
[WP] You are traveling alone by train through the cold, snowy mountains. It's night time, everyone is asleep. Suddenly the train lurches to a stop.... | Charlie tossed the empty bottle of scotch from the caboose car, he listened for the shattering glass but it was drowned out by the giant steam engine whistle, then the locomotive brakes. He was reaching for a second bottle of scotch in his coat when the train came to a sudden halt and it dropped onto the track, there was no shatter. He could sense that he wasn't moving anymore, the air was still, the fresh blanket of snow undisturbed around him, not a bird’s call nor elk’s grunt hung in the air.
Charlie stepped off the caboose and had a piss on the tracks, then he turned to the train, there was still silence all around. He bent over to look for his bottle of scotch when a bright light appeared in the sky. He fell back in the snow and watched the light grow as it approached, the shape was circular, it made no noise and traveled quickly. It hovered over the train, he watched in a dizzied trance, not believing his drunken senses. Charlie suddenly felt himself being lifted and paralyzed by the light, everything was white, he was screaming but it was still silent.
Charlie woke up completely blacked out, he saw a light again over him, he felt cold and weak, his vision was blurry and his hearing still hard, he looked down and saw himself cut open. He could see his heart, his ribs, a pool of blood, he tried to react when a blurry figure, almost like a man forced his head back down and he passed out again. Charlie woke up again as he was being walked to a new room. He could barely move his muscles, he saw metal handrails, bright white floors and strange hands under his arms, they were small, thin and grey. He could see himself stood up in a tube, it began filling with a cold jelly, the two creatures walked out of the room and Charlie passed out again.
“Do you speak English?”
Charlie opened his eyes, the light was different, it was warmer, brighter. He saw a tall figure standing over him and jumped back.
“Didn't mean to startle you,” said the man, sharper to Charlie’s eyes.
“Where am I?”
“Some call it Yukon, where are you from?”
The man offered Charlie his hand and Charlie stood up. His mind was totally blank, the warm light felt harsh, he turned and saw a giant metal craft in the woods behind him. He had a flashback, he remembered the train, the surgery - he slowly lifted his shirt, a stitching ran through the middle of his chest, he could see the wire and staples holding tightly as his breathing became heavier. He remembered the tube, he could see himself taken out of the tube, then there was a violent rocking, loud rumblings and sirens, the two creatures dropped him and he fell.
“Are you a spaceman?”
Charlie turned to see the old man, he was dirty, his clothes were old and worn, he was missing teeth and his smell was starting to pierce Charlie’s sense of it. His dirty hair hung below his slack-jaw and he spoke with a relaxed tongue.
“I remember, I was travelling through the Rockies, I was drinking, trying to fall asleep. This craft hovered over the train,” Charlie lifted his shirt to the man. “They took me aboard, cut me open.”
The man examined Charlie’s stitches, then glanced over at the craft.
“There’s no train through the mountains.” said the man.
“If this is Yukon, there’s a train.”
“Ain't been no trains since the war.”
“What war?”
“The nuclear war,” answered the man.
“What year is it?”
“Couldn't say, I can tell you there’s been no trains for, why, at least a hundred years.”
A century out of time, the cold jelly kept him preserved, out of existence. It was almost too much, he fell to his knees and sobbed - his daughter, his brother, gone for decades, a great war. The man approached Charlie and offered him a sip of water from his canteen, Charlie took it and sat back, still trying to separate his coma dreams from memories. He handed the canteen back to the old man and asked “you got anything, stronger?”
The old man had a kind, breathy laugh. “Liquor is pretty hard to come by these days, man with liquor could barter just about anything he wanted."
Charlie motioned to the craft with his hands, and made for it. It was dark, but he could mostly make his way around. He reached for a handrail to help him up a slope and remembered being dragged through the hall. He saw two bodies at the end, one was in pieces and surrounded by heavy parts, the other just lay there. Charlie examined all the tools, but found nothing out of the ordinary, simple knives and saws, tweezers and bowls. He followed the light outside the hall to the control room, he guessed by the giant window. Dials and screens before him laughed in their alien language, nothing responded to anything he did. He examined a locker and found what seemed to be a few prods hung, and some guns. The prod projected an electric shock, the gun emitted a strange warm and heavy light. He took all he could carry back outside.
Charlie handed a prod and two guns to the old man and said, “there’s more inside, but I think you can make due with this.” The old man accepted the strange weapons and smiled at Charlie, who was looking at the sky and asked, “is it morning?”
“Yup,” answered the man.
Charlie figured south-east was to the right, and called after the old man, “I'll be headed this way."
"What's that way?"
"I left a bottle of scotch somewhere this way." | Twelve hour days are usually the worst. I say usually because on those days that I only have to work for 8, they feel like 12, which for some reason seems to be worse than the regular 12 hour days. The train ride home was one of my only times to be alone. Between the job, my wife, , the newborn, the 3 year old son, my insomnia and my mother-in-law, the train was my respite from the rest of the world. The extended shift meant less commotion on the later train. Everyone else seemed to have used the time to take a trip off to the land of nod. I liked to read and be alone with my thoughts.
I normally try to read novels that have amazing covers. As I have found, the better looking the cover, the worse off the book. It's become a strategy of mine. I don't really care for the books I read, it's just a nice way to keep people from bothering me on the rides home. I've mastered it to a science. The book cover has to be so overdone that I know the novel will be trite, but not so amazing, that the cover will strike up a conversation from my fellow train patrons.
As I stared down at the blathering nonsense of a book, a book that would've been better served as a dime novel in the old west, the train began to slow at a rapid pace. Not uncommon on nights like this with snow on the ground. Small avalanches sometimes interfere with the openness of the tracks and we find ourselves stuck on board for an extra 30 minutes while the tracks are cleared. I relished the additional time to be spent with myself.
I continued on with the adventures of Simon Coolstag, the young German spy who's name was about as over the top as the plot, when I looked out the window. The vastness of the night was appealing. The moon was absent. The white of the snow clashed against the infinite darkness of the universe. The stars were innumerous and on this night. They were like snowflakes falling on the blanketed ground, far from their fiery essence that brought light to the night.
There was something about this picture that made everything seem so simple. This grand design from randomness had created a beauty that few could imagine. The realness, the vastness of the universe felt so comforting.
I lost myself for what felt like a few moments when the train started to move forward again. No one else awoke from their slumber. My head swung back from it's windowed view and back to Coolstag,with his Nazi zombie hunting.
We passed the abandoned lumber camp which let me know we were about 10 minutes from my stop. My stop which brought with it my gorgeous wife, my wonderful newborn, my amazing son, my lovely...Lovely? Yes, tonight we'll stick with lovely. My lovely mother-in-law, all awaited my arrival. My life was complicated, clashing, random and beautiful. I wouldn't trade it for anything else. | |
*In 100 words or less. | [FF] You are 8 years old again. Your childhood bully has just taken your ice cream treat and thrown it on the ground. React!* | ^^For ^^tone, ^^I ^^imagined ^^I ^^was ^^a ^^25 ^^year ^^old ^^man ^^in ^^a ^^8 ^^year ^^old ^^body, ^^with ^^the ^^knowledge ^^of ^^17 ^^more ^^years ^^dealing ^^with ^^the ^^childish ^^emotion ^^of ^^losing ^^my ^^ice ^^cream.
This kid would get over being such an asshole in a few years, and we'd become good friends. But right now, I just want my fucking ice cream back.
Just like I always practiced: elbow to the jaw, reverse elbow to the temple, two hands grip the neck, and knee to the sternum. | "Aww man what the heck", my eyes now following the now winding trail of slightly melted ice cream towards the sewer drain. I could feel anger welling inside me, but I also knew I was much smaller than the other kid.
"Shut up you little whiner, if I can't have ice cream then no one can." He snorted a little as he laughed. His voiced sounded similar to someone who had been smoking for at least 20 years - which took me back slightly.
It was the time. I felt the anger continuing to swell within me and I knew if I didn't do something now - I would regret it. I felt my hand ball up into a fist. I could feel the skin over my knuckles grow tight as the muscles contracted to the point of discoloring it to a shade of white. I had seen plenty of movies and I was prepared for what would happen next, a fight.
My fight. A fight for kids everywhere who had a bully being unreasonable and mean to them time and time again - I was going to put and end to it now!
It was as if time slowed down, he was turning his head away and I could catch him with a sucker punch - it was perfect. My arm reeled back and I stepped forward. As I pushed with all my mite, I was waiting for an explosion of some sort as my fist made a connection with his cheek. It was as if I could see the ripples in his skin as my fist made contact. Unfortunately, my abilities as a fighter had not been honed to any degree and the angle of my fist was an unfortunate one. My knuckles continued their trajectory over his cheekbone as my hand slid right by his nose.
He was turning back to me now and time seemed to have regained its normal speed. I felt so much smaller now, than I had before. As he turned to fully face me again - I could see the brief look of surprise give way to an almost hellish grin. He was missing a tooth. I'm not sure if it was from another fight or if it had been lost when he was chomping down on some unsuspecting small animal that might have angered him, but now was not the time to ask and find out.
"I see, you want to play - okay!" he said. I quickly glanced about - keeping my wits about me was the only way out of this now. I didn't see any escape but I put up my fists - ready to defend myself.
Just as my fists were getting to the point that they would have done some good to defend my face - the first strike of pain hit. It started at the very tip of my nose and extended directly to my left eye - he had landed the first brutal strike of what I assumed would probably be many. I stumbled backwards, arms now flailing about unable to do much other than help me keep my balance. I blinked through the pain and could see I had some distance between us. Knowing that, I turned and ran. "Don't be a coward!" I thought, but my legs had taken on a mind of their own and they knew - ice cream wasn't worth a pounding.
The chase was on. He was bigger and faster than me, but I had agility to my advantage. As I ran towards the local park, I had to cut left and right to avoid the few times he tried to grab me.
There it was ahead, my saving grace! A small semi-circle structure of metal bars strewn together this way and that that children could climb on. The openings between the bars were hexagons and I was just small enough that if I dove between them he would be unable to follow or get hurt trying and it might buy me enough time to get out the other side and run away to safety. As I got close, I was sure I would fit but he probably wouldn't and at the last second I leaped into the air, I imagined myself sliding through the bars and the bully hitting his head or shoulder behind me. I had forgotten how difficult things in reality could be as the back of my head clipped the top run of the bars I was jumping through, while my knees made an obnoxiously loud sound against the bottom bar. I would have rather taken another punch to the face than dealt with the kind of pain I was in now - I wasn't moving. No, I was writhing slowly in agony. Meanwhile, the bully stood outside the structure doubled over in laughter. At least his apparent rage towards me had subsided no matter how briefly. Then I grew worried - I was in no shape to try and escape any beating he might put on me, nor could I defend myself appropriately because my legs hurt so bad I couldn't stop grabbing at them.
"You're an idiot", he said as he turned to walk away - still laughing. He was almost at the street - he was leaving! This was my lucky day. He glanced over is right shoulder, still chuckling heavily as he stepped foot into the street - he lived just a block in the direction he was headed. The car coming from his left slammed on their brakes and laid on the horn but it was too late. Just as his second foot planted in the street and his head whipped around to the right, there was the sound of impact. His much larger body flew about 5 feet before it landed with a thud on the warm asphalt. Time stopped.
A bellowing cry came forth and he was now the one writing in pain. His cries sounded almost girlish - my friends and I would have a good laugh at that! We'd tell everyone how girlish he was when he got hurt! My legs weren't even bothering me so much by this time, so I climbed out of the structure to go have a closer look and tell him he was getting what he deserved! Revenge for my ice cream would be had, and revenge like ice cream, was a dish best served cold. As I got closer, the screaming had started to die down into more of a moan. Soon I was upon him, the driver of the car was standing outside of the car at this point on the phone with a 911 dispatch I presumed. Then I saw it, the bullies face - there was a small patch near the top of his head by his hairline where his skull was exposed. His eyes were darting all over, shaking almost. He was just groaning and his body began to shake horribly. A slight froth formed around his lips, tainted pink with a hint of blood. His head wound had been bleeding pretty significantly and it was now a steady flow onto the concrete around him. His legs were stiffening and contracting, his arms were unable to do anything and his eyes were now gone, rolled back into their sockets. White orbs replaced what was once paying attention to the world. The person on the phones voice intensified. "Seizure", "Ambulance", "immediately" were the few words I managed to hear. I couldn't hear much but stood and stared, awe struck in the worst way possible. He was a jerk, but no one deserved this. I watched as his body twitched again in a violent upheaval as if trying to right itself and stand up again and then it stopped twitching. The groaning was now barely audible and the white of his skull was so covered in blood I couldn't recall if I had seen the skull at all or if it had been just a cut.
By the time the ambulance arrived there were police and others trying frantically to get him to respond. Nothing worked and he was later pronounced dead at the scene.
I had to explain it all in gruesome detail time and time again to various officers. "No, he wasn't paying attention and just walked out in the street", it was horrifying. I dreamed about it for days, weeks even. I told my friends how he screamed like a girl when it happened and they all winced at the thought. We didn't spread it as rumors, but rather we spoke of it with sadness. After we had exchanged numerous stories, it turned out he had befriended a few of my other friends on more than one occasion. He wasn't such a bad guy after all.
|
*In 100 words or less. | [FF] You are 8 years old again. Your childhood bully has just taken your ice cream treat and thrown it on the ground. React!* | Vanilla. It was vanilla ice cream pooling at my feet. My tiny black shoes turning white.
"Dumbass," she yelped at me, "you look like a dumbass penguin now!"
We were a lot a like really, born from the same blood and the same source, and it hurt me to think about what I had to do next. What I had to do to make her pay. What I had to do to balance things out.
I said the magic word to summon the lord of balance, the lord of ice cream. The lord of love.
"MOM!" | "Aww man what the heck", my eyes now following the now winding trail of slightly melted ice cream towards the sewer drain. I could feel anger welling inside me, but I also knew I was much smaller than the other kid.
"Shut up you little whiner, if I can't have ice cream then no one can." He snorted a little as he laughed. His voiced sounded similar to someone who had been smoking for at least 20 years - which took me back slightly.
It was the time. I felt the anger continuing to swell within me and I knew if I didn't do something now - I would regret it. I felt my hand ball up into a fist. I could feel the skin over my knuckles grow tight as the muscles contracted to the point of discoloring it to a shade of white. I had seen plenty of movies and I was prepared for what would happen next, a fight.
My fight. A fight for kids everywhere who had a bully being unreasonable and mean to them time and time again - I was going to put and end to it now!
It was as if time slowed down, he was turning his head away and I could catch him with a sucker punch - it was perfect. My arm reeled back and I stepped forward. As I pushed with all my mite, I was waiting for an explosion of some sort as my fist made a connection with his cheek. It was as if I could see the ripples in his skin as my fist made contact. Unfortunately, my abilities as a fighter had not been honed to any degree and the angle of my fist was an unfortunate one. My knuckles continued their trajectory over his cheekbone as my hand slid right by his nose.
He was turning back to me now and time seemed to have regained its normal speed. I felt so much smaller now, than I had before. As he turned to fully face me again - I could see the brief look of surprise give way to an almost hellish grin. He was missing a tooth. I'm not sure if it was from another fight or if it had been lost when he was chomping down on some unsuspecting small animal that might have angered him, but now was not the time to ask and find out.
"I see, you want to play - okay!" he said. I quickly glanced about - keeping my wits about me was the only way out of this now. I didn't see any escape but I put up my fists - ready to defend myself.
Just as my fists were getting to the point that they would have done some good to defend my face - the first strike of pain hit. It started at the very tip of my nose and extended directly to my left eye - he had landed the first brutal strike of what I assumed would probably be many. I stumbled backwards, arms now flailing about unable to do much other than help me keep my balance. I blinked through the pain and could see I had some distance between us. Knowing that, I turned and ran. "Don't be a coward!" I thought, but my legs had taken on a mind of their own and they knew - ice cream wasn't worth a pounding.
The chase was on. He was bigger and faster than me, but I had agility to my advantage. As I ran towards the local park, I had to cut left and right to avoid the few times he tried to grab me.
There it was ahead, my saving grace! A small semi-circle structure of metal bars strewn together this way and that that children could climb on. The openings between the bars were hexagons and I was just small enough that if I dove between them he would be unable to follow or get hurt trying and it might buy me enough time to get out the other side and run away to safety. As I got close, I was sure I would fit but he probably wouldn't and at the last second I leaped into the air, I imagined myself sliding through the bars and the bully hitting his head or shoulder behind me. I had forgotten how difficult things in reality could be as the back of my head clipped the top run of the bars I was jumping through, while my knees made an obnoxiously loud sound against the bottom bar. I would have rather taken another punch to the face than dealt with the kind of pain I was in now - I wasn't moving. No, I was writhing slowly in agony. Meanwhile, the bully stood outside the structure doubled over in laughter. At least his apparent rage towards me had subsided no matter how briefly. Then I grew worried - I was in no shape to try and escape any beating he might put on me, nor could I defend myself appropriately because my legs hurt so bad I couldn't stop grabbing at them.
"You're an idiot", he said as he turned to walk away - still laughing. He was almost at the street - he was leaving! This was my lucky day. He glanced over is right shoulder, still chuckling heavily as he stepped foot into the street - he lived just a block in the direction he was headed. The car coming from his left slammed on their brakes and laid on the horn but it was too late. Just as his second foot planted in the street and his head whipped around to the right, there was the sound of impact. His much larger body flew about 5 feet before it landed with a thud on the warm asphalt. Time stopped.
A bellowing cry came forth and he was now the one writing in pain. His cries sounded almost girlish - my friends and I would have a good laugh at that! We'd tell everyone how girlish he was when he got hurt! My legs weren't even bothering me so much by this time, so I climbed out of the structure to go have a closer look and tell him he was getting what he deserved! Revenge for my ice cream would be had, and revenge like ice cream, was a dish best served cold. As I got closer, the screaming had started to die down into more of a moan. Soon I was upon him, the driver of the car was standing outside of the car at this point on the phone with a 911 dispatch I presumed. Then I saw it, the bullies face - there was a small patch near the top of his head by his hairline where his skull was exposed. His eyes were darting all over, shaking almost. He was just groaning and his body began to shake horribly. A slight froth formed around his lips, tainted pink with a hint of blood. His head wound had been bleeding pretty significantly and it was now a steady flow onto the concrete around him. His legs were stiffening and contracting, his arms were unable to do anything and his eyes were now gone, rolled back into their sockets. White orbs replaced what was once paying attention to the world. The person on the phones voice intensified. "Seizure", "Ambulance", "immediately" were the few words I managed to hear. I couldn't hear much but stood and stared, awe struck in the worst way possible. He was a jerk, but no one deserved this. I watched as his body twitched again in a violent upheaval as if trying to right itself and stand up again and then it stopped twitching. The groaning was now barely audible and the white of his skull was so covered in blood I couldn't recall if I had seen the skull at all or if it had been just a cut.
By the time the ambulance arrived there were police and others trying frantically to get him to respond. Nothing worked and he was later pronounced dead at the scene.
I had to explain it all in gruesome detail time and time again to various officers. "No, he wasn't paying attention and just walked out in the street", it was horrifying. I dreamed about it for days, weeks even. I told my friends how he screamed like a girl when it happened and they all winced at the thought. We didn't spread it as rumors, but rather we spoke of it with sadness. After we had exchanged numerous stories, it turned out he had befriended a few of my other friends on more than one occasion. He wasn't such a bad guy after all.
|
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | I opened my eyes.
Then, I blinked. Encompassed in a stark white room, two beautiful people stood before me, both wearing small smiles on their faces. They were much taller than me, causing me to look up to them. The dark skinned man gave a nod with twinkling eyes at the sight of me.
“Jane, it’s nice to see you,” He spoke in a low timbre voice. I stared at him then to the woman next to him. Her skin was darker with shadowy hair cascading to her chest. While their beauty was unmatchable, their skin seeming to glow, they both wore white plain shifts on their bodies.
“I don’t know you two,” I levelly stated, turning my head around to stare at the room, trying to understand where I was. Strangely, I wasn’t worried.
The woman gave a tinkling laugh. “You do.”
“Just not as well as we know you.” The man added.
There wasn’t a door, I realized. I was in a perfect, white cube. Not even shadows spoiled the room. The only item in the room was a small wooden table before us. Something twitched inside of my body. “How did I get here?” My voice was higher than normal. What was wrong with me?
The woman hushed me. “Don’t fight it, child. Everything is well.”
“Don’t fight what?” I gasped. I stood from the chair below me, not realizing it was there until this second. My breaths came out lighter and faster. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Fear,” The woman spoke softly, easing me back within my chair. That one simple word from her lips brought calmness back inside of me. I was left feeling like I was floating on air. “Don’t fight us, Jane, and everything is okay.”
“I was feeling fear,” I responded, amazed that I forgot that emotion. Both the man and woman smiled. "Where am I?”
“Nowhere yet,” The man replied, gesturing around us. “This is where you go when you have to decide.”
A short, cracked laugh erupted from my lips. “Isn’t that a thing for some god chooses for me?”
The two people before me glanced at each other while the woman shrugged. “Just one god,” The man remarked amicably and then gave a smile. He winked at the dark haired woman. “And even then, they don’t really make the choice. The person always has the right. They just don’t always make it in their life.”
“If I’m one of those people… I’m dead, aren’t I?” The woman turned her downcast eyes to the floor, not answering the question but in doing so, giving me my answer. “Oh.” I should have felt something stir inside of me but all I felt was a vague disappointment.”
“So, we’ll let you choose now,” The woman shrugged, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder.
“Can I go with God?” The naïve words blurted from my chapped lips before I stopped them.
The fairer skin man laughed deeply before slowing down to a stop. “Of course you can go with God. But you could also go with Satan.” He pushed his hand through his short, brown hair.
My head swiveled back and forth from the beautiful couple, trying to decipher his words. “Okay, I’ll go with God.”
“But who is God?” They questioned simultaneously.
“Oh, fuck.” The dark woman giggled at my words. Now, I was getting the point of this meeting. I could choose but I wouldn’t know what I was choosing. “How do I even decide then? If I don’t even know what I’m choosing.”
“You do know what you’re choosing, Jane.” The man reminded. “You’ve read bits of the bible.” I rejected the bible. “You’ve heard stories about both of us,” The man claimed, as if reading my mind. “Ask us anything and we’ll tell you the truth. Know us more and then decide.”
I bit my lower lip, a practice that I once picked up from my older brother. “Well, who is God?”
“God is the creator of everything,” The man answered with ease. Shouldn’t God be more humble? Could this really be God?
“God is the reason for consciousness,” The woman retorted. She smiled to the man, lowering her lashes slightly.
I was stumped. “Fine. Which one of you is God?”
“The one who created everything.”
“The one who created consciousness.”
The woman turned to the man, gesturing to the table. “This might take a while. Perhaps we should take a seat?” The man nodded and both strolled to the table. Two wooden chairs materialized as the man pulled out a seat for the woman. Genially, she took a seat while the man took one next to her.
“How can I choose when I don’t know?”
“You’ll learn,” The woman promised.
I sat there for what felt like a few minutes, trying to think of questions or subjects I could talk to them about before one came to mind.
“I don’t believe in God,” I accused the both of them. “How can I deserve God if the bible says I don’t?”
The man sighed, looking to the ground and shaking his head as if I asked something wrong. The woman placed a hand on his forehead before staring at me with black eyes.
“Jane. Who wrote the bible?”
“I’m not sure. I think many men wrote it.”
“That’s right. Men wrote it. Do humans always get everything right?” I blushed a little, my face becoming warm. “Of course not. It’s not their fault. But God would never blame you for not believing in him or her. God loves you.”
“Do you love me?” I asked her pointedly.
“Of course I do,” She countered, tears blinking in the corners of her eyes, as if hurt by my statement.
“Do you love me?” I inquired from the handsome man before me. He crinkled his eyes in amusement.
“I always have.” He promised.
I felt overwhelmed with their love and promises. How could I choose either of them when I barely knew them? I glanced down at my pale hands, both clasped in the other. I placed them flat on the table before me.
Looking at them both, I spoke quietly, “If I go with you, will I be in pain?” The man nodded somberly. He couldn’t be God. How could God bring you pain?
The woman placed her contrasting hand on my own. It was cool. “You won’t be in pain anymore with me.” I closed my eyes, trying to imagine a life without pain. It was beautiful and awe striking. My heart hurt at the thought.
I wanted to choose the woman so badly. I wanted to open my mouth and condemn myself to her, regardless of who was who, if only for the promise of no pain. There was only one thing that left bothering me.
I closed my eyes tighter, conjuring a sight before me. A man with tousled light brown hair. Hysterical, happy laughter brought on by conversation with him. Promises of love and life together. Picnics on bright, green grass.
I withdrew a shaking hand from the woman, placing one on top of the other.
“I once loved a man. Which of you has him?” My voice trembled at the question.
The woman gave a sad smile. “I do.” She took back my hand, bringing to her. “If you come with me, you can be with him forever.”
A small, content laugh made way through my throat, giddy at the news. My vision went blurry with tears from happiness. “Do you promise?”
“I do.” I held the woman’s hand tight in my own. A large hand, smooth and warm, gazed the top of my other hand. The man looked at me worrisome.
“Jane, if you come with me, please know you can still see him.” I shook my head, soft hair grazing my cheeks. It wasn’t enough to just see him. I wanted to be with him.
“If I went with you, could I be with him?” I asked plainly.
The man’s eyes darkened. “No, he chose a different path them me.”
I held the woman’s hand tighter, standing up from the table, causing it and the chairs to disappear. “I’m sorry. My choice is her,” I informed the man.
| "I want freedom, I want to be free in death as I was a free man in life The Man on the left, if he could be called a man, as both figures were clothed with light, spoke to me and said: "I offer you freedom, you will live endlessly fulfilling the ends of your greatest desires, no one will be your master" The Man on the right said "I will give you true Freedom, as when you follow your desires like my associate here suggests, you still have a master, your own emotions, no matter how pure they may seem, if you seek them only for the pleasure they bring, you are still a slave to your animal nature. If you choose me you will be a slave, but a slave to truth. And the truth does not keep his slaves for long, as when you see truly, nothing holds you" | |
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | I opened my eyes.
Then, I blinked. Encompassed in a stark white room, two beautiful people stood before me, both wearing small smiles on their faces. They were much taller than me, causing me to look up to them. The dark skinned man gave a nod with twinkling eyes at the sight of me.
“Jane, it’s nice to see you,” He spoke in a low timbre voice. I stared at him then to the woman next to him. Her skin was darker with shadowy hair cascading to her chest. While their beauty was unmatchable, their skin seeming to glow, they both wore white plain shifts on their bodies.
“I don’t know you two,” I levelly stated, turning my head around to stare at the room, trying to understand where I was. Strangely, I wasn’t worried.
The woman gave a tinkling laugh. “You do.”
“Just not as well as we know you.” The man added.
There wasn’t a door, I realized. I was in a perfect, white cube. Not even shadows spoiled the room. The only item in the room was a small wooden table before us. Something twitched inside of my body. “How did I get here?” My voice was higher than normal. What was wrong with me?
The woman hushed me. “Don’t fight it, child. Everything is well.”
“Don’t fight what?” I gasped. I stood from the chair below me, not realizing it was there until this second. My breaths came out lighter and faster. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Fear,” The woman spoke softly, easing me back within my chair. That one simple word from her lips brought calmness back inside of me. I was left feeling like I was floating on air. “Don’t fight us, Jane, and everything is okay.”
“I was feeling fear,” I responded, amazed that I forgot that emotion. Both the man and woman smiled. "Where am I?”
“Nowhere yet,” The man replied, gesturing around us. “This is where you go when you have to decide.”
A short, cracked laugh erupted from my lips. “Isn’t that a thing for some god chooses for me?”
The two people before me glanced at each other while the woman shrugged. “Just one god,” The man remarked amicably and then gave a smile. He winked at the dark haired woman. “And even then, they don’t really make the choice. The person always has the right. They just don’t always make it in their life.”
“If I’m one of those people… I’m dead, aren’t I?” The woman turned her downcast eyes to the floor, not answering the question but in doing so, giving me my answer. “Oh.” I should have felt something stir inside of me but all I felt was a vague disappointment.”
“So, we’ll let you choose now,” The woman shrugged, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder.
“Can I go with God?” The naïve words blurted from my chapped lips before I stopped them.
The fairer skin man laughed deeply before slowing down to a stop. “Of course you can go with God. But you could also go with Satan.” He pushed his hand through his short, brown hair.
My head swiveled back and forth from the beautiful couple, trying to decipher his words. “Okay, I’ll go with God.”
“But who is God?” They questioned simultaneously.
“Oh, fuck.” The dark woman giggled at my words. Now, I was getting the point of this meeting. I could choose but I wouldn’t know what I was choosing. “How do I even decide then? If I don’t even know what I’m choosing.”
“You do know what you’re choosing, Jane.” The man reminded. “You’ve read bits of the bible.” I rejected the bible. “You’ve heard stories about both of us,” The man claimed, as if reading my mind. “Ask us anything and we’ll tell you the truth. Know us more and then decide.”
I bit my lower lip, a practice that I once picked up from my older brother. “Well, who is God?”
“God is the creator of everything,” The man answered with ease. Shouldn’t God be more humble? Could this really be God?
“God is the reason for consciousness,” The woman retorted. She smiled to the man, lowering her lashes slightly.
I was stumped. “Fine. Which one of you is God?”
“The one who created everything.”
“The one who created consciousness.”
The woman turned to the man, gesturing to the table. “This might take a while. Perhaps we should take a seat?” The man nodded and both strolled to the table. Two wooden chairs materialized as the man pulled out a seat for the woman. Genially, she took a seat while the man took one next to her.
“How can I choose when I don’t know?”
“You’ll learn,” The woman promised.
I sat there for what felt like a few minutes, trying to think of questions or subjects I could talk to them about before one came to mind.
“I don’t believe in God,” I accused the both of them. “How can I deserve God if the bible says I don’t?”
The man sighed, looking to the ground and shaking his head as if I asked something wrong. The woman placed a hand on his forehead before staring at me with black eyes.
“Jane. Who wrote the bible?”
“I’m not sure. I think many men wrote it.”
“That’s right. Men wrote it. Do humans always get everything right?” I blushed a little, my face becoming warm. “Of course not. It’s not their fault. But God would never blame you for not believing in him or her. God loves you.”
“Do you love me?” I asked her pointedly.
“Of course I do,” She countered, tears blinking in the corners of her eyes, as if hurt by my statement.
“Do you love me?” I inquired from the handsome man before me. He crinkled his eyes in amusement.
“I always have.” He promised.
I felt overwhelmed with their love and promises. How could I choose either of them when I barely knew them? I glanced down at my pale hands, both clasped in the other. I placed them flat on the table before me.
Looking at them both, I spoke quietly, “If I go with you, will I be in pain?” The man nodded somberly. He couldn’t be God. How could God bring you pain?
The woman placed her contrasting hand on my own. It was cool. “You won’t be in pain anymore with me.” I closed my eyes, trying to imagine a life without pain. It was beautiful and awe striking. My heart hurt at the thought.
I wanted to choose the woman so badly. I wanted to open my mouth and condemn myself to her, regardless of who was who, if only for the promise of no pain. There was only one thing that left bothering me.
I closed my eyes tighter, conjuring a sight before me. A man with tousled light brown hair. Hysterical, happy laughter brought on by conversation with him. Promises of love and life together. Picnics on bright, green grass.
I withdrew a shaking hand from the woman, placing one on top of the other.
“I once loved a man. Which of you has him?” My voice trembled at the question.
The woman gave a sad smile. “I do.” She took back my hand, bringing to her. “If you come with me, you can be with him forever.”
A small, content laugh made way through my throat, giddy at the news. My vision went blurry with tears from happiness. “Do you promise?”
“I do.” I held the woman’s hand tight in my own. A large hand, smooth and warm, gazed the top of my other hand. The man looked at me worrisome.
“Jane, if you come with me, please know you can still see him.” I shook my head, soft hair grazing my cheeks. It wasn’t enough to just see him. I wanted to be with him.
“If I went with you, could I be with him?” I asked plainly.
The man’s eyes darkened. “No, he chose a different path them me.”
I held the woman’s hand tighter, standing up from the table, causing it and the chairs to disappear. “I’m sorry. My choice is her,” I informed the man.
| "You could be lying," I sang silently inside the simulation of my skull, and immediately a melody and harmony of subdural vibration expressed concordant affirmation. I wasted some simulated neural activity on a simulated smirk on my simulated face, for simulated habits are no easier to break for the simulated knowing. At least I wasn't pretending to *talk* anymore. That was progress, of a sort.
I was feeling very smart, truth be told, getting into a rhythm that I hoped might disrupt the one being fed back to me. That smug, samurai-bullshit commitment to a plan helped to dull the indisputable truth that I was utterly out of my depth. With a simulated shrug I wondered to myself if I'd ever find out whether knowing really was half the battle. G. I. Am Fucking Dead: A Real American Hero.
I refocused. All forms of masturbation seemed equally ill-suited to the present circumstances, and I wondered what it said about me that I'd chosen cheap cultural references and half-baked puns instead of a frenzied tug on one of the universe's most perfect simulations of a penis. If the penis being simulated was imperfect, then how perfect was the simulation?
Okay, so I didn't refocus *immediately.* It's not every day you're a simulation of yourself being interviewed by... whatever the fuck. Just, simply, whatever the fuck. No pronouns, no designators. There aren't enough slashes and or-maybes on the whole Back Catalog.
"You could be lying about *the rules*" was the next line of my verse, though now I'd lost some momentum to my distraction. Widening perspective threatened to slow me down further - if only relatively - as I suddenly reframed my sorry attempt at disruptive jazz as a choral refrain from an eternity of lawyers, philosophers, and con men, that old cultural relic called a radio single that somehow survived every jump from niche to mainstream to classic to oldie to find-it-where-you-can-in-the-Back-Catalog. Did that put me in bad company? Who knows? Apparently my too-perfect-for-jazz simulation was back on the cheap references.
The two brief pulses of rhythmic oscillation appended the previous response; logically and mathematically they were a perfect fit, but this time they were distinct in their timbre and tone. The melody tapered off with a droop of extra decay while the harmony betrayed a wobble of attitude. My samurai-bullshit momentum surged. *Change is information. Information is good.* Novice that I was to the fine art of receiving quasi-musical code directly into a simulation of my own skull, I placed that extra oomph of instability somewhere between "atta boy" and "I told ya so."
"Looks like Daddy's on bass," I sniggered to my simulated self, and the simulation spared the briefest of moments to reflexively chide its own perfectly recreated myopia. What had I been thinking - or not thinking? Privacy? Self-censorship? Literal separation of output? I'd died - so the song had said - with the whole oceanic afternet backed up on the tip of my tongue, quite literally, and here I was being ortho - and not even intentionally! ...though of course that would've just made me a biofag. A *simulation* of a biofag... holy shit. That's deep.
My simulated smirk faded and was replaced by virtual wry. *"Daddy's on bass." That's my wake-up call. That's my intellectual alarm bell.* I cringed at just how fitting it was, for *that* to have been my harbinger of epiphany. And with the smug patriarchal epithet referring to a half-pie slice of whatever-the-fuck that had, indeterminate beats and rests ago, strongly suggested it was Yahweh.
And so, as it was maybe written, so it was possibly done, "Daddy's on bass" broke the simulated floodgates and at once I comprehended what I had been in life: a mortal instrument, unable to hear my compatriots, unable to comprehend my master, unable to appreciate the symphony. Incapable. Limited. And yet, the master had breathed life into me, or through me, and had left behind traces or graces of moisture and warmth upon my silver siding; and yet, echoes and hums from the instruments around me, themselves a translated manifestation of other masters - or the same one? - left faint but no-less-vital weatherings upon and within me; and yet, the symphony; the symphony had given me purpose, a purpose carried out by a master who in turn had followed orders of its own (or of its own making?) and who had, for all I knew, put me down and gone home after practice was over. And then, for moments indeterminate before my simulated stopover had begun, I was still. But I was not the same. I had changed. I was changed? I changed? The difference was important, but I was overwhelmed, and my mantra called out to comfort me. *Change is information. Information is good.*
It was a lot to take in.
Empathy and perspective sneak up on you, like an anvil dropped from the fourth dimension. They slow you down by stretching out the space in front of you. In response to your every ambition, a crystal ball up your ozymandy-ass. *Jesus fuck I suddenly know how my friends felt sometimes, speaking/singing/thinking of empathy. Ozy-mandy-ass. Christ.* They hurt you in that trans-ortho orthogonal way, showing you the whole library with a perfectly nonjudgmental wave of their serenely bookish, en-sweatered arm, politely directing you to the catalog card where all your jazz is listed as pop.
"How are you both so... *disciplined?*" I sang/spoke/thought to whatever the fuck (and the Back Catalog lost another two good slashes that day.) The pause was a paean to Einstein's quip on relatively, my simulated hand metaphorically pressed against a metaphorical stove (which, being metaphorical, was either more or less real than a simulated one would have been?) and the answer was dissonant. *Change is information. Information is good.*
It didn't feel so good this time.
The next question shot forth, the antithesis of improv. "Will I hear it all?" I asked, and the vibrations regained their concordance. No wobbly attitude this time. It was all slow decay, deflation, a heavy sigh - the heaviest sigh - pushed through the platonic instrument.
"Is it forever?" A double bar on this measure, then, a tie, a tie, for the heaviest sigh.
There is no fear like this. This is where you break. Not from torture, not from judgment, not from regrets, either the done or the not. It's the serene, non-judgmental sweep of a bookish, en-sweatered arm, the somatic cue that finally lets your open eyes see, and fuck me I went with a library metaphor, which doesn't make any sense at all now does it? What these two - these two halves? - wouldn't give for a stern look and the finger of all authority pressing against wrinkled lips, something to shame the maestro, who lowers the baton, who stops the symphony and lets everybody go home and just *rest.*
I break. I have nothing left to offer except the half-baked conclusion that boils my simulated brain and makes simulated tears scorch lines upon my simulated face: *you get everything, or you get peace.*
I chose silence. | |
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | God and Satan
Father and Child
They sit at my table,
Pitching their promises of
Life and Desire.
Listening patiently,
I give each their time
But neither think
About the value of mine.
They bicker and cajole
For political position
Holding a warm cup of coffee
In my plain yellow kitchen.
On the one hand,
I can have ultimate freedom -
Should I possess the strength
To take it.
On the other,
No pain,
No sorrow,
No hunger,
Nor hatred.
I listened patiently
As both sides made their case.
In the end, however,
I found the whole game to my distaste.
I left them fighting
At my table.
I would hear from them no more.
Leaving them behind,
On my front porch,
I found an entire *new* world
To explore.
It's full of people,
Of hopes
And dreams
People I could help
And people that could help *me*.
I've resolved to leave
Those two at my table
To squabble over me.
If, in the end,
One must have me,
Then, that is *their* business.
In the meantime,
I mean to do unto others,
As I would have done unto me.
Edit: Thanks to /u/cawa_stanislavovich for formatting help.
| "Ugh, okay, I'll start." A tall, thin, man in white looks at me sternly. He has a disposable nametag with 'Hi! I'm **Probably the Devil**' scrawled on it.
Next to him, a short old man in black sits, His nametag: 'Hi! I'm **Probably God**' and then in smaller letters underneath '***but also maybe the Devil***'.
The man in white: "Vincent, you've got a supervising job, do you-" The one in black starts to snicker. The man in white cracks and tries to hide a smile, hitting him. They get serious.
"Do you know how many hours you spent in your life working at that job?"
"No, sir."
"90,000. Well, 90,000-ish." The man in black smiles again, leaning towards him.
"We forgot to introduce ourselves." They both snort with laughter. White reaches forward.
"I'm uh- I'm the one you think you deserve."
"Oo! That's good!" Black says. I shake white's hand.
"And I'm the one you're going to subconsciously trust more." I shake his.
"We've-" They cackle again, "We've been- Do you know a bigger number than 90,000, Vincent?"
There's a pause. The man in black snickers again and mutters.
*"Are you actually asking him?*"
"Uh... Not any specific one, but yes."
"Do you know the number 109 Billion?" Black's eyes dazzle with joy, he knows where this is going.
"I- I know that's a number, if that's what you mean?"
"That's how many people have died before you. Well, human's anyway," It's in this moment I catch a bit of contempt in his eyes. He leans back. "Now, these interviews normally last an hour, we go over your life choices, do the whole vague game, then we talk about-"
"Oh, man, pass me the bottle?"
"Oh sure," White passes a bottle of something amber to Black who immediately drinks out of it. "Anyway, I talk about like, freedom or something, and he goes on about redemption, and we all go through this fucking thing and then you pick where you go, and we never really see you again either way. But YOU, mister, get stuck in either Heaven or Hell."
"Okay."
"*109 billion fucking work hours.* How about this, instead." He rips his nametag off, and rips blacks off, and swaps them. "I'm not gonna sell you. We're both full of shit. Or maybe just one of us is. So just go ahead and pick blind, today's our vacation."
"I'm the devil." Black says unconvincingly. They both snort with laughter.
"I don't think this is fair, I worked my whole-"
"Doesn't matter. Pick!"
"If it doesn't matter why don't you guys pick?"
"OH! Interesting! Like *nobody's ever said that before!* Pick."
"Pick, or you get oblivion. Hell, you might get oblivion anyways."
"Fine I'll take black."
"Hah! Great choice!"
"No. Uh, White, actually."
"FUCK!"
"WHOO! Mark another up for me! Alright, off with you. That door, there."
"Okay. Wait, did I make the right choice?" As I go over to the door, they give me a look.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, come on, which one of you is God?"
They both look at each other, then back to me. Black gets up and walks over. He rips off his sticker and puts it on me, pulling out a sharpie, he tacks on '***but also maybe God***'. He pushes me through the door.
"Like it fucking matters! This is all some allegorical shit anyways, isn't it!?" They grin at each other and start to laugh again as the door closes. I look around at where I am.
Yeah, I guess it doesn't matter. | |
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | "You made your choice then," said Gabriel the angelic advocate.
"Uh, yes, I think," said Tom as he stared at the flawless blue sky, cloudless, and still. He laughed, "I remember skies like this when I was a child, when my parents drove us to our grandpa's farm."
Gabriel smiled, "I know Tom, I know. I sorta had a hand in that You were a good child. Always kind and protective of your sister." He looked at the sky as well and said, "So, how was the debate? Did you find one side more convincing than the other?"
"They were both so convincing. The old man and the old woman. I understand what they represented but not sure who or what they were. I..."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
"I.. think... I'm going to choose the old woman. I liked her proposal better."
Gabriel sighed and started walking away.
"Hey Gabe, wait! Where are you going?"
Gabriel turned around, his eyes glowing fiery red, "Christ Tom, do you not get it? The lessons here? What you were supposed to do?"
Tom stepped back and bit his lip. He looked down, "I didn't do anything wrong. I just chose."
Gabriel sighed again, "You weren't supposed to Tom. You're not supposed to fall for the old timey good vs evil canard. Its a false dichotomy. After the life you lived, you didn't realize this? You think life is a simple good vs evil game? That everything is so damn clear-cut?"
Gabriel looked at Tom again and said, "When your sister became an addict and a criminal, was she evil? When she cleaned up was she good? When she died in her sleep and left you with her two kids, was that evil or good? Do you really think her life was so simple? That her suffering should be classified and judged so easily?"
Tom stammered, "But but... that's why my faith dictates! I.. know I had doubts but I thought that made me weak. A sinner."
Gabriel stepped up and embraced Tom. "I'm sorry I'm so tough on you. I was hoping you'd get it this time around. You're a good man. You'll get it eventually."
"What," exclaimed Tom as Gabriel pulled out a small walkie talkie.
He pressed the red 'talk' button and it made a satisfying click. Tom watched in wonderment as it lit up with a supernatural golden light. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak into it, paused, and whispered to Tom, "I do this out of love," and turned back to the talkie and said, "Restart the VR world, he failed again."
Tom opened his mouth to protest but a moment later he all he could hear was loud infant screaming as his eyes tried to adjust to overly bright lights that nearly blinded him.
"Its a boy," someone said happily. "A boy! Congratulations!" | "Ugh, okay, I'll start." A tall, thin, man in white looks at me sternly. He has a disposable nametag with 'Hi! I'm **Probably the Devil**' scrawled on it.
Next to him, a short old man in black sits, His nametag: 'Hi! I'm **Probably God**' and then in smaller letters underneath '***but also maybe the Devil***'.
The man in white: "Vincent, you've got a supervising job, do you-" The one in black starts to snicker. The man in white cracks and tries to hide a smile, hitting him. They get serious.
"Do you know how many hours you spent in your life working at that job?"
"No, sir."
"90,000. Well, 90,000-ish." The man in black smiles again, leaning towards him.
"We forgot to introduce ourselves." They both snort with laughter. White reaches forward.
"I'm uh- I'm the one you think you deserve."
"Oo! That's good!" Black says. I shake white's hand.
"And I'm the one you're going to subconsciously trust more." I shake his.
"We've-" They cackle again, "We've been- Do you know a bigger number than 90,000, Vincent?"
There's a pause. The man in black snickers again and mutters.
*"Are you actually asking him?*"
"Uh... Not any specific one, but yes."
"Do you know the number 109 Billion?" Black's eyes dazzle with joy, he knows where this is going.
"I- I know that's a number, if that's what you mean?"
"That's how many people have died before you. Well, human's anyway," It's in this moment I catch a bit of contempt in his eyes. He leans back. "Now, these interviews normally last an hour, we go over your life choices, do the whole vague game, then we talk about-"
"Oh, man, pass me the bottle?"
"Oh sure," White passes a bottle of something amber to Black who immediately drinks out of it. "Anyway, I talk about like, freedom or something, and he goes on about redemption, and we all go through this fucking thing and then you pick where you go, and we never really see you again either way. But YOU, mister, get stuck in either Heaven or Hell."
"Okay."
"*109 billion fucking work hours.* How about this, instead." He rips his nametag off, and rips blacks off, and swaps them. "I'm not gonna sell you. We're both full of shit. Or maybe just one of us is. So just go ahead and pick blind, today's our vacation."
"I'm the devil." Black says unconvincingly. They both snort with laughter.
"I don't think this is fair, I worked my whole-"
"Doesn't matter. Pick!"
"If it doesn't matter why don't you guys pick?"
"OH! Interesting! Like *nobody's ever said that before!* Pick."
"Pick, or you get oblivion. Hell, you might get oblivion anyways."
"Fine I'll take black."
"Hah! Great choice!"
"No. Uh, White, actually."
"FUCK!"
"WHOO! Mark another up for me! Alright, off with you. That door, there."
"Okay. Wait, did I make the right choice?" As I go over to the door, they give me a look.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, come on, which one of you is God?"
They both look at each other, then back to me. Black gets up and walks over. He rips off his sticker and puts it on me, pulling out a sharpie, he tacks on '***but also maybe God***'. He pushes me through the door.
"Like it fucking matters! This is all some allegorical shit anyways, isn't it!?" They grin at each other and start to laugh again as the door closes. I look around at where I am.
Yeah, I guess it doesn't matter. | |
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | "Let's talk about Hitler."
They were impressive, there was no arguing with that. Their nearly identical features were perfectly androgynous, neither male nor female. Large, bright eyes rested under thick, heavy foreheads. High, defined cheekbones set off strong, structured jaws. Long, slim noses flowed into full, soft lips. The only tangible difference between the two was their chocolate-brown, chin-length hair: the figure on the left had beautiful, luminous curls, while the figure on the right had shiny, straight silk. I spent the first few minutes scrutinizing their features, becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of information they contained. They seemed intentionally designed to resonate with everyone. *How poetic,* I thought, grimly.
"Let's talk about Hitler," I said, raising an eyebrow, inviting them to challenge me. I'll admit, my initial reason for asking was pettiness. I was still strangely bothered by their appearances. I was uncomfortable and I wanted them to feel the same. So, in childish spite, I decided to ask about what *had* to be one of their least favorite subjects. But once the question left my mouth, I realized how good of a strategy it really was. After all, if their game was to make me guess who was who, what better way to do it than by figuring out who Hitler was living with.
The Right glanced quickly at the Left before returning my gaze with a slight smile of encouragement.
The Left let out a heavy sigh before calmly stating "Very well. We can talk about Hitler."
"There isn't much to talk about, really. I just have two questions. Where does he live and how does he like it?"
The Right watched steadily as the Left let out another long sigh.
"Hitler lives with me. You may speak to him, if you choose."
I turned around and there he was, much smaller than I'd imagined: eyes glued to the ground, forehead pinched in pain, though whether mental or physical I wasn't sure. I started to question him, but he'd already begun.
"After my death, came my Judgment Day. I had been so sure, in my life, that I was doing the right things, that I was justified, that God would understand and applaud my actions. I was in denial at first. But the longer the trial wore on, the more I realized how mistaken I had been. The more I realized how monstrous my actions were. The more I realized how *angry* God was with me. The more I realized how *wrong* I had been. I begged. I pleaded. I apologized. I lamented. But it was too late. I had done what I had done and there was no way to take it back. We all have to live with the choices we've made." He paused, drawing a shaky breath, before continuing, "I apologize for what I did every single day, but that doesn't keep me from agony. But in the end, my true punishment has been my shame. I am so ashamed of who and what I was. The worst punishments that Hell has to offer are still too good for me. I am miserable and I deserve to be so."
The Right looked at Hitler with pity before looking back to me. The Left's gaze stayed sternly on the cowering Austrian.
"I guess I'm ready to make my decision," I said meekly.
The Left and the Right gazed at me steadily. My eyes searched their identical faces for any clues that I was doing the right thing. Not surprisingly, their faces once again lacked any useful information.
I took a breath to steady myself, and said a quick, "God let me be right," before realizing how useless that particular prayer would be in the present circumstances. With the fear of making the wrong choice threatening to leap from the confines of my chest, I quickly blurted
"I choose the Left."
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to fight the panic that was overwhelming me. *You're so stupid! Why would you choose the Left?* ***HITLER*** *lives with the Left. The Left is so obviously Satan, it's ridiculous. Oh, God. You've just damned yourself. Maybe you can take it back? Can you change your mind?*
"No, I take it back. Wait."
"You've made your choice. We all have to live with the choices we've made," the Right said, darkly.
My eyes flew open, the panic cresting into desperation at last.
The Left was there, comforting Hitler and looking at me with warm, loving eyes. The Right glared angrily at the three of us.
"You chose wisely, My Child," the Left murmured gently. "Where there is genuine, heartfelt repentance, I will always Forgive. The true punishment for your actions will be finding a way to forgive yourself."
So, I walked with God and Hitler through the Gates of Heaven. | "Ugh, okay, I'll start." A tall, thin, man in white looks at me sternly. He has a disposable nametag with 'Hi! I'm **Probably the Devil**' scrawled on it.
Next to him, a short old man in black sits, His nametag: 'Hi! I'm **Probably God**' and then in smaller letters underneath '***but also maybe the Devil***'.
The man in white: "Vincent, you've got a supervising job, do you-" The one in black starts to snicker. The man in white cracks and tries to hide a smile, hitting him. They get serious.
"Do you know how many hours you spent in your life working at that job?"
"No, sir."
"90,000. Well, 90,000-ish." The man in black smiles again, leaning towards him.
"We forgot to introduce ourselves." They both snort with laughter. White reaches forward.
"I'm uh- I'm the one you think you deserve."
"Oo! That's good!" Black says. I shake white's hand.
"And I'm the one you're going to subconsciously trust more." I shake his.
"We've-" They cackle again, "We've been- Do you know a bigger number than 90,000, Vincent?"
There's a pause. The man in black snickers again and mutters.
*"Are you actually asking him?*"
"Uh... Not any specific one, but yes."
"Do you know the number 109 Billion?" Black's eyes dazzle with joy, he knows where this is going.
"I- I know that's a number, if that's what you mean?"
"That's how many people have died before you. Well, human's anyway," It's in this moment I catch a bit of contempt in his eyes. He leans back. "Now, these interviews normally last an hour, we go over your life choices, do the whole vague game, then we talk about-"
"Oh, man, pass me the bottle?"
"Oh sure," White passes a bottle of something amber to Black who immediately drinks out of it. "Anyway, I talk about like, freedom or something, and he goes on about redemption, and we all go through this fucking thing and then you pick where you go, and we never really see you again either way. But YOU, mister, get stuck in either Heaven or Hell."
"Okay."
"*109 billion fucking work hours.* How about this, instead." He rips his nametag off, and rips blacks off, and swaps them. "I'm not gonna sell you. We're both full of shit. Or maybe just one of us is. So just go ahead and pick blind, today's our vacation."
"I'm the devil." Black says unconvincingly. They both snort with laughter.
"I don't think this is fair, I worked my whole-"
"Doesn't matter. Pick!"
"If it doesn't matter why don't you guys pick?"
"OH! Interesting! Like *nobody's ever said that before!* Pick."
"Pick, or you get oblivion. Hell, you might get oblivion anyways."
"Fine I'll take black."
"Hah! Great choice!"
"No. Uh, White, actually."
"FUCK!"
"WHOO! Mark another up for me! Alright, off with you. That door, there."
"Okay. Wait, did I make the right choice?" As I go over to the door, they give me a look.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, come on, which one of you is God?"
They both look at each other, then back to me. Black gets up and walks over. He rips off his sticker and puts it on me, pulling out a sharpie, he tacks on '***but also maybe God***'. He pushes me through the door.
"Like it fucking matters! This is all some allegorical shit anyways, isn't it!?" They grin at each other and start to laugh again as the door closes. I look around at where I am.
Yeah, I guess it doesn't matter. | |
[WP] Upon dying, you find yourself sitting at a table with God and Satan, each trying to convince you to choose Heaven and Hell respectively. When you are content with your conversation, you choose your fate, however, you do not know which person is which. What do you talk about? What do you decide? | "Let's talk about Hitler."
They were impressive, there was no arguing with that. Their nearly identical features were perfectly androgynous, neither male nor female. Large, bright eyes rested under thick, heavy foreheads. High, defined cheekbones set off strong, structured jaws. Long, slim noses flowed into full, soft lips. The only tangible difference between the two was their chocolate-brown, chin-length hair: the figure on the left had beautiful, luminous curls, while the figure on the right had shiny, straight silk. I spent the first few minutes scrutinizing their features, becoming increasingly frustrated by the lack of information they contained. They seemed intentionally designed to resonate with everyone. *How poetic,* I thought, grimly.
"Let's talk about Hitler," I said, raising an eyebrow, inviting them to challenge me. I'll admit, my initial reason for asking was pettiness. I was still strangely bothered by their appearances. I was uncomfortable and I wanted them to feel the same. So, in childish spite, I decided to ask about what *had* to be one of their least favorite subjects. But once the question left my mouth, I realized how good of a strategy it really was. After all, if their game was to make me guess who was who, what better way to do it than by figuring out who Hitler was living with.
The Right glanced quickly at the Left before returning my gaze with a slight smile of encouragement.
The Left let out a heavy sigh before calmly stating "Very well. We can talk about Hitler."
"There isn't much to talk about, really. I just have two questions. Where does he live and how does he like it?"
The Right watched steadily as the Left let out another long sigh.
"Hitler lives with me. You may speak to him, if you choose."
I turned around and there he was, much smaller than I'd imagined: eyes glued to the ground, forehead pinched in pain, though whether mental or physical I wasn't sure. I started to question him, but he'd already begun.
"After my death, came my Judgment Day. I had been so sure, in my life, that I was doing the right things, that I was justified, that God would understand and applaud my actions. I was in denial at first. But the longer the trial wore on, the more I realized how mistaken I had been. The more I realized how monstrous my actions were. The more I realized how *angry* God was with me. The more I realized how *wrong* I had been. I begged. I pleaded. I apologized. I lamented. But it was too late. I had done what I had done and there was no way to take it back. We all have to live with the choices we've made." He paused, drawing a shaky breath, before continuing, "I apologize for what I did every single day, but that doesn't keep me from agony. But in the end, my true punishment has been my shame. I am so ashamed of who and what I was. The worst punishments that Hell has to offer are still too good for me. I am miserable and I deserve to be so."
The Right looked at Hitler with pity before looking back to me. The Left's gaze stayed sternly on the cowering Austrian.
"I guess I'm ready to make my decision," I said meekly.
The Left and the Right gazed at me steadily. My eyes searched their identical faces for any clues that I was doing the right thing. Not surprisingly, their faces once again lacked any useful information.
I took a breath to steady myself, and said a quick, "God let me be right," before realizing how useless that particular prayer would be in the present circumstances. With the fear of making the wrong choice threatening to leap from the confines of my chest, I quickly blurted
"I choose the Left."
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to fight the panic that was overwhelming me. *You're so stupid! Why would you choose the Left?* ***HITLER*** *lives with the Left. The Left is so obviously Satan, it's ridiculous. Oh, God. You've just damned yourself. Maybe you can take it back? Can you change your mind?*
"No, I take it back. Wait."
"You've made your choice. We all have to live with the choices we've made," the Right said, darkly.
My eyes flew open, the panic cresting into desperation at last.
The Left was there, comforting Hitler and looking at me with warm, loving eyes. The Right glared angrily at the three of us.
"You chose wisely, My Child," the Left murmured gently. "Where there is genuine, heartfelt repentance, I will always Forgive. The true punishment for your actions will be finding a way to forgive yourself."
So, I walked with God and Hitler through the Gates of Heaven. | "You made your choice then," said Gabriel the angelic advocate.
"Uh, yes, I think," said Tom as he stared at the flawless blue sky, cloudless, and still. He laughed, "I remember skies like this when I was a child, when my parents drove us to our grandpa's farm."
Gabriel smiled, "I know Tom, I know. I sorta had a hand in that You were a good child. Always kind and protective of your sister." He looked at the sky as well and said, "So, how was the debate? Did you find one side more convincing than the other?"
"They were both so convincing. The old man and the old woman. I understand what they represented but not sure who or what they were. I..."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
"I.. think... I'm going to choose the old woman. I liked her proposal better."
Gabriel sighed and started walking away.
"Hey Gabe, wait! Where are you going?"
Gabriel turned around, his eyes glowing fiery red, "Christ Tom, do you not get it? The lessons here? What you were supposed to do?"
Tom stepped back and bit his lip. He looked down, "I didn't do anything wrong. I just chose."
Gabriel sighed again, "You weren't supposed to Tom. You're not supposed to fall for the old timey good vs evil canard. Its a false dichotomy. After the life you lived, you didn't realize this? You think life is a simple good vs evil game? That everything is so damn clear-cut?"
Gabriel looked at Tom again and said, "When your sister became an addict and a criminal, was she evil? When she cleaned up was she good? When she died in her sleep and left you with her two kids, was that evil or good? Do you really think her life was so simple? That her suffering should be classified and judged so easily?"
Tom stammered, "But but... that's why my faith dictates! I.. know I had doubts but I thought that made me weak. A sinner."
Gabriel stepped up and embraced Tom. "I'm sorry I'm so tough on you. I was hoping you'd get it this time around. You're a good man. You'll get it eventually."
"What," exclaimed Tom as Gabriel pulled out a small walkie talkie.
He pressed the red 'talk' button and it made a satisfying click. Tom watched in wonderment as it lit up with a supernatural golden light. Gabriel opened his mouth to speak into it, paused, and whispered to Tom, "I do this out of love," and turned back to the talkie and said, "Restart the VR world, he failed again."
Tom opened his mouth to protest but a moment later he all he could hear was loud infant screaming as his eyes tried to adjust to overly bright lights that nearly blinded him.
"Its a boy," someone said happily. "A boy! Congratulations!" | |
[WP] Mankind is the only species in the Universe that can create music but Extraterrestrials can understand it. | Great. Another blister. Never mind that they can repair it in seconds, inspections aren't for another 4 days, which means I have another 50 hours of rehearsal before I can even file a maintenance request.
These long, slender fingers are the only reason they wanted me, but the scarred and pulpy flesh is a reminder that want is far different from need. I have no way of knowing just how many humans have been assigned to the violin quarters. They take great care to keep us isolated in our sound-proof cells- "free from distraction." Hell, I don't even know how many camps are out there. Camps, hah- weren't there camps like this before The Unearthing? Band camps, right? No, I am sure they were nothing like this.
I look down at my only companion, a regulation C grade violin (I won't be upgraded to the B grade model until I receive my assignment- and my chances of receiving an A grade are about 1/1,000,000). I couldn't tell you what it's made of, it is one of their materials- the blue one that seems somewhere between wood and metal. It's strange how quickly one can fall in love with an inanimate object. Well, given the circumstances, perhaps it isn't strange how attached I have grown to my violin, but it was still disconcerting. I had never even held a violin before last year, let alone played one. Yet, my violin was family now. A sibling that annoyed me, hurt me, but was part of my life line and would do anything to save me. They let me sleep with it.
When I could sleep, that is. I have always been plagued with insomnia, but before I laid awake pondering the endless opportunities before me- "What do I want to do with the rest of my life? Should I choose this school or that? Do I see a future with my significant other? Should I get bangs?" Now I am free from the anxiety of choice, only to fall victim to the anxiety of predestination. What will my assignment be? Will I play in a symphony? a band? What if the other members aren't as talented? What if we are assigned a bad lyricist? God, please don't let me be a house minstrel. I know, "God"...cute, right?
I know the only thing that can save me, is me. My mom always used to say that the only thing you can control is yourself.
I try not to think about Mom anymore.
So I'll keep practicing until this blister becomes a rough patch of elephant skin like the other ones. After all, we are reminded daily that "the music isn't going to play itself." | Whether you are Fantonian, Gustonian, a Nerwinian, or Mustok. You can easily gather the notes together and throw them at a page. So why is it that Earthlings are the only ones that can understand the creation of music as an art form?
For years, as a Fanta, I've explored the possibility of someday finding the spark of creativity that the rest of the universe lacks. Of course, Earthlings don't quite have an advanced visual sense of the construction of food. They have plenty of chefs that claim to be artists, but they can't make the food "sing" like us - if that makes any sense.
But the question is more important in this case, because it is rare for a species to have such talent in a specific area. Earthlings are quite rare as well and have become quite a hot commodity. You'll have creatures from all over your quadrant of the galaxy to visit your bar if you have an Earthling band frequently playing there.
Music has a strange way of bringing creatures together in harmony. Where there is chaos, music has proven to sooth the most destructive minds and brings out the most passionate and peaceful attitudes. Music makes almost any species, even those without ears, happy. The music is 'moving'. Have you seen a Mustok dance to true music? It is quite a combination.
Which brings me to the problem at hand. Even though it pains me to say it, our talent for creation of awesome food does not make us peace keepers. I dare say we may need Earthlings to exist, and sadly, they are dying out. Some are hunted and killed for tests. Some are harvested for their organs. All to find a way to unlock the secret of music. Ironically, a beast that kills in such a way could never have the heart it takes to create song.
We have become desperate. And in our desperation to save our home, and potentially our universe - we have used our limited and dangerous knowledge of time travel and worm holes to collect some of the greatest musicians of all time from Earth. If we even gain some knowledge in the process, it will be worth the energy. We have also been fully open to the possibility of Earthling composers staying in our time to travel in space to different venues as peacekeepers.
We live in times of uncertainty. So today holds such a different contrast to other days. I'm excited because we get to meet new potential peace keepers. Rufus has collected for us: Bill S. Preston Esquire and Ted "Theodore" Logan. I can't wait to hear what they have to say and what wisdom they have to impart.
| |
[WP] Mankind is the only species in the Universe that can create music but Extraterrestrials can understand it. | The final saucers left us, standing slack-jawed and feeling things that didn't fit well into categories.
"Dr. Standish." I don't know how many times the young man had said it before I heard it and turned to acknowledge him. Several minutes had passed since the clouds had covered the last of the vessels, and my eyes stung from the sunlight, but it was an effort to turn to face him.
I think I had to wipe a trickle of drool off my chin. I said nothing.
"We have the upload reports." He held out a thick red folder. It was like a splash of cold water to my face. I snatched it out of his hand, muttering an apology, and tore it open.
A month after first contact, we'd managed to work out a communication method. A month after that, we'd still had no meaningful cultural exchange, or even seen them. They'd just hovered high over unoccupied areas in their wide disc-like vessels, offering platitudes of peace, asking about the age of our species, if we'd colonized any other planets yet, and whether or not we perceived squoorrpft. We had been forced to admit we did not perceive squoorrpft, and interrogations as to the nature of squoorrpft, and how they'd arrived at that spelling in roman letters for a literally alien concept, went absolutely nowhere.
As for them, they had nothing they called a home planet. They lived in those vessels, never leaving, never setting foot on any terrestrial surface. They had no concept of planetbound life; perhaps their species had been spacefaring for so long their planet of origin was lost to history. Or perhaps they were a species created by another, greater species, created just for life in the void. Or perhaps they were just lying.
Eventually, they came across the concept of the Internet. They asked for access. It was a request, not a demand, when they could probably have just found any unsecured network and used that. Or any network. Or read it with their minds. Truth is, we have no idea what they were capable of, yet without any understanding of their general demeanor or capabilities as fighters, we had to treat it like a demand.
We offered a counter-request: come down here and let us meet you, and we'll give you our wi-fi password.
They did come down. I think they didn't understand the request. Or didn't care about it. They sent a sleek black probe of some kind. Heck, maybe that's what they look like. It was the size of a basketball, with manipulating arms and sensors of all kinds sticking out everywhere. We met it at Yellowstone, and gave it a laptop with access to an iPhone with wireless hotspot engaged. Budget-conscious we are.
The thing interfaced with the side of the laptop, wrecking the case in the process. There were a lot of clicking noises from somewhere inside its black shell. After a few moments, the thing stopped clicking, and a discordant voice came from within.
"Myoo - zick?"
It clicked a couple more times, then lowered itself to the ground and held very still.
The log the young man had handed me indicated that this was the point at which the probe had started downloading hundreds - thousands - millions of files. It did something to our connection, boosted it beyond anything imaginable, but it still sat there for a day and a half, just downloading.
Downloading music.
Then it set the computer down, hovered, said "Good-bye," and took off. We received reports of all the vessels leaving the atmosphere within minutes. The ones over Yellowstone were the last to go.
I scanned the first page of the document. It was twenty lines long, each line one filename. The page was filled entirely with audio files, of various types and sources, each and every one of them "Love Rollercoaster" by the Ohio Players.
I blinked. Then I turned the page. Without the heading info, this page held thirty lines. They were also all "Love Rollercoaster" by the Ohio Players.
A few pages in, I started skipping handfuls. There were a few hundred pages, all of them filled top to bottom with "Love Rollercoaster," by the Ohio Players. Mind reeling, I shut the folder to see the sticker on the front: 1/233.
I slowly swiveled my head to look at the assistant. He had a grimace like he'd swallowed a cactus. He'd already seen this.
"There are other folders?" I said.
"There are, sir, but ... they're redundant."
"You're telling me they downloaded exobytes of data, and all of it was - was-"
He nodded. "'Love Rollercoaster,' by the Ohio Players, sir."
"'Love. Rollercoaster.'"
"Yes, sir. By the Ohio Players, sir."
I couldn't stop myself. I sat down in the dirt, facing our mobile command unit for the sake of seeing something rational.
"All that bandwidth, all that time - how are there even that many copies of that song?" I almost sobbed.
"I believe they downloaded every possible copy of 'Love Rollercoaster,' by the Ohio Players, from any network-accessible computer on the whole planet, and then they downloaded them all again. Repeatedly. Sir." I could hear him swallow hard.
"And that's ALL?!" I screeched. "They had access to all our history and culture dating back as far as we have it recorded, and all they took was audio files of 'Love Rollercoaster' by the Ohio Players?!" I threw the folder at the side of the trailer. Papers exploded everywhere. Yellowstone was going to be pissed.
"No, sir, that's not *all* they downloaded," he said in placating tones. "There were a few anomalies, like some copies of Web pages-"
"What pages?"
"...lyric pages. For 'Love Rollercoaster,' by-"
"The Ohio Players, right. Anything else?"
He pulled a notepad from his back pocket and thumbed through it. "Just a few that jumped out at me," he said. "They downloaded a few movies. 'Semi-Pro,' 'Final Destination 3.' The video game 'Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.'"
I stared up at him for a moment. "Have someone ... have someone get on Wikipedia and see if ..." I trailed off at the look on his face. "You already did."
"Yes, sir."
"And?" I asked pointlessly.
"They all feature 'Love Rollercoaster,' by the Ohio Players, on their soundtracks."
My vision blurred with tears. What about cancer? They surely could have cured cancer. Or maybe offered insight into our religious texts. Or our physics. What would they have thought about war?
Apparently not much. They only thought of "Love Rollercoaster," by the Ohio Players.
We tried to keep it quiet, but it got leaked after a few days. No surviving members of the Ohio Players were ever reached for comment by any of the major news networks. After a week, it came to light that nobody could find any of the surviving members of the band anywhere.
The charred bodies of the Red Hot Chili Peppers were found in the exploded remains of their California recording studio. | Whether you are Fantonian, Gustonian, a Nerwinian, or Mustok. You can easily gather the notes together and throw them at a page. So why is it that Earthlings are the only ones that can understand the creation of music as an art form?
For years, as a Fanta, I've explored the possibility of someday finding the spark of creativity that the rest of the universe lacks. Of course, Earthlings don't quite have an advanced visual sense of the construction of food. They have plenty of chefs that claim to be artists, but they can't make the food "sing" like us - if that makes any sense.
But the question is more important in this case, because it is rare for a species to have such talent in a specific area. Earthlings are quite rare as well and have become quite a hot commodity. You'll have creatures from all over your quadrant of the galaxy to visit your bar if you have an Earthling band frequently playing there.
Music has a strange way of bringing creatures together in harmony. Where there is chaos, music has proven to sooth the most destructive minds and brings out the most passionate and peaceful attitudes. Music makes almost any species, even those without ears, happy. The music is 'moving'. Have you seen a Mustok dance to true music? It is quite a combination.
Which brings me to the problem at hand. Even though it pains me to say it, our talent for creation of awesome food does not make us peace keepers. I dare say we may need Earthlings to exist, and sadly, they are dying out. Some are hunted and killed for tests. Some are harvested for their organs. All to find a way to unlock the secret of music. Ironically, a beast that kills in such a way could never have the heart it takes to create song.
We have become desperate. And in our desperation to save our home, and potentially our universe - we have used our limited and dangerous knowledge of time travel and worm holes to collect some of the greatest musicians of all time from Earth. If we even gain some knowledge in the process, it will be worth the energy. We have also been fully open to the possibility of Earthling composers staying in our time to travel in space to different venues as peacekeepers.
We live in times of uncertainty. So today holds such a different contrast to other days. I'm excited because we get to meet new potential peace keepers. Rufus has collected for us: Bill S. Preston Esquire and Ted "Theodore" Logan. I can't wait to hear what they have to say and what wisdom they have to impart.
| |
Charon is the gondolier of the underworld, and takes the souls of the dead across the river Styx.
Thank you in advance for any posts. | [WP]Mesmerized by his ember hollow sockets, incredulous you watch as a tear flows down Charon's cheek | "I'm...sorry," you stammer.
It doesn't matter. By this point, Charon is openly weeping, the ferryman's pole he uses to navigate the river Styx clatters into the bow of the barge, and his bony hands clasp over his glowing eyes. You're unsure of whether to comfort the creature or to make a run for it. All you had done, after all, was paid the ferryman a polite "How do you do?" along with the crumpled marks that were in your waistcoat pocket that he'd required as payment for passage.
One question, and now a demigod was having an existential crisis.
"It's just..."
He stammers.
"It's just no one ever *ASKS*"
You try to nod appreciatively.
"Thousands of years crossing this fucking river, and no one ever asks me how I'm doing. Do you know you're the first?"
You shake your head as Charon collapses into another fit of sobs.
"I can't help that I'm the ferryman!" he laments, sinking against the stern of the boat until his billowing black robe gathered up around his bony ankles, "I didn't get a choice!"
"Uh...of course you didn't," you stammer, trying to find your voice.
"I just...I just thought I'd do something with my life, you know?" Charon continues, his voice trailing off, "I had dreams."
You're reminded of the time your grandmother told you to be careful who you were kind to, because, in a way, you take responsibility for them.
"In for a penny, in for a pound," she would say.
You wonder what she would say if she saw you here in a boat with the ferryman of the underworld.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
You quietly shuffle over to Charon and sit next to him.
"I never thanked you for asking," Charon muttered, dragging a stark white wrist against his tear-stained cheeks, "what's your name anyway."
You take a deep breath, pull out a cigar, and light it. You feel yourself calm as the smoke rattles deep down into your lungs.
"Sigmund Freud, but you may just call me Sigmund."
Charon stares ahead blankly.
"It seems to me that you're unhappy, ferryman," you say, that old thrill grasping at the edges of your heart, "we've made great progress here. Now, why don't you tell me about your mother." | Brian wondered if he could speak, for all the figure latched onto the oar of the boat did was gesture to and from. He knocked away souls grasping at the rim of his boat. The boat itself didn't rock, or move as they held onto it, it was as if their grip was nothing more than air. Charon didn't seem to feel anything as he brushed them away.
Finally the shore was there. Charon was gesturing them away from the boat, where several people didn't hesitate before jumping over the edge. Charon watched them with his empty sockets, the only sign of life there being the hollow embers that shone through the darkness. He reminded Brian of a typical Grim Reaper, except of a scythe he held his oar.
When everyone left, and only Brian was left, Charon turned to him. Brian shook his head, barely moving an inch even though he felt what little resolve he kept inside crumple at the soulless embers boring into him. Charon gestured to his left, where the river was. If Brian didn't want to get off at the shore like he could, then he would go into the river.
"Please," Brian whimpered. He wished he still held onto his coin he paid his passage with, for something solid to hold on to.
Charon stumbled, his hand wavering in the air. Brian knew there had once been a man behind the skeleton standing at the mast.
"I don't want to go," Brian whispered.
He watched, mesmerized by glowing ember sockets, as the tears began to fall. Brian didn't wonder if he was the only one who begged for his life, or if Charon had seen more than him. Yet he watched as the other cried, but still gestured off the boat.
Brian finally stepped over the edge, landing over onto the sandy shore. He followed the other souls walking in front of him. He looked back once more, seeing Charon's tears fall and cut clear streaks through the bony grime and dust. The mouth opened and a black moldy tongue poked out. The mouth opened and closed, and Brian waited for the words to slink out.
"I wish I could go." |
This idea went through my mind at a funeral recently, and I just wanted to see how it might look through someone else's thoughts. Feel free to take it wherever you want to. | [WP] You are attending a funeral for someone you have never seen or met. While there, you have a close encounter with the deceased person. | "I wish I was dead."
I'm sitting on a park bench two blocks away from my place of former employment. It's an unseasonably warm spring day. Draped over my left hand is my suit jacket, clutched in my right is a pink slip.
'Downsizing, Joe. You know how it is. No hard feelings, eh? If anything comes up, you'll be the first to know. You'll see, everything'll turn up keen.' Yeah, fuck you too, Boss. For a moment, I consider crumpling up the slip of paper and throwing it away or tearing it into tiny pieces in some act of petty retaliation but I'll probably regret it later.
Besides, whatever small pleasure I'd get isn't worth the pain of having to go back to get another one if It turns out I actually need the damn thing. I take a deep breath and look at my watch. Quarter to five. I missed my train and that leaves 45 minutes to kill until the next one. What now? I stoop to pick up the cardboard box that holds my meagre few (former) office possessions and head off.
I don't know what possessed me to walk into the funeral parlour. Maybe I was looking to get out of the heat and thought it'd probably be air conditioned. Maybe I just wanted to see someone having a worse day than me. Whatever the reason, cathartic or otherwise, I walk into the lobby of the Our Lady of Something-or-other funeral home.
The hustle and bustle of the city street is instantly muted as the door shuts behind me. As I walk across the plush carpeting and through the blessedly cool air, I think of a plausible connection to the deceased in order to stay until my train arrives. An old friend? A long lost relative? A business associate? All my ideas are half-baked, but I'm too weary to care.
As it turns out, I don't need an excuse. Save for one man standing off to the side, the funeral hall is empty. Well that's convenient. He nods slightly as I walk in and I panic thinking he might ask me something, but thankfully he doesn't. His name tag identifies him as an employee and after I leave the box of my office things he goes back to being tastefully disinterested.
Without further ado, I walk up to pay my respects, as it were, and at least give some thanks to this person for... for what? Letting me use their wake to get out of the heat? Should I apologize? I'm not exactly crashing the funeral, am I? These absurd thoughts bounce around in my head as I approach the deceased through the rows of pews.
Lying peacefully in the casket is, or rather was once, an elderly man. Late eighties, early nineties probably. Time and the embalming process have not been kind to this poor fellow and I pause for a moment, and think. "Thanks" I finally murmur and turn back to take a seat.
For a while I just sit there. No one comes in. Has everyone gone home? Where's his family? I leave these questions unanswered and close my eyes for a moment.
After an unmeasured amount of time I hear a sigh. It's soft and low and sad. The perfect type of sigh for a funeral I suppose. My eyes snap open, ashamedly. I hope I didn't doze off in front of a legitimate mourner. I look around in that surreptitious way you do when you wake up from a public nap and see a man in a suit seated at bench across from me.
He looks to be in his mid-thirties, about my age, wearing a dark suit and tie and I am reminded of my own, not exactly funeral-friendly attire. The man's hair is jet black and wavy like you'd see on a stereotypical fifties businessman. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, but the man pays me no mind, looking wistfully at the coffin.
Could this be his son? Should I say something? Before I can decide, the man lets out another sigh, full of longing. "Pretty sad, ain't it?" he mutters, looking straight ahead.
"I-I'm sorry?" I stammer out, unsure if he was addressing me or the man lying in state. He looks up, surprised (that is, the man across from me, not the dead guy) as if he hadn't noticed me.
After a second he says "as far as funerals go, this one is pretty sad, not crying sad, just...depressing sad" referring to the vacant room.
"Well hey, would you rather no one show up to your wedding or your funeral?" I say at an awkward attempt at humour. At a funeral. Smooth move, Joe.
This elicits a bitter chuckle from the man. "It's not like he can tell the difference, right?" the man says. An awkward silence.
"Did, uh, did you know...uh" my mind reels for the name of the deceased, which I don't know. "Did you know him well?" I manage to recover.
"Better than most," he replies. I don't see how though. This guy is at least half his age. "I guess this is what happens to you if you live long enough. No kids, wife long since passed, and the last of his friends all buried before him."
"The only funeral you don't get to attend, huh?" I say before I can stop myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? He looks at me quizzically. "Uh... the only funeral you don't get to attend is your own, right?" I offer up, mentally berating myself. Another chuckle, somewhat less bitter than the last one.
"An empty funeral," the man says, again addressing the coffin. "The last sad note to a sad old man's life." He sighs again.
I don't know why, given the stupidity of my last few comments, but I'm moved to speak again. "Hey, it's not all bad," I say. "Oh?" he looks me in the eye. "How so?"
"Well, before I came here I was having the worst day of my life. I just got fired from my job and I honestly have no clue what to do now. I got bills to pay and I'll have to find a new job. I'm in a bad way. But I'm still here. I'm still alive and he's not. I guess my day isn't all that bad when I compare it to his." Where the hell is this coming from? I wonder to myself. "I guess... I guess today my life was pulled out of perspective, and I have him to thank for putting it back" I realize as I'm saying it. "Anyone, living or dead, who can do that for someone else is alright in my book. He'll never know it, but he really helped me, more than I could ever have expected" I say, feeling as if a large weight has been lifted off of me.
"Do you really mean that?" the man asks. "I do," I reply, and I sincerely do.
He's smiling now. It's slight and still tinged with sadness, but it's an honest to goodness smile. "I guess you're right. I ought to thank you then, for helping me put my issues into perspective, uh... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"I'm Joe" I say. What issues? Who is this guy?
"Well nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Don by the way"
"Nice to meet you too, Don."
"I really ought to head off now, dallied here long enough already," he stands, turning to leave. "Thanks for cheering me up, Joe," he says. "Things will look up, you'll see. Just keep things in perspective."
I turn to look at Don but he's already left.
Checking my watch I see that I gotta leave too, or I'll miss my train again. I get up and collect my things, but stop when I get to the guest book. I flip through the pages to try and find this fellow's name, and see the whole book is empty. Oh man. I eventually find the man's name in the front cover of the book, which reads:
"In memory of Donald J. Morrison."
Huh.
"Excuse me," I ask the employee, "did the other man who was here sign before he left?"
"I'm sorry sir," he says in that 'you're wrong but I'm paid to agree with everything you say' way, "but you were the only visitor here today." I feel the pit of my stomach drop, and I don't think I want to press the issue any more than that. 'Thanks for the perspective, Don,' I write in the ledger. There's a field to leave an address and I fill that out too, what the hell. Maybe they'll mail me a commemorative bookmark or something. I sign my name and leave, trying to shake off the disconcerting feeling.
Two weeks later, I'm sitting in my apartment, still jobless and almost through the last of what meagre money I have saved up when I hear a knock at the door. I open it to see a smartly dressed man in a three piece suit with a leather portfolio under one arm, a real lawyer type. Oh shit, I think. I still haven't missed a rent payment, but it looks like John Q. Law over here is gonna serve me my eviction papers.
"Good evening sir," he says looking into the folder. "Are you Mr. Joseph Clarke?"
"Yes that's me."
"And is this your primary place of residence?"
"For now" I say, which elicits a raised eyebrow, though nothing more.
"Mr. Clarke I represent the estate of the recently deceased Mr. Donald J. Morrison."
"Okay..."
"Mr. Clarke, the late Mr. Morrison had no legal heirs to his estate and in his last will and testament bequeathed the entirety of his property, possessions and wealth equally among whosoever attended his funeral service, and several charities of his choosing." Oh man. " I hold here a copy of the register from said funeral service and see that you are the only person to have attended and given your name and relevant details." Oh man. "May I please come in so that we may discuss your inheritance of Mr. Morrison's holdings?"
"Uh...sure. Come right in."
Thanks for the perspective, Don. | "He is dead and still has better hair than I do..Oh man am I a terrible person for thinking that? Well I suppose it doesn't matter; what could they do to me?" She traced her finger from the bridge of his nose down to his cupids bow.
"I wonder how he got here?" She examined his hands, neck and head, "Well nothing violent so I guess there's that."
"It was actually pretty unsightly"
She jumped back and whirled around to face the man who was laying in the coffin behind her. "Sorry, I was just coming to collect but you weren't ready so I wanted to get a closer look."
"Are you new at this or something? I mean no one can see you right? Cause you are being a little creepy; or is that a requirement?" He smirked and walked over to her, examining her purple dress and grey eyes, "Shouldn't you be in black? This is a funeral you know?"
"I wasn't feeling the black today and anyways who are you to talk to me like that?" She tried to look stern but a smile crept across her face; there was something different about this one. "Well you can take a last look if you'd like but we have places to be so make it quick!"
"I think I'm fine. Can I ask where we are headed?"
She was always waiting to hear those words, not very different after all. "Don't worry, you are heading North." She reached over to his hand and led him away, catching him glance back at his body as they lifted through the clouds. |
This idea went through my mind at a funeral recently, and I just wanted to see how it might look through someone else's thoughts. Feel free to take it wherever you want to. | [WP] You are attending a funeral for someone you have never seen or met. While there, you have a close encounter with the deceased person. | "I wish I was dead."
I'm sitting on a park bench two blocks away from my place of former employment. It's an unseasonably warm spring day. Draped over my left hand is my suit jacket, clutched in my right is a pink slip.
'Downsizing, Joe. You know how it is. No hard feelings, eh? If anything comes up, you'll be the first to know. You'll see, everything'll turn up keen.' Yeah, fuck you too, Boss. For a moment, I consider crumpling up the slip of paper and throwing it away or tearing it into tiny pieces in some act of petty retaliation but I'll probably regret it later.
Besides, whatever small pleasure I'd get isn't worth the pain of having to go back to get another one if It turns out I actually need the damn thing. I take a deep breath and look at my watch. Quarter to five. I missed my train and that leaves 45 minutes to kill until the next one. What now? I stoop to pick up the cardboard box that holds my meagre few (former) office possessions and head off.
I don't know what possessed me to walk into the funeral parlour. Maybe I was looking to get out of the heat and thought it'd probably be air conditioned. Maybe I just wanted to see someone having a worse day than me. Whatever the reason, cathartic or otherwise, I walk into the lobby of the Our Lady of Something-or-other funeral home.
The hustle and bustle of the city street is instantly muted as the door shuts behind me. As I walk across the plush carpeting and through the blessedly cool air, I think of a plausible connection to the deceased in order to stay until my train arrives. An old friend? A long lost relative? A business associate? All my ideas are half-baked, but I'm too weary to care.
As it turns out, I don't need an excuse. Save for one man standing off to the side, the funeral hall is empty. Well that's convenient. He nods slightly as I walk in and I panic thinking he might ask me something, but thankfully he doesn't. His name tag identifies him as an employee and after I leave the box of my office things he goes back to being tastefully disinterested.
Without further ado, I walk up to pay my respects, as it were, and at least give some thanks to this person for... for what? Letting me use their wake to get out of the heat? Should I apologize? I'm not exactly crashing the funeral, am I? These absurd thoughts bounce around in my head as I approach the deceased through the rows of pews.
Lying peacefully in the casket is, or rather was once, an elderly man. Late eighties, early nineties probably. Time and the embalming process have not been kind to this poor fellow and I pause for a moment, and think. "Thanks" I finally murmur and turn back to take a seat.
For a while I just sit there. No one comes in. Has everyone gone home? Where's his family? I leave these questions unanswered and close my eyes for a moment.
After an unmeasured amount of time I hear a sigh. It's soft and low and sad. The perfect type of sigh for a funeral I suppose. My eyes snap open, ashamedly. I hope I didn't doze off in front of a legitimate mourner. I look around in that surreptitious way you do when you wake up from a public nap and see a man in a suit seated at bench across from me.
He looks to be in his mid-thirties, about my age, wearing a dark suit and tie and I am reminded of my own, not exactly funeral-friendly attire. The man's hair is jet black and wavy like you'd see on a stereotypical fifties businessman. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, but the man pays me no mind, looking wistfully at the coffin.
Could this be his son? Should I say something? Before I can decide, the man lets out another sigh, full of longing. "Pretty sad, ain't it?" he mutters, looking straight ahead.
"I-I'm sorry?" I stammer out, unsure if he was addressing me or the man lying in state. He looks up, surprised (that is, the man across from me, not the dead guy) as if he hadn't noticed me.
After a second he says "as far as funerals go, this one is pretty sad, not crying sad, just...depressing sad" referring to the vacant room.
"Well hey, would you rather no one show up to your wedding or your funeral?" I say at an awkward attempt at humour. At a funeral. Smooth move, Joe.
This elicits a bitter chuckle from the man. "It's not like he can tell the difference, right?" the man says. An awkward silence.
"Did, uh, did you know...uh" my mind reels for the name of the deceased, which I don't know. "Did you know him well?" I manage to recover.
"Better than most," he replies. I don't see how though. This guy is at least half his age. "I guess this is what happens to you if you live long enough. No kids, wife long since passed, and the last of his friends all buried before him."
"The only funeral you don't get to attend, huh?" I say before I can stop myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? He looks at me quizzically. "Uh... the only funeral you don't get to attend is your own, right?" I offer up, mentally berating myself. Another chuckle, somewhat less bitter than the last one.
"An empty funeral," the man says, again addressing the coffin. "The last sad note to a sad old man's life." He sighs again.
I don't know why, given the stupidity of my last few comments, but I'm moved to speak again. "Hey, it's not all bad," I say. "Oh?" he looks me in the eye. "How so?"
"Well, before I came here I was having the worst day of my life. I just got fired from my job and I honestly have no clue what to do now. I got bills to pay and I'll have to find a new job. I'm in a bad way. But I'm still here. I'm still alive and he's not. I guess my day isn't all that bad when I compare it to his." Where the hell is this coming from? I wonder to myself. "I guess... I guess today my life was pulled out of perspective, and I have him to thank for putting it back" I realize as I'm saying it. "Anyone, living or dead, who can do that for someone else is alright in my book. He'll never know it, but he really helped me, more than I could ever have expected" I say, feeling as if a large weight has been lifted off of me.
"Do you really mean that?" the man asks. "I do," I reply, and I sincerely do.
He's smiling now. It's slight and still tinged with sadness, but it's an honest to goodness smile. "I guess you're right. I ought to thank you then, for helping me put my issues into perspective, uh... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"I'm Joe" I say. What issues? Who is this guy?
"Well nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Don by the way"
"Nice to meet you too, Don."
"I really ought to head off now, dallied here long enough already," he stands, turning to leave. "Thanks for cheering me up, Joe," he says. "Things will look up, you'll see. Just keep things in perspective."
I turn to look at Don but he's already left.
Checking my watch I see that I gotta leave too, or I'll miss my train again. I get up and collect my things, but stop when I get to the guest book. I flip through the pages to try and find this fellow's name, and see the whole book is empty. Oh man. I eventually find the man's name in the front cover of the book, which reads:
"In memory of Donald J. Morrison."
Huh.
"Excuse me," I ask the employee, "did the other man who was here sign before he left?"
"I'm sorry sir," he says in that 'you're wrong but I'm paid to agree with everything you say' way, "but you were the only visitor here today." I feel the pit of my stomach drop, and I don't think I want to press the issue any more than that. 'Thanks for the perspective, Don,' I write in the ledger. There's a field to leave an address and I fill that out too, what the hell. Maybe they'll mail me a commemorative bookmark or something. I sign my name and leave, trying to shake off the disconcerting feeling.
Two weeks later, I'm sitting in my apartment, still jobless and almost through the last of what meagre money I have saved up when I hear a knock at the door. I open it to see a smartly dressed man in a three piece suit with a leather portfolio under one arm, a real lawyer type. Oh shit, I think. I still haven't missed a rent payment, but it looks like John Q. Law over here is gonna serve me my eviction papers.
"Good evening sir," he says looking into the folder. "Are you Mr. Joseph Clarke?"
"Yes that's me."
"And is this your primary place of residence?"
"For now" I say, which elicits a raised eyebrow, though nothing more.
"Mr. Clarke I represent the estate of the recently deceased Mr. Donald J. Morrison."
"Okay..."
"Mr. Clarke, the late Mr. Morrison had no legal heirs to his estate and in his last will and testament bequeathed the entirety of his property, possessions and wealth equally among whosoever attended his funeral service, and several charities of his choosing." Oh man. " I hold here a copy of the register from said funeral service and see that you are the only person to have attended and given your name and relevant details." Oh man. "May I please come in so that we may discuss your inheritance of Mr. Morrison's holdings?"
"Uh...sure. Come right in."
Thanks for the perspective, Don. | "I'll only be a minute - save a seat for me" I told her as we walked into the funeral home.
It'd been a long drive from Orlando and the two cups of coffee I'd downed were begging to be set free. The bathroom was surprisingly posh - patterned marble floor tiles and black granite walls dividing the stalls - like the swanky restaurant we'd been to in Chicago, the one that'd once been a speakeasy.
I was under pressure and it wasn't until I finished and went to wash my hands (creamy swirled marble sink with brass fittings with the old fashioned "hot" and "cold" on white marble handles) that I noticed him. He was stout, slightly balding, with a balled handkerchief hovering under his nose, waiting its moment of need. I figure that, unlike me, he must know the deceased - probably related, given the slightly worn cuffs of his pinstripe suite.
Normally, I'd finish my business and be done...but he looked so forlorn, so devastated. Heck, I'd never met the guy (Steve? Stan?) who's funeral this was. I was just here to support Lilly over the loss of her "old friend's husband". Anyway, I was more focused on the upcoming "comforting" that would be taking place in the hotel in a few hours, if you know what I mean.
I just couldn't help myself, I guess because he looked like he was just devastated...at the end of his rope, as it were. I gave him a light pat on the shoulder, and asked "You holding up okay, man?". He didn't say anything...he looked at me, I could see he was holding back tears, and nodded. Now I'm not your soft metrosexual "let's cry it out" kinda guy, but hey - I've lost people that I've cared about. I could empathize. "Stiff upper lip, eh? It's the guy's job to be strong, give comfort to the living." He nodded again. "Tell her I love her", he said. I must have looked at him funny, because he actually wiped his eyes and chuckled at me.
"Sure thing", I told him..."But you gotta work yourself out of this bathroom and tell her too....?" He smiled. "Kevin", he said. "Okay, Kevin. I'll do it - but you're gonna be out there and second it, okay? I don't want my girlfriend wigging out on me". He smiled and nodded and snuffled into a handkerchief that appeared from an inner pocket.
I walked back out of the restroom, stopping to accept a program from one of the suited ushers. Scanning the crowd, I find my girlfriend in an aisle down in front near the casket. I join her, her hand automatically slipping into mine. She looks like she's been crying a little, and she snuggles up against me.
After what seems like just a few seconds: "Come with me" she says, and tugging my hand, she leads me up front to the casket. There's an older woman there dressed in black, light streaks of gray in her hair, sitting next to the open casket with an even older woman - who is a grayer, more wrinkled version of the first.
Once again, I'm at a loss as she takes my hand and smiles up at me, as I see the clear tracks where tears have run again and again down her face. I'm at a loss as to what to say...I know - I know I've just promised someone that I'd say something, but damn...the look of loss and sorrow and expectance on her face...
I look over into the coffin. A cold chill runs through me like stepping into a freezer. It's the man from the bathroom...and he's....playing at being dead? No. Is dead. I can't help myself - I gasp. I look back at his widow - her eyes now wide in alarm - and I, a total stranger, have a message to deliver. |
[WP] A man digs up a "grave" in post apocalyptic America to find a footlocker filled with new guns, clothes, and a new identity. This is not his first time. | There was still much work to be done. So much more.
This gravesite had been much harder to find than the 17 previous. Along with the standard man-made destruction, this one had also been hit by some sort of natural fury. "Probably one of the missiles busted up a dam", he thought.
But he had to find it, and found it he had…eventually. He had 82 once-bright-red dots on the folding paper map he kept carefully wrapped in plastic and tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the next closest mark was over 600 miles away. His face was known, he was out of provisions and, most of important of all...bullets. Now that the initial shock of almost total destruction was beginning to ebb, people were remarkably adept at becoming organized. He had to admit he was a little impressed. This group had formed faster and was better armed than any of the previous ones.
And so he had to go in search of another gravesite. Next to each dot on the map was a mishmash of scrawled numbers and letters that managed to look rambling and at the same time meticulous. Crazy and genius. Nobody else on the planet could have deciphered that map. It was a code of his own making.
He loved maps. He loved puzzles. They played to the anomalous yet structured nature of his mind. It was exactly the kind of mind that that made him so good with computers and programming from the first time he was able to lay his hands upon a keyboard. And it was exactly this kind of mind, he remembered as he dug, that had brought the military men to his door shortly after graduation, more than ten years ago. They said he could make a good living, and serve his country, doing the kind of things he loved to do anyway.
He was and always had been socially awkward. Painfully so. This coupled with some small things on a psychological review had resulted in him being placed as a civilian contractor. But he had excelled. Wonderfully so. And as he did, he advanced in position, and respect, and trust.
And then the dreams started. They were fuzzy at first, but they continued with increasing clarity. “They were not dreams”, he thought to himself as another load of dirt was flung over his shoulder. “They were messages.” And as they became more frequent, they also got louder. Too loud to ignore. “A bullhorn from God,” he thought.
And this is how he was informed that he was the Angel of Death. And that he had been given a holy mission.
It had been a little hard to decipher at first. But he loved puzzles.
It had been years in the making. Years and years. A few backdoor codes that were so completely mundane as to never be noticed. He had the clearance. A set of seemingly random keypunches that would set off an event that in turn would set off another, all seemingly harmless until yet another program recognized a sequence that indicated the start of the final program. The groundwork was laid.
But no matter how he crunched the numbers, looked at the scenarios, compared coverage maps…the destruction would not be complete. So he developed an interest in travel. And everywhere he went he took supplies, and set up gravesites.
His spade hit wood and he quickened his pace as the joy of discovery set in. The crate was too large to lift out, so he lowered himself in to grab what he could. He filled an entire backpack with bullets, and exchanged his dirty pistol with a nice clean and oiled one, along with a high powered rifle. There was a razor with which he shaved his head and beard, sparing the mustache, and some heavy eyeglasses with clear lenses along with a fresh set of clothing. There was also an official looking license to match his new look. It was funny. Nobody had a car anymore, but people still wanted to see your license to verify who you were. He didn’t have to look perfect. He just had to make sure he didn’t look enough as he had for others to shoot first. He grabbed some MREs, and covered the grave back over. He could always come back to restock if possible.
He did not know why it had to be done. It was not his to question. But he considered it an honor. He was razing the field in order that a new, unadulterated crop could be sewn. He had done a very thorough job. But there were stragglers. There was cleanup to do, and he had to do it. He was the Angel of Death. It was his duty and honor, and it was God’s will. The individuals were instinctively coming together to form groups, and it was making his job easier. He liked that. He liked the fact that it was all one big puzzle. He loved puzzles.
But there was still so much work to be done. So much more.
| There is a maddening silence that now descends on the lands that were once the mighty Americas. The birds have all gone away, even the insects have found more hospitable places to display their brilliance and gentle symphonies. The landscape had become a dull brown wasteland dotted with the occasional husk of a burnt out home or the charred remains of a forest. The flat muddy land stretched on merging with the gray horizon that began to glow a dull red with the setting sun. It had been right where he had expected, a brown hill standing tall in its solitude, at the foot was a large gnarled pine that had shed its needles long ago. David parked the rusting truck behind the ruins of a barn. The truck he had “borrowed” from a gas station somewhere along his route across the Midwest. It had served him for a time but was now requiring more maintenance and downtime than he could spare. Without the convenience of civilization it was nearly impossible to repair a failing vehicle which left David with the choice of rummaging for spare parts or walking until he happened to find another one. The major city ruins from Detroit to Kansas city had been picked clean by looters and gangs or were too dangerous to risk investigating without an armed escort.
From the cab he pulls an old shovel starting towards three small mounds beneath the tall pine. Three graves had been marked with old fence posts and crudely painted with the names of those buried beneath. Martha Talbot marked the first grave, a skull beneath her name indicated that she died of the poison as it spread its way across the States and throughout the rest of the world. The second grave was marked as Livia Talbot, the black raven means that she died of disease shortly after, without modern medicine even the simplest infections meant certain death. The final grave was much larger than the others and the name written upon the sign was David Talbot, beneath was a crudely drawn half moon with a wolf howling. That was most certainly the sign that he was looking for, laying down his shovel he pulled a thin black leather book from his back pocket and searched the pages until he found the entry, crossing it out with the stub of a burnt pencil. With a heave he stuck the head of the shovel deep in the decaying earth and began to slowly uncover the grave. Around five feet the head strikes something and David knows he has reached his goal. Furiously he begins to dig around the edges of the object until it is freed from the cold clay locking it into place. Covered in a fine sheen of sweat and dirt he lifts the heavy box out of the hole.
The box was an old black foot locker with a heavy combination based padlock on the front. Turning the lock upside down reveals to David a series of tick marks arranged in rows. He takes out the thin black book and writing down the number of ticks in each block. He flips to the last page in the book which contains a simple cipher and decodes the series of ticks into a set of corresponding numbers “26 - 18 - 10”. Entering this combination in the lock releases the latch and with a quick tug it separates from the foot locker. Lifting the lid carefully David notices the pistols laying next to a rifle each nestled closely to a pile of ammunition. Beneath the weapons, folded neatly was a plain black shirt, a pair of black slacks, and simple black tennis shoes. Inside one of the shoes is a small wallet containing several hundred dollars and a drivers license. The license photo reflects David’s image back to him and with cold eyes he reads the name Zachary Ellis. Removing each item separately he places the guns in the passenger seat of his decaying ride and puts on the clothing. After shoving the wallet in his pocket he takes his rotting clothing and throws it in the open grave along with the foot locker. Shoveling the dirt back into the hole seems to take longer and as he finishes the final light of twilight drops below the horizon. The truck begins to rumble as he starts the engine, lifting the black book once more to his weary face he turns to a crudely drawn map outlining the cities that dot the route that he was taking. Just beyond his current location the trail deviates to an isolated facility marked with the bio-hazard warning. A smile leaps across his lips as he reads the words written at the bottom of the page. “Finish them all” it says in the same smeared black ink. The truck begins to roll away as he puts it into gear, over the broken radio someone if frantically praying for god to save mankind. “Finish them all” he says to himself and lets out a chuckle. | |
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | The men outside are starting to chant under their breath. I don't understand much of that thrice-damned tongue, but when you spend a year as their slave you learn the basics fast. I can make out scattered words and phrases here and there, like *sacrifice*, *fed to dogs*, and *rape your corpse.*
It isn't fucking fair. The Southlanders were always powerful, but the desert saved us in my youth. Sun Father took a heavy toll on every sortie, with even the strongest painted and feathered warriors dropping like stones under his gaze. Those that made it to our home were in no shape to fight, and we gave them no chance to recover. With the quick pull of the ladders and closing of gates, we could have sat back and relaxed for days while the Southlanders raged and shouted below. Given time, Sun Father could have won the fight by himself. However, we weren't the type to take our gods' favor for granted, and would briskly pick off from the safety of our mesa.
They've started beating the drums. I give it another ten minutes at most.
About sixteen dry seasons ago, I found a member of my mother's people stumbling through the brush. His skin was just *wrong.* It looked like he was dotted with the scales of a rattlesnake, with each weeping black paint. He panted through a throat swollen with thick lumps. Horrified, I drew my bow, but Four Flint blocked my aim. We argued, and he finally convinced me that the healer be summoned. I curse my weakness to this day.
That very night a dog gave birth to a blind, hairless thing that gazed blankly from one eye. It was a clear warning from the Mother, but I failed to convince the healer to expel the accursed. Within three days, similar scales were appearing on the skins of my people. Within a week, I buried my mother, two sisters, and both uncles. When I saw the scales appear on my own skin, I despaired. I ranted and raved against the gods, cursing them for bringing this evil to us, and prayed to join my kin. As penance they cursed me to live, pockmarked with dozens of scars.
Then two months later, it happened again. This time white spots grew over the tongue and the flesh burned from within. Six Dog had to guard the well after the first man tried to jump inside. In their madness, he was forced to shoot two to save our water. By the end of the year we had shrank from two hundred men, women, and children to barely thirty.
It was quiet for a time. Listening at night, one could heard the mourning keens of women carried on the wind from villages miles away. Nothing came from the South for nearly three years. Then on a long-distance hunt, I and two others were captured by a party of men in the familiar paints and hides. At their belts were the obsidian clubs, but they held in their arms another thing entirely. Imagine a branch bound to a horn and you have a rough idea. I was filled with fear, but Red Goat was encouraged by the lack of bows. He was the fastest runner among us, and thus sprinted away from the Southlanders as soon as he saw an opening. They laughed and pointed the branches at him. A sound of thunder was made, and Red Goat's skull was rent like it had been struck by a club.
We marched for days, and the land grew wetter and greener. I was astounded that people from lands so rich could want for more. We were joined with more captives along the way, bound naked to one another with leather cords. I was asked what I did back home by one of the warriors, and I spoke honestly that I made bows and built houses. He nodded, and soon separated us into two groups. One group was marked with blue paint, including my sole surviving companion Three Dog. The rest were left untouched. Nothing good could come of this. We reached a village of their people. A mountain of stone stood ahead, which I quickly recognized as man-made.
Those marked with blue then were led to the top and butchered like animals. The rest of us were divided up amongst their warriors and leaders, I being sent to a rocky village. There I was made to shape rocks and soil brought to me by other slaves. I surmised that we were working to build another of the man-made mountains, and feared for my soul. Doubtless, more of my people would bleed upon the stones I shaped. An honorable man would have thrown himself upon the slaver's daggers. But I am a coward, and so I worked.
I learned bits and pieces about these Southlanders. A god had returned from across the sea and given them great powers with which to smite us. He told them they were special, and spoke to them of his mother Maeri. Engravings of this goddess were all over the new mountains, facing those of her son clad in silver. A slave lost his hand for painting her skin with the ochre dye instead of bone white chalk. She had given the gift of a new weapon, somehow fed by fires and earth from the mountains. I nicknamed it a "fire spear."
Some of the greatest Southlanders rode strange animals. Other slaves called them dogs, but to me they resembled elongated rams without horns. These animals could carry a man fast across great distances, and I trembled at the thought of how quickly the Southlanders could now reach my home with their new weapons and dread goddess. I had to warn all of what I had learned. At great cost I escaped, and even managed to obtain one of the fire weapons from an inexperienced pursuer.
My people were shocked to see me, and at first thought me one of the lingering dead. The leaders and wise men were gathered, and I spoke of what I had seen. This information was at first disbelieved, but a bride newly abducted from a tribe further south of us echoed some of my story. It was thus decided that the people would prepare for war. Hundreds of arrows were made, walls were reinforced, and food & water stockpiled. We tried unsuccessfully building another fire spear, but could only make crude facsimiles. A year later, an immense cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. Dozens of Southlanders came upon the backs of the new animals. Many were unmanned at this unnatural sight, and had to be shouted back into place by the elders. The battle that followed was close and bloody. The Southlanders could not reach our homes, but the quick passage had saved them from the gaze of Father Sun. Our men pointed the fake fire spears at the Southlanders, and they briefly retreated before realizing that none had fired. They fought fiercely, with their true fire spears gouging huge holes in the adobe walls. Wives bared their breasts and wailed, to remind their husbands of what was to come if we failed. The Southlanders were eventually repelled, but at the cost of a dozen warriors, three women, and our healer. Many orphans were made.
They returned a week later bearing a new device, borne upon what I can only describe as a canoe on wooden tumbleweeds. We peppered them with arrows as they set it up at an almost leisurely pace. A torch was held to it, and I yelled at everyone to crouch. It shook the earth and made a sound like lightening, crashing through the walls and ripping two warriors in half. The battle was lost, and I shamed myself by running into a home and withdrawing the ladder. My cousin Yellow Cat and her son were inside. I cut their throats before they even knew what was happening.
I've drank the last of the water, and can see beams of light through the holes in the wall. Fingers and knives are widening the gaps created by the fire spears. The cries of women and dying men rend the air. The foe will be inside within the minute. Maybe I could charge them and die a warrior. Or maybe they'd club my head, take me captive, and paint my skin blue. No, suicide seems cleaner. The wall collapses. I hold the obsidian dagger to my throat and thrust. There is sharp, cold pain. The gaze of the Sun Father shines over the laughing devils that crawl towards me. | It, well, it was rather strange.
We had expected their to be progress. We expected them to be closer to joining our society.
Instead they rejected it.
The biggest difference is that now there are horses.
|
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | The men of the boat were eager for a chance to finally set foot on land. They'd lost several ships to the deep blue after encountering high seas. "Do ya think their women'll be purdy?" "If it walks I'll make it my wife!"
Captain Leonardo Fetticini stood before his men. "It's been two hundred years since we last set foot here. We equipped them the best we could. In hindsight this may not have been such a good idea. The King, in his omnipotence, decreed that we must find a place to settle here by peace... or by war. Let's hope our "friends" are willing to give us a fair bargain. Regardless keep your weapons close to hand.
At the first sight of the shore the sailors were in awe of the strange metal statues lining the beaches. "What are they?" "They're beautiful! We should take one home!"
The rowboats were filled with weapons, smelly men and a thick sense of fear. They arrived to the shore safely and rushed to take a closer look at the shiny statues. "This one's gold!" "Silver here!" "Grab the ropes were taking them!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
In the thick forest beyond the beach camouflage faces watched the every move of the aliens attempting to steal the precious statues. The leader of the group, a giant man by the name of Nahuel, whispered to his comrades, "Our ancestors were right. These foolish creatures love shiny things. They warned us they would be back to take it. These fools gave us their technology, shared with us their faults and in two hundred years they have yet to change. Tonight... Tonight we cut out the cancer of this world. Tonight we let the ocean fish feast on their flesh." Pearly white teeth flashed all around the thick foliage.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
That night the superior men of Europe feasted on the animals of their newest home. Camp fires were lit all along the beach, the smell of smoke and burning flesh wafted into the forest. "Yup, we'll be rich men! How long are we here for again?" "Just a few weeks. Enjoy the local fauna while it lasts. Soon we will be eating of gold plates!"
Captain Fetticini stayed with the flag ship moored far offshore. "This has been too easy. Our predecessors spoke of people inhabiting these lands... and to leave something so precious so close to the ocean..." His first mate sat on the other end of the cabin half drunk and teetering on his stool. "Well maybe they all (hick) died? Maybe our wisdom was too much for em and (hick) their heads exploded?" The captain looked at him in disgust, "Doubtful you fishcock of a fool. Don't underestimate mankind... It's the moment you think you are better than the tamed lion that it eats you."
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!! BOOOM! BOOOM!
The first mate fell of the chair and immediately back to sobriety. "What was that?!" The captain rushed to the decked to see a series of explosions on the beach. "What's happening? Where is that coming from?!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The sand beneath the sailors feet began to burst. Some explosions were small others enormous. Men were swallowed whole by the flames igniting around them. Smoke and burning flesh filled the air and wafted into the forest.
Men by the hundreds emerged from the woods. Arrows of iron came raining down onto the sailors below sparing none of their alien souls. The masts of the ships placed close to the shore ignited. Dozens of dark figures could be seen climbing the sides of the ships. The ships' sailors steel met with sharper blades and fiercer warriors. The wakes of the ships pooled with blood.
On the flagship the captain could do nothing but watch his sailors be pierced with steel, burned alive and thrown into the sea. "First mate Bacon! We need to raise the anchor now! It's time to go!... First mate Bacon you drunk buffoon do you hear me?!" The captain returned back to his cabin to find his first mates neck slit from ear to ear. A giant of a man sat in the captains chair with his feet on the desk. "You savage! That desk was given to me by the king himself! I'll have your skin for this!" In a blind fury the captain rushed toward the giant unsheathing his sword in the process and just as he was about the strike the giant spoke. "Stop." "What? Did you just say stop? Why in the world would I stop?" The giant smiled as a rope descended from the rafters and around Captain Fetticini's neck.
In two hours time the night was as dark as it has even been. The smell of flesh and smoke filled the air. The stars and moon were still shining as the fish feasted. Hundreds of dark figures retreated back into the forest to fight another day. "Go home to your women tonight. Enjoy their embrace. Tonight we fought as men but there will be more... There will always be more..." | It, well, it was rather strange.
We had expected their to be progress. We expected them to be closer to joining our society.
Instead they rejected it.
The biggest difference is that now there are horses.
|
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | It'd be a lie to say I knew what to expect. Christ, none of us did, really. Those'd slept in the higher decks and wore the finer uniforms said that most a' the gentry never thought the treaty would last. Those lodes, that wealth ... it was irresistible. But it was resisted, somehow. So much for the wisdom of the high born.
Not that I gave a rat's shite about all that. I crewed a vessel same as I 'ad a hundred times, from one port to another. The flags, skins, and fungible women didn't change but in color. Captains drank well, slept deep, and claimed glory for the place they got to with wood, blood, wind, and sails. The salted crewmen, as always, were the ones really drivin' the boat.
Anyways, we came in abreast a storm around October, a solid stone harbor around a belle of a bay, and it was all we wanted. We saw the little boats and the wooden buildings same as we always did. Like I said, the crew did the real sailing and the sailors wanted cover from the winds to come. We pulled in near a rocky outcropping, furled the sails, and dropped anchor.
Next day I and the mates woke to a noise to wake the dead, drums 'n' howls like a fuckin' carnival. The cap'n called general quarters and everyone was jumpin' to and armin' up. I made ready for same ol' attack we saw from every native at every African port.
Up on the deck my eyes glared with the daylight. I adjusted, blinking, staring, and shedding the odd tear. Slowly the insane tableau began to assemble itself in my vision, though it took more than minute to believe the evidence of my own eyes.
Stunned, I slowly looked back and forth on the scene before me. The place was wall to wall natives; white to red but nothing but facing with a eerie look of resolve. In their hands were long, unnaturally straight cuts of wood as thick as a wrist, and the flintlock at my hip told me they were more than mere ornaments. I stopped, cold, not about to move.
"Yeoman Aldrin," the captain's voice cut through the tightly-wrapped gauze over my perception, "tell the men to stand down. Find the ambassador and tell him we've found our people; they say to call them "Algonkún."
EDIT - I accidentally a letter | It, well, it was rather strange.
We had expected their to be progress. We expected them to be closer to joining our society.
Instead they rejected it.
The biggest difference is that now there are horses.
|
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | "Where'd they all go?" asked the first.
"Dunno. They were supposed to be all over the place, weren't they?" responded the second.
Two men stared at each other in confusion in an empty forest glade.
"I bet they're just farther inland," suggested the second.
"No bet," the first said, but uncertainly.
They stared at each other for a while longer. Eventually, a third man entered.
"We found them," says the third. He hesitated. "You'd... better come see."
Three men travel several miles inland, to a what might charitably be called a town.
One man leaves, and two men stare at each other in a confusion in an empty town square.
"What could have happened to them?" asked the first. "They're just..."
"All dead," agreed the second. "Every single one."
"And they all have guns," noted the first. "Every single one of them."
Two men stand in silence for a while longer, while all around them lie picked-clean skeletons, all clutching rifles.
"Well," the second eventually said, slowly. "They must have all killed each other."
The first shook his head in amazement. "Give a man a gun, he'll shoot one man. Teach a man to build a gun, he'll shoot *everyone*."
"Human nature," said the second sourly. "And everyone thought that they would be doing amazing things over here, untrained by modern life." He flicked a hand at the skeletons. "Instead..."
Two men walk back the way they came, silent once more.
"I'll make a bet," offered the second. "Fifty pence that they didn't last a whole generation."
"No bet," said the first.
Eventually, two men arrive at the ship which bore them to this land.
"At least," said the first, slowly and contemplatively, "we can settle the place with no trouble. If they're all dead..."
"Oh, sure," agreed the second. "I bet there'd have been loads of trouble otherwise."
"No bet," responded the first. | It, well, it was rather strange.
We had expected their to be progress. We expected them to be closer to joining our society.
Instead they rejected it.
The biggest difference is that now there are horses.
|
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | Is...is this happening? You guys seriously post these half-assed responses? This is Writing Prompts. WRITE. These responses are pitiful. Dear god. /rage
Day 43 of the voyage "Intrepid":
The horizon is no longer an indistinct prison encircling our ships. It is now dominated by the largest structures that any of the crew have ever seen; monolithic things, black and spewing smoke into the sky. The air around the coast is thick and difficult to ingest. Already, some men have fallen ill. Fearing the cause of this smothering gas we have decided to delay landfall until extensive observations have been made of the indigenous peoples.
Day 44 of the voyage "Intrepid":
Today our fleet was approached by ships of metal. There were no sails. Once again the disgusting smoke appeared, spewing from pillars atop the back of the ships of steel. We spoke without incident with the natives; fearing for our safety, we assumed no aggressive postures. We were showered with gifts and welcomed enthusiastically to their home. Speaking an odd mixture of the Spanish, French, and English languages, communications were difficult until a native translator arrived. A retention of past European encounters, perhaps.
The Natives differ vastly than those described in the old accounts. An air of haughtiness surrounds them. Their technology far surpasses ours, and as frightening and painful it is to admit, we are wholly at their mercy. Nature has been forsaken by these people, a far cry from their former selves. They have been tainted and have fouled the earth as a result. As welcoming as the natives are, my crew and I remain wary. May God be with us.
Invited to make landfall, we agreed. Still wary of the behemoth vessels and their haughty crew. No time to write, natives are adamant in their requests for visitation.
Day 45:
Christ be with us. The natives have progressed into realms beyond comprehension. Vessels traverse the land, powered by the same mechanisms that give life to their sea-ships and their gargantuan buildings. Weapons spew flame and metal at unfathomable speeds. Being guests of honor, we were treated to viewings of a machine that the natives believe to soon be capable of flight.
The indiginies eye us with gazes shrouded in mystery. We will soon flee with haste. This world is an unnatural one; I fear for my crew and all of Europe. The things seen thus far speak of a civilization far beyond ours, driven by smoke and power. Europe should have never departed from the New World; I fear that the Old World will soon fall under the reign of the New. | It, well, it was rather strange.
We had expected their to be progress. We expected them to be closer to joining our society.
Instead they rejected it.
The biggest difference is that now there are horses.
|
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | (I'll take the prompt literally)
The stories of El Plata were true, the glistening cities of glass and silver rose to scrape the heavens. Were, not anymore. We found the remains of these cities empty, overgrown and in the process of being dismantled by metal monsters, consuming the cities’ strange stone and glass and leaving strange twisted structures. The only remnant we found was a ghost, though it insisted it was not a ghost but a “hologram.” It told us that the tomes left to them by Columbus contained secrets of the world unknown to both themselves and us. With the knowledge in those books they built a civilization stretching from pole to pole.
They had decided early on in this process to leave us alone, reasoning that we would only come to pillage their new-found wealth, and that it was better to leave us in our ignorance. I asked what had happened to destroy so great an empire. The ghost responded saying that the empire hadn’t died, that it had transcended the body and had found a new and better life in “simulation,” that they had liberated their spirits of the flesh to live in the earth and the heavens. These people are nobler than I can describe, when I asked about the monsters consuming the abandoned cities and the strange structures they left the ghost laughed. “They are art! Out of the scars we left in our mother we express our love for her.”
When I asked about whether we would be allowed to build settlements in this new land the ghost frowned replying, “No, your expedition has been allowed here for three purposes, to allow you to see what is possible with..” The ghost gestured towards a stone, and out of it was birthed a blinking white cube. “A gift, just as you brought us new knowledge, though you were ignorant of its contents, we give you our knowledge. And a warning.” With a snap of the ghost’s finger, the sea rose to a boil and lightning arced across the sky. “If you come here again, still bound to flesh, you will be seared. Any castaways from your ships will be immediately moved to their place of origin. Our gardens are not for you to ravage, as we know you would in time. Leave within 3 days, ask the cube any question and it will give the appropriate answer, though not always the one you want. Use your time wisely.” The ghost winked out of existence and my men prepared for departure.
As I sat on the beach, playing with the white cube, I took note of the sky's clear blue, unmarred by smoke. Wondering aloud I said, “Why is the sky blue?” And the cube spoke with a smooth voice, “Blue light scatters more in the air than other colors causing the sky's blue color, suggested topics are: Rayleigh Scattering, Rainbows, and Refractive Indices”
| It, well, it was rather strange.
We had expected their to be progress. We expected them to be closer to joining our society.
Instead they rejected it.
The biggest difference is that now there are horses.
|
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | The men outside are starting to chant under their breath. I don't understand much of that thrice-damned tongue, but when you spend a year as their slave you learn the basics fast. I can make out scattered words and phrases here and there, like *sacrifice*, *fed to dogs*, and *rape your corpse.*
It isn't fucking fair. The Southlanders were always powerful, but the desert saved us in my youth. Sun Father took a heavy toll on every sortie, with even the strongest painted and feathered warriors dropping like stones under his gaze. Those that made it to our home were in no shape to fight, and we gave them no chance to recover. With the quick pull of the ladders and closing of gates, we could have sat back and relaxed for days while the Southlanders raged and shouted below. Given time, Sun Father could have won the fight by himself. However, we weren't the type to take our gods' favor for granted, and would briskly pick off from the safety of our mesa.
They've started beating the drums. I give it another ten minutes at most.
About sixteen dry seasons ago, I found a member of my mother's people stumbling through the brush. His skin was just *wrong.* It looked like he was dotted with the scales of a rattlesnake, with each weeping black paint. He panted through a throat swollen with thick lumps. Horrified, I drew my bow, but Four Flint blocked my aim. We argued, and he finally convinced me that the healer be summoned. I curse my weakness to this day.
That very night a dog gave birth to a blind, hairless thing that gazed blankly from one eye. It was a clear warning from the Mother, but I failed to convince the healer to expel the accursed. Within three days, similar scales were appearing on the skins of my people. Within a week, I buried my mother, two sisters, and both uncles. When I saw the scales appear on my own skin, I despaired. I ranted and raved against the gods, cursing them for bringing this evil to us, and prayed to join my kin. As penance they cursed me to live, pockmarked with dozens of scars.
Then two months later, it happened again. This time white spots grew over the tongue and the flesh burned from within. Six Dog had to guard the well after the first man tried to jump inside. In their madness, he was forced to shoot two to save our water. By the end of the year we had shrank from two hundred men, women, and children to barely thirty.
It was quiet for a time. Listening at night, one could heard the mourning keens of women carried on the wind from villages miles away. Nothing came from the South for nearly three years. Then on a long-distance hunt, I and two others were captured by a party of men in the familiar paints and hides. At their belts were the obsidian clubs, but they held in their arms another thing entirely. Imagine a branch bound to a horn and you have a rough idea. I was filled with fear, but Red Goat was encouraged by the lack of bows. He was the fastest runner among us, and thus sprinted away from the Southlanders as soon as he saw an opening. They laughed and pointed the branches at him. A sound of thunder was made, and Red Goat's skull was rent like it had been struck by a club.
We marched for days, and the land grew wetter and greener. I was astounded that people from lands so rich could want for more. We were joined with more captives along the way, bound naked to one another with leather cords. I was asked what I did back home by one of the warriors, and I spoke honestly that I made bows and built houses. He nodded, and soon separated us into two groups. One group was marked with blue paint, including my sole surviving companion Three Dog. The rest were left untouched. Nothing good could come of this. We reached a village of their people. A mountain of stone stood ahead, which I quickly recognized as man-made.
Those marked with blue then were led to the top and butchered like animals. The rest of us were divided up amongst their warriors and leaders, I being sent to a rocky village. There I was made to shape rocks and soil brought to me by other slaves. I surmised that we were working to build another of the man-made mountains, and feared for my soul. Doubtless, more of my people would bleed upon the stones I shaped. An honorable man would have thrown himself upon the slaver's daggers. But I am a coward, and so I worked.
I learned bits and pieces about these Southlanders. A god had returned from across the sea and given them great powers with which to smite us. He told them they were special, and spoke to them of his mother Maeri. Engravings of this goddess were all over the new mountains, facing those of her son clad in silver. A slave lost his hand for painting her skin with the ochre dye instead of bone white chalk. She had given the gift of a new weapon, somehow fed by fires and earth from the mountains. I nicknamed it a "fire spear."
Some of the greatest Southlanders rode strange animals. Other slaves called them dogs, but to me they resembled elongated rams without horns. These animals could carry a man fast across great distances, and I trembled at the thought of how quickly the Southlanders could now reach my home with their new weapons and dread goddess. I had to warn all of what I had learned. At great cost I escaped, and even managed to obtain one of the fire weapons from an inexperienced pursuer.
My people were shocked to see me, and at first thought me one of the lingering dead. The leaders and wise men were gathered, and I spoke of what I had seen. This information was at first disbelieved, but a bride newly abducted from a tribe further south of us echoed some of my story. It was thus decided that the people would prepare for war. Hundreds of arrows were made, walls were reinforced, and food & water stockpiled. We tried unsuccessfully building another fire spear, but could only make crude facsimiles. A year later, an immense cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. Dozens of Southlanders came upon the backs of the new animals. Many were unmanned at this unnatural sight, and had to be shouted back into place by the elders. The battle that followed was close and bloody. The Southlanders could not reach our homes, but the quick passage had saved them from the gaze of Father Sun. Our men pointed the fake fire spears at the Southlanders, and they briefly retreated before realizing that none had fired. They fought fiercely, with their true fire spears gouging huge holes in the adobe walls. Wives bared their breasts and wailed, to remind their husbands of what was to come if we failed. The Southlanders were eventually repelled, but at the cost of a dozen warriors, three women, and our healer. Many orphans were made.
They returned a week later bearing a new device, borne upon what I can only describe as a canoe on wooden tumbleweeds. We peppered them with arrows as they set it up at an almost leisurely pace. A torch was held to it, and I yelled at everyone to crouch. It shook the earth and made a sound like lightening, crashing through the walls and ripping two warriors in half. The battle was lost, and I shamed myself by running into a home and withdrawing the ladder. My cousin Yellow Cat and her son were inside. I cut their throats before they even knew what was happening.
I've drank the last of the water, and can see beams of light through the holes in the wall. Fingers and knives are widening the gaps created by the fire spears. The cries of women and dying men rend the air. The foe will be inside within the minute. Maybe I could charge them and die a warrior. Or maybe they'd club my head, take me captive, and paint my skin blue. No, suicide seems cleaner. The wall collapses. I hold the obsidian dagger to my throat and thrust. There is sharp, cold pain. The gaze of the Sun Father shines over the laughing devils that crawl towards me. | First time posting.
We had just reached the outskirts of town, when the the shrieking erupted. A boat was approaching us from the front and two more were behind it; maybe this was some kind of coastal defense system. Whatever it was didn't matter to the captain. He had letters of introduction from the kings of Europe. He also had with him gifts from the Asian Republic and the Australian Alliance. They were representatives from the Old World Group, a makeshift alliance between the continents of Asia, Europe, and Australia.
Wars against the Asian kings of the past by the European kings led to them forming alliances, enacting a treaty with the Europeans, and an eventual coup of the people led to a quite prosperous, yet fledgling nation. They had completely decentralized the government and made certain centralized decisions. Raw materials were solely under the control of the government and so was any construction. The people had been okay with this so far and the Europeans enjoyed the cheap materials and labor which they quite voraciously ate up at any given chance.
Australia and the islanders of the Pacific Ocean was formally recognized as an Empire of the South after the joint British, Dutch, and Portuguese Military lost at the Battle of Uluru against the Tribesmen native to that area called the Dreamers. This all happened 100 years after the "Great Whisperings", when the European Kings decided to teach those of the new world knowledge held by the old worlders.
The captain peered into the deck of the other ship and saw a tall man emerging from the within the vessel. He held up a tattered cloth flag. It was a flag of old from France it still had the name of the old king Charles VIII. The captain held his hands up and walked towards the bow, while walking he raised up the envelops with the letter. He thought, "Hopefully, these guys have a translator of sorts." He had learned that the Europeans taught a few of the natives the languages of the European nations before they left.
The tall native came and took the letters, he opened them in front of the captain and looked at them. He seemed to stare at them for what seemed to be hours. He eventually called for someone "Hoy, engottu vaa! Itthu onnu vayichu thaa."" At this the captains ears perked up had he just imagined this. This language they were speaking he had heard this somewhere before. "What was it. WHAT WAS IT!" , he kept muttering to himself. As the native captain's translator read him the letter his face looked like it was smirking. The captain noticed the weird behavior but didn't say anything. It had been over two hundred years since anyone else had had any contact with them.
The translator approached with the captain "Greetings! Captain Cabot. Welcome to our shores after such a long and arduous journey." he said in perfect English."Thank God!", Cabot said, "We thought no one here spoke anything we spoke." To which the translator replied "Oh no, after Columbus left us with the treatises of knowledge we studied them alongside our shamans who guided us." The native captain whispered something to his translator. "Ah, yes this is Captain Kaayal-aal he is pleased to meet your acquaintance if you could follow him and his patrol boats to shore. As you may have heard our siren earlier going off."
As the boats neared the bay the city came into view and all of the crew came on board the deck. This would be the first time in two hundred years. What were the women like? What were the men like? So many questions were going through the minds of the sailors. They docked their boats at the port. This looked like any town does in England or France or anywhere Cabot thought. These natives caught up quick he thought.
They all got off the ship as the Captain Kaayal-aal had directed them to do.
As they passed through out the town all the people were looking at them.
The town folk had clothes of a variety of colors Persian red, deep hued blue, Tyranian purple, Indian saffron and more.
Next, they passed by the market there were hawkers of all kinds of merchandise. As they passed the stalls the captain caught a glimpse of something he had only seen once before the tusk of an elephant. "How did that get here?", he thought. They were approaching what seemed to be a fort. Next to them a group of men were digging deep trenches. The Captain Kaayal-aal through his translator told them he was going inside the fort to tell them to open up. Cabot waited as was instructed. That was when he noticed something very off. At the top off the fort archers came out and lined the top. What were they holding in their hands? Then his Chinese crew member yelled out CHO-KO-NU. An amazing array of arrows were flying his way. Cabot quickly yelled "Retreat!" But the archers were quick rapidly firing more than 300 arrows in the blink of an eye. One by one all of his crew fell; Cabot looked up and Kaayal-aal yelled down "Throw the bodies into the pit and bury them." in perfect English. What was going on?
As Kaayal-aal walked away, Cabot took a good long look at the town and was trying to piece together what was happening.
Then he remembered what he had seen, the Indian saffron and the elephant tusk.
Someone had reached here before they had. Who? Who was this bastard!
He kept thinking as he was bleeding out. Someone approached him "No..... no don't bury me!" He yelled.
The man, maybe in his thirties, took out his knife. Cabot looked very intricately at the knife more-so at the blade's composition.
As the knife came down, Cabot knew what was happening the Asian Republic had arrived. |
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | "Where'd they all go?" asked the first.
"Dunno. They were supposed to be all over the place, weren't they?" responded the second.
Two men stared at each other in confusion in an empty forest glade.
"I bet they're just farther inland," suggested the second.
"No bet," the first said, but uncertainly.
They stared at each other for a while longer. Eventually, a third man entered.
"We found them," says the third. He hesitated. "You'd... better come see."
Three men travel several miles inland, to a what might charitably be called a town.
One man leaves, and two men stare at each other in a confusion in an empty town square.
"What could have happened to them?" asked the first. "They're just..."
"All dead," agreed the second. "Every single one."
"And they all have guns," noted the first. "Every single one of them."
Two men stand in silence for a while longer, while all around them lie picked-clean skeletons, all clutching rifles.
"Well," the second eventually said, slowly. "They must have all killed each other."
The first shook his head in amazement. "Give a man a gun, he'll shoot one man. Teach a man to build a gun, he'll shoot *everyone*."
"Human nature," said the second sourly. "And everyone thought that they would be doing amazing things over here, untrained by modern life." He flicked a hand at the skeletons. "Instead..."
Two men walk back the way they came, silent once more.
"I'll make a bet," offered the second. "Fifty pence that they didn't last a whole generation."
"No bet," said the first.
Eventually, two men arrive at the ship which bore them to this land.
"At least," said the first, slowly and contemplatively, "we can settle the place with no trouble. If they're all dead..."
"Oh, sure," agreed the second. "I bet there'd have been loads of trouble otherwise."
"No bet," responded the first. | We took their knowledge and did nothing with it. We saw the wonders of their world but they pale in comparison to ours. In our world, nature roams free, unencumbered by mans industry. Nature gives us all we need and we work for the rest. There were some who took that information and did wondrous things but they have long since died. The world as we know it has always been, is, and always will be beautiful. And we are content. |
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | Is...is this happening? You guys seriously post these half-assed responses? This is Writing Prompts. WRITE. These responses are pitiful. Dear god. /rage
Day 43 of the voyage "Intrepid":
The horizon is no longer an indistinct prison encircling our ships. It is now dominated by the largest structures that any of the crew have ever seen; monolithic things, black and spewing smoke into the sky. The air around the coast is thick and difficult to ingest. Already, some men have fallen ill. Fearing the cause of this smothering gas we have decided to delay landfall until extensive observations have been made of the indigenous peoples.
Day 44 of the voyage "Intrepid":
Today our fleet was approached by ships of metal. There were no sails. Once again the disgusting smoke appeared, spewing from pillars atop the back of the ships of steel. We spoke without incident with the natives; fearing for our safety, we assumed no aggressive postures. We were showered with gifts and welcomed enthusiastically to their home. Speaking an odd mixture of the Spanish, French, and English languages, communications were difficult until a native translator arrived. A retention of past European encounters, perhaps.
The Natives differ vastly than those described in the old accounts. An air of haughtiness surrounds them. Their technology far surpasses ours, and as frightening and painful it is to admit, we are wholly at their mercy. Nature has been forsaken by these people, a far cry from their former selves. They have been tainted and have fouled the earth as a result. As welcoming as the natives are, my crew and I remain wary. May God be with us.
Invited to make landfall, we agreed. Still wary of the behemoth vessels and their haughty crew. No time to write, natives are adamant in their requests for visitation.
Day 45:
Christ be with us. The natives have progressed into realms beyond comprehension. Vessels traverse the land, powered by the same mechanisms that give life to their sea-ships and their gargantuan buildings. Weapons spew flame and metal at unfathomable speeds. Being guests of honor, we were treated to viewings of a machine that the natives believe to soon be capable of flight.
The indiginies eye us with gazes shrouded in mystery. We will soon flee with haste. This world is an unnatural one; I fear for my crew and all of Europe. The things seen thus far speak of a civilization far beyond ours, driven by smoke and power. Europe should have never departed from the New World; I fear that the Old World will soon fall under the reign of the New. | We took their knowledge and did nothing with it. We saw the wonders of their world but they pale in comparison to ours. In our world, nature roams free, unencumbered by mans industry. Nature gives us all we need and we work for the rest. There were some who took that information and did wondrous things but they have long since died. The world as we know it has always been, is, and always will be beautiful. And we are content. |
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | (I'll take the prompt literally)
The stories of El Plata were true, the glistening cities of glass and silver rose to scrape the heavens. Were, not anymore. We found the remains of these cities empty, overgrown and in the process of being dismantled by metal monsters, consuming the cities’ strange stone and glass and leaving strange twisted structures. The only remnant we found was a ghost, though it insisted it was not a ghost but a “hologram.” It told us that the tomes left to them by Columbus contained secrets of the world unknown to both themselves and us. With the knowledge in those books they built a civilization stretching from pole to pole.
They had decided early on in this process to leave us alone, reasoning that we would only come to pillage their new-found wealth, and that it was better to leave us in our ignorance. I asked what had happened to destroy so great an empire. The ghost responded saying that the empire hadn’t died, that it had transcended the body and had found a new and better life in “simulation,” that they had liberated their spirits of the flesh to live in the earth and the heavens. These people are nobler than I can describe, when I asked about the monsters consuming the abandoned cities and the strange structures they left the ghost laughed. “They are art! Out of the scars we left in our mother we express our love for her.”
When I asked about whether we would be allowed to build settlements in this new land the ghost frowned replying, “No, your expedition has been allowed here for three purposes, to allow you to see what is possible with..” The ghost gestured towards a stone, and out of it was birthed a blinking white cube. “A gift, just as you brought us new knowledge, though you were ignorant of its contents, we give you our knowledge. And a warning.” With a snap of the ghost’s finger, the sea rose to a boil and lightning arced across the sky. “If you come here again, still bound to flesh, you will be seared. Any castaways from your ships will be immediately moved to their place of origin. Our gardens are not for you to ravage, as we know you would in time. Leave within 3 days, ask the cube any question and it will give the appropriate answer, though not always the one you want. Use your time wisely.” The ghost winked out of existence and my men prepared for departure.
As I sat on the beach, playing with the white cube, I took note of the sky's clear blue, unmarred by smoke. Wondering aloud I said, “Why is the sky blue?” And the cube spoke with a smooth voice, “Blue light scatters more in the air than other colors causing the sky's blue color, suggested topics are: Rayleigh Scattering, Rainbows, and Refractive Indices”
| We took their knowledge and did nothing with it. We saw the wonders of their world but they pale in comparison to ours. In our world, nature roams free, unencumbered by mans industry. Nature gives us all we need and we work for the rest. There were some who took that information and did wondrous things but they have long since died. The world as we know it has always been, is, and always will be beautiful. And we are content. |
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | Is...is this happening? You guys seriously post these half-assed responses? This is Writing Prompts. WRITE. These responses are pitiful. Dear god. /rage
Day 43 of the voyage "Intrepid":
The horizon is no longer an indistinct prison encircling our ships. It is now dominated by the largest structures that any of the crew have ever seen; monolithic things, black and spewing smoke into the sky. The air around the coast is thick and difficult to ingest. Already, some men have fallen ill. Fearing the cause of this smothering gas we have decided to delay landfall until extensive observations have been made of the indigenous peoples.
Day 44 of the voyage "Intrepid":
Today our fleet was approached by ships of metal. There were no sails. Once again the disgusting smoke appeared, spewing from pillars atop the back of the ships of steel. We spoke without incident with the natives; fearing for our safety, we assumed no aggressive postures. We were showered with gifts and welcomed enthusiastically to their home. Speaking an odd mixture of the Spanish, French, and English languages, communications were difficult until a native translator arrived. A retention of past European encounters, perhaps.
The Natives differ vastly than those described in the old accounts. An air of haughtiness surrounds them. Their technology far surpasses ours, and as frightening and painful it is to admit, we are wholly at their mercy. Nature has been forsaken by these people, a far cry from their former selves. They have been tainted and have fouled the earth as a result. As welcoming as the natives are, my crew and I remain wary. May God be with us.
Invited to make landfall, we agreed. Still wary of the behemoth vessels and their haughty crew. No time to write, natives are adamant in their requests for visitation.
Day 45:
Christ be with us. The natives have progressed into realms beyond comprehension. Vessels traverse the land, powered by the same mechanisms that give life to their sea-ships and their gargantuan buildings. Weapons spew flame and metal at unfathomable speeds. Being guests of honor, we were treated to viewings of a machine that the natives believe to soon be capable of flight.
The indiginies eye us with gazes shrouded in mystery. We will soon flee with haste. This world is an unnatural one; I fear for my crew and all of Europe. The things seen thus far speak of a civilization far beyond ours, driven by smoke and power. Europe should have never departed from the New World; I fear that the Old World will soon fall under the reign of the New. | "Where'd they all go?" asked the first.
"Dunno. They were supposed to be all over the place, weren't they?" responded the second.
Two men stared at each other in confusion in an empty forest glade.
"I bet they're just farther inland," suggested the second.
"No bet," the first said, but uncertainly.
They stared at each other for a while longer. Eventually, a third man entered.
"We found them," says the third. He hesitated. "You'd... better come see."
Three men travel several miles inland, to a what might charitably be called a town.
One man leaves, and two men stare at each other in a confusion in an empty town square.
"What could have happened to them?" asked the first. "They're just..."
"All dead," agreed the second. "Every single one."
"And they all have guns," noted the first. "Every single one of them."
Two men stand in silence for a while longer, while all around them lie picked-clean skeletons, all clutching rifles.
"Well," the second eventually said, slowly. "They must have all killed each other."
The first shook his head in amazement. "Give a man a gun, he'll shoot one man. Teach a man to build a gun, he'll shoot *everyone*."
"Human nature," said the second sourly. "And everyone thought that they would be doing amazing things over here, untrained by modern life." He flicked a hand at the skeletons. "Instead..."
Two men walk back the way they came, silent once more.
"I'll make a bet," offered the second. "Fifty pence that they didn't last a whole generation."
"No bet," said the first.
Eventually, two men arrive at the ship which bore them to this land.
"At least," said the first, slowly and contemplatively, "we can settle the place with no trouble. If they're all dead..."
"Oh, sure," agreed the second. "I bet there'd have been loads of trouble otherwise."
"No bet," responded the first. |
Edit: Obligatory holy wow, top post. Keep up these stories, y'all are great :) | [WP] Instead of colonizing the New World in 1492, Europeans gave Native Americans modern knowledge and sailed away. They return 200 years later. | (I'll take the prompt literally)
The stories of El Plata were true, the glistening cities of glass and silver rose to scrape the heavens. Were, not anymore. We found the remains of these cities empty, overgrown and in the process of being dismantled by metal monsters, consuming the cities’ strange stone and glass and leaving strange twisted structures. The only remnant we found was a ghost, though it insisted it was not a ghost but a “hologram.” It told us that the tomes left to them by Columbus contained secrets of the world unknown to both themselves and us. With the knowledge in those books they built a civilization stretching from pole to pole.
They had decided early on in this process to leave us alone, reasoning that we would only come to pillage their new-found wealth, and that it was better to leave us in our ignorance. I asked what had happened to destroy so great an empire. The ghost responded saying that the empire hadn’t died, that it had transcended the body and had found a new and better life in “simulation,” that they had liberated their spirits of the flesh to live in the earth and the heavens. These people are nobler than I can describe, when I asked about the monsters consuming the abandoned cities and the strange structures they left the ghost laughed. “They are art! Out of the scars we left in our mother we express our love for her.”
When I asked about whether we would be allowed to build settlements in this new land the ghost frowned replying, “No, your expedition has been allowed here for three purposes, to allow you to see what is possible with..” The ghost gestured towards a stone, and out of it was birthed a blinking white cube. “A gift, just as you brought us new knowledge, though you were ignorant of its contents, we give you our knowledge. And a warning.” With a snap of the ghost’s finger, the sea rose to a boil and lightning arced across the sky. “If you come here again, still bound to flesh, you will be seared. Any castaways from your ships will be immediately moved to their place of origin. Our gardens are not for you to ravage, as we know you would in time. Leave within 3 days, ask the cube any question and it will give the appropriate answer, though not always the one you want. Use your time wisely.” The ghost winked out of existence and my men prepared for departure.
As I sat on the beach, playing with the white cube, I took note of the sky's clear blue, unmarred by smoke. Wondering aloud I said, “Why is the sky blue?” And the cube spoke with a smooth voice, “Blue light scatters more in the air than other colors causing the sky's blue color, suggested topics are: Rayleigh Scattering, Rainbows, and Refractive Indices”
| "Where'd they all go?" asked the first.
"Dunno. They were supposed to be all over the place, weren't they?" responded the second.
Two men stared at each other in confusion in an empty forest glade.
"I bet they're just farther inland," suggested the second.
"No bet," the first said, but uncertainly.
They stared at each other for a while longer. Eventually, a third man entered.
"We found them," says the third. He hesitated. "You'd... better come see."
Three men travel several miles inland, to a what might charitably be called a town.
One man leaves, and two men stare at each other in a confusion in an empty town square.
"What could have happened to them?" asked the first. "They're just..."
"All dead," agreed the second. "Every single one."
"And they all have guns," noted the first. "Every single one of them."
Two men stand in silence for a while longer, while all around them lie picked-clean skeletons, all clutching rifles.
"Well," the second eventually said, slowly. "They must have all killed each other."
The first shook his head in amazement. "Give a man a gun, he'll shoot one man. Teach a man to build a gun, he'll shoot *everyone*."
"Human nature," said the second sourly. "And everyone thought that they would be doing amazing things over here, untrained by modern life." He flicked a hand at the skeletons. "Instead..."
Two men walk back the way they came, silent once more.
"I'll make a bet," offered the second. "Fifty pence that they didn't last a whole generation."
"No bet," said the first.
Eventually, two men arrive at the ship which bore them to this land.
"At least," said the first, slowly and contemplatively, "we can settle the place with no trouble. If they're all dead..."
"Oh, sure," agreed the second. "I bet there'd have been loads of trouble otherwise."
"No bet," responded the first. |
[WP] The village Idiot becomes king for a day- it turns out he's a better ruler than the King! | For certain, no one could predict what the madness would happen when the village idiot from Farthingsworth, Little Bottom from the Pond. He had been nominated from the provincial lottery that occurred once every decade, and not only was this a shock to all the courtesans, the scholars advisors, the chancellor, the steward, the court chaplain and most of all the spymaster, since he was the one responsible for calculating the probability that someone *not* from the court was receive it.
In any case, Thomas, as was his Christian name, came to the castle in farming clothing. He was immediately given a warm bathe and clothes to match the occasion and the ceremony to pass over the crown to Thomas. Once it began, Thomas, began snoring. He fell asleep nearly instantly, and throughout the entire processes, the only thing above the Chaplain's voice that could be heard was the snore of King Thomas. Once they placed the crown and he finally woke up, the Chaplain declared, "King Thomas is now the King. All ris-"
"No no. No need to rise. We're all friend here right? I mean the King is friends with all right?"
"Your Majesty, I beg pardon-"
"And pardoned you are! We are all friends. Let's have a festival. Invite everyone to attend to tonight and send for the guards from my village to be the local police force."
"Sir, preparations for a festival usually take months!"
"Then hurry it up man! Get the vendors, shout to the farmers, this is a festival for everyone! Carnival time carnival time!"
"Sire, I am the Chancellor. We will not be able to make enough invitations to the entirety of the province with out wasting all of our scholar's papers, and furthermore, there are too many people in the province to send to every village..."
"Then send it to the heads, or the regional heads and make them use horses and make it done now! I am the King!"
"What about the guards? Why not use the castle guards?"
"Oh, they're useless. As mother tells me. They don't do anything except visit harlems, brothel houses and occasionally act as looters. I think there was a group of them called the Jackal Knights? If they are here, please execute them without further notice. Give their stuff to the castle -town people."
"But Sire, they are our most awarded-"
"They are *looters*. Did I stutter?"
"What about the festival? What would you have us prepare?"
"Everything! Cakes, desserts, sweets, candies, games, fun for all!"
"One last thing sire, how do we plan to fund this?"
"Fund?"
"Yes, your Majesty. We need funds to give out to the vendors, and peoples to let them into the cast-"
"Castle?! That's way to small to fit the entire province! Let them just set up shop everywhere! In that case, get the local guardsmen from my village and the neighboring villages to police the valleys and such. Setup the regular army in patrols on the border and arrest anyone that isn't at the festival! People can have fun and make money! Also, set up a part of the castle to play hide and seek for the kids. I want to play."
"Yes Sire. But why do you want to use local militia when our regular forces are trained professionals?"
"Simple. No one knows what the local militia look like and don't know who they are, so they will be able to spot any of the thieves, like Chad who we caught last week stealing cabbages."
"Yes, your majesty."
---
"King William, there is rabble on the streets. They call for your abdication in favour of their new saviour?"
"Saviour?! Pah! I lowered taxes three times already since that bumbling fool held that stupid show of fireworks and used up all of our paper! How can we blackmail our friends and enemies?! They will know that we are weak! Are we still trying to stockpile paper instead of gold?"
"Yes Sire. Our gold deposits have largely been depleted. But that matters not since our infantry have yet to be paid and many are defecting to the peasants side."
"You fail me, Chancellor."
"I will leave your sight Sire."
*How did he do it, that stupid village idiot?* | The bustle of scholars ran in and out if the throne room, they were the only ones who could make sense of the eccentric ideas of May Capoh the winner for the king for the day prize during the tournament festivities. 8 blue robed gentry followed behind the minister of agriculture, and the minister of the shadow treasury all dressed in their manditory red robes.
The ministers entered the throne room. Once filled with soldiers now filled with papers. Bowing before the the fool, they spoke "you have called for us your most gracious heinous one?" They joked
"Yes you two red ones. Especially you with the long black beard" May Capoh pointed to the minister of agriculture overly smiling and clapping in place,
"I had a grand idea, a grand idea indeed " said May Capoh "instead of planting all the tall gold grass and the green leafy things, and the cattle feed ...also those cabbages.. In separate small squares of dirt, why don't we make big plots of dirt and put them all together? So its one big plot of gold grass, and a giant fuel of cabbages... Also can we make it like a windmill, its boring when u grow the same thing every year, make the grass field green, the cabbages Patch grass, and the like. Bwhahaha"
"I suppose wee can alternate fields between seasons, I'm not exactly sure how this will change things..." Pondered the minister if agiculture, His assistants writing down the words of the king
"And you, shadow minister...what exactly do you do? My best friend here" May Capoh pointed to a minister who was being fanned and laying down in exhaustion "does all the money stuff,
"
"Well, oh great king of day, I ensure that money is for your usage."
"I thought that was the job was done by this guy " he pointed to a scholar in blue handing out papers to other scholars
"I want you to do a special job! The king for the day ran over to the shadow treasury minister, " I want you to provide money for grand ideas, like building a 10 story house boat. And let's call it price water, like the price to create a flow of ideas"
"...alright...."
"If I may ask m'lord...why is the minister of finance passed out" asked the minister of the shadow treasury
"He fainted at the idea of trying to make all this money stuff easy to understand. Couldn't we just teach scholars how to make an accurate list of things and have other scholars from a different group check the accuracy of that list? He seemed to be really exited at the idea and began to run after me in excitement . he passed out after 30minutes of running as we played hide and seek. "
"...ah..."
"Well... Let's get started, I expect pictures and paper and drawings for a plan. I can't really read..." | |
[WP] The village Idiot becomes king for a day- it turns out he's a better ruler than the King! | “What’s he doing now?”
“He’s closing all the banks.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t believe in them.”
The high priest and chief guard stood beneath an overhang watching one of their nobility slowly trudge through the mud with a giant cart full of gold. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck as his face grew progressively redder. A gang of children followed behind, occasionally picking off a piece as the nobleman cursed ineffectively.
“So let me get this straight. We have to keep all our money on us at all times?”
“Yup.”
“What the hell is that supposed to accomplish? My gaurds can’t protect them all! This is a huge mistake. It will encourage robbery! Deceit! Chaos!”
Before the guard could finish, the nobleman slumped over in the mud. With bloodshot eyes filled with rage and fatigue, he looked over at the boys following him. “I give up. Take what you want. I cannot go on anymore.”
The priest smiled. “…and generosity.”
The guard look annoyed. “I heard he wants to get rid of clothes tomorrow.” | The bustle of scholars ran in and out if the throne room, they were the only ones who could make sense of the eccentric ideas of May Capoh the winner for the king for the day prize during the tournament festivities. 8 blue robed gentry followed behind the minister of agriculture, and the minister of the shadow treasury all dressed in their manditory red robes.
The ministers entered the throne room. Once filled with soldiers now filled with papers. Bowing before the the fool, they spoke "you have called for us your most gracious heinous one?" They joked
"Yes you two red ones. Especially you with the long black beard" May Capoh pointed to the minister of agriculture overly smiling and clapping in place,
"I had a grand idea, a grand idea indeed " said May Capoh "instead of planting all the tall gold grass and the green leafy things, and the cattle feed ...also those cabbages.. In separate small squares of dirt, why don't we make big plots of dirt and put them all together? So its one big plot of gold grass, and a giant fuel of cabbages... Also can we make it like a windmill, its boring when u grow the same thing every year, make the grass field green, the cabbages Patch grass, and the like. Bwhahaha"
"I suppose wee can alternate fields between seasons, I'm not exactly sure how this will change things..." Pondered the minister if agiculture, His assistants writing down the words of the king
"And you, shadow minister...what exactly do you do? My best friend here" May Capoh pointed to a minister who was being fanned and laying down in exhaustion "does all the money stuff,
"
"Well, oh great king of day, I ensure that money is for your usage."
"I thought that was the job was done by this guy " he pointed to a scholar in blue handing out papers to other scholars
"I want you to do a special job! The king for the day ran over to the shadow treasury minister, " I want you to provide money for grand ideas, like building a 10 story house boat. And let's call it price water, like the price to create a flow of ideas"
"...alright...."
"If I may ask m'lord...why is the minister of finance passed out" asked the minister of the shadow treasury
"He fainted at the idea of trying to make all this money stuff easy to understand. Couldn't we just teach scholars how to make an accurate list of things and have other scholars from a different group check the accuracy of that list? He seemed to be really exited at the idea and began to run after me in excitement . he passed out after 30minutes of running as we played hide and seek. "
"...ah..."
"Well... Let's get started, I expect pictures and paper and drawings for a plan. I can't really read..." | |
This Week’s Theme: Humanity, Fuck Yeah!
-----
The recent default reset threw a lot of new stuff into the mix. /r/writingprompts got the coveted status of default, as did another favorite subreddit of mine: /r/futurology. Futurology, the study of future technologies and their effects on human society and advancement, is a favorite topic of mine. Why? Because it’s one of the few fields of study where it’s hard not to get a swell of human patriotism on a regular basis. It’s *science, bitches!*
So, write a story with any of the following tropes in mind. You can write them specifically for this prompt, or write them for another prompt (like our current IP, “Rocket Man!”) and crosspost them here. Use one, two, or even all of the following:
* [Humans Are Special](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HumansAreSpecial)
* [Humanity is Superior](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HumanityIsSuperior)
* [Humans Are Warriors](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HumansAreWarriors)
* [Patrick Stewart Speech](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PatrickStewartSpeech)
The catch?
Well, there has to be a catch. Humans are awesome, **but…** Surprise me, /r/writingprompts.
This contest will run over the weekend, from 2400 GMT Friday to 0700 GMT Monday (midnight Sunday for GMT-7). Submissions will be judged equally on the quality of the response, the creativity in applying the tropes, and the quality of the self-analysis attached to the story.
Winners get one month of reddit gold, and there *can* be more than one winner should there be multiple quality responses.
---
All submissions *must* include:
1. A **story** that includes the week's tropes
2. **Analysis** of which tropes are used, and where
3. Bonus points for **introspection**: Where did you run into difficulty? Where did you get in stride? What techniques will you use in the future?
Need inspiration? Check out previous Tropedays: [#1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pxuc/cw_tropeday_contest_1_introductions/) [#2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21ds18/cw_tropeday_contest_2/) [#3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21zr40/cw_tropeday_contest_3/) [#4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22ioam/cw_tropeday_4_the_hopeless_war_contest/) [#5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2355d7/cw_tropeday_5/)
[What is Tropeday?](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pwrk/ot_welcome_to_tropeday/)
Update
---
Congratulations to /u/elizabethmerrye and /u/Gor-Gor for winning this weeks' series! The latter for playing "Humans are Warriors" straight while still managing to catch me off guard, and the former for finding a way to play "Humans are Awesome" straight while also approaching it from an angle other than the idealistic bent the trope is normally subject to.
["Come on, you sons of bitches, do you want to live forever?"](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/chk37zm)
[A schoolroom scene, 20 minutes into the future.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/chjyzgi) | [WP] Tropeday Contest #6 | "Come on, you sons of bitches, do you want to live forever?!"
That famous saying rang out over the trench as Raven Company charged over the line. Into No-Mans land they ran, artillery raining down around them. Most made it to the next trench, their kevlar armor smeared with mud and gore of the dead. Captain Gruber did a quick headcount, only 4 lost.
"Sir! We need to move, sir! They've almost got us zero'd!"
Sergeant Mills was right, the artillery was slamming closer to the trench with each passing second. Mud and chunks of dead comrades splashing them.
"Move south!" He yelled over the pounding ordinance.
The men crawled through the trench, bodies of comrades and broken shoring slowing them. The artillery was closer than ever before, the powerful explosions cratering only feet from the trench.
Pounding, pounding, Captain Gruber screaming to the gods to keep his men live long enough to reach safety. Pounding, one last shell screamed in, the entire company dived under bloated corpses, desperation making them abandon logic. The round slammed into the trench where moments ago they huddled.
The silence that followed was crushing. Raven Company emerged from their decayed cover, each man checking his brother for injury.
"Report!" Gruber yelled. Sergeant Miller slogged his way to his Captain, checking each man he passed.
"All accounted for, sir. No one was hit by that last one. What's the plan, sir?" He knelt near Gruber, reaching with shaking hands for his canteen. He saw it was hit by shrapnel, its contents fouled by the filth which he was drenched.
"We need eyes over the edge. See where they are. We know they know where we were, we need to know where we are." Captain Gruber scanned his men. "We need resupply, with the quickness."
Sergeant Miller could only grin, the lapse in authority in the Captains demeanor was a good sign. They were going to make it.
A few minutes later, Corporal Rodriguez raised his spyglasses over the trench wall, looking across the scorched earth between their trench and the enemy stronghold. The blackened, pitted concrete pillboxes were only a hundred yards away, but might as well be on the moon.
"I see the stronghold, sir. No movement."
"Nothing? No one at all?"
"Affirmative, sir. Not a si--hold. I see something."
A massive door began to lower. It swung out and down, becoming a ramp. The grinding of its gears could easily be heard.
"A door opened, sir. I think they're coming out."
"Get down, give me those."
Rodriguez slid down into the trench, handing the glasses to the Captain. Captain Gruber climbed to the top, went prone and looked through the glasses.
Red pinpoints of light could be seen inside the hold, in pairs. They were about two and half meters off the deck.
"Holy God."
The first of them appeared at the top of the ramp. It was a giant, two meters and a half at least. It was covered completely in a suit of steel gray armor, the armor adding at least another foot to its height. It carried a massive rifle, making the rifle Gruber carried seem like a toy in comparison. Each step of its booted feet clanged against the ramp, its helmeted head scanning the battlefield as it descended.
Another appeared at the top of the ramp, this one was nearly identical. Steel gray armor, giant rifle, red lenses scanning the battlefield.
Another appeared. Then another.
Soon an entire company of the giants stood around the base of the ramp, eye lenses eternally scanning the battlefield. A tenth and final giant appeared at the top of the ramp, this one an obvious man of rank. He was the only helmetless one, his scarred face the picture of a thousand battles. His left eye was a cybernetic implant, glaring red. His armor was a deep crimson, not the steel gray of his company. Across his chest was a symbol, the symbol that struck fear into every human unlucky enough to survive the initial assaults on Earth.
Bolts of stylized lightning, each bolt framing a laughing skull.
This one did not carry the same rifle as his men, he carried a pistol in his right hand, a pistol that looked more than capable of destroying a tank. In his left was something wholly terrifying. It was a sword, but this sword crackled with energies across its blade. Gruber was astonished to learn he could understand the fellow Captain, for he knew a military company when he saw one.
"The xenos scum are still here, brothers. I can smell them on the wind," he said.
Gruber had no illusions that the captain couldn't smell them. He may be covered with gore, mud, and feces, but he knew he stunk of fear.
One of the armored giants turned suddenly in Grubers direction, leveling its massive rifle at his pupils.
"Contact!"
Analysis: Humans are Warriors. I tried to keep it to things I knew. Military, power armors, etc. I know some of you will call me out on the power armor and energy weapon but I left enough out or changed enough to try to stay away from too much of a Warhammer 40k feel. I don't think I succeeded but when it comes to sci-fi and military, I believe eventually all future military leads to power armor and massive weapons. It just seems kinda sad that you can't use these great tools without someone calling you out or saying you ripped off 40k.
Still, I enjoyed this one, and look forward to any comments and suggestions. | The Commander & Chief stood on bridge of the ship with the 1st Admiral to his right and the vice president on his left. The three pillars of human progress, proliferation, and prosperity clothed in power physical and symbolic. The Chief gave a nod the comms engineer who hastily worked so the Chief's words would be heard by the entire Alliance.
"Humanity has come very far" He began. "From humble beginnings we have ventured out and found great fortune but not without paying a dire price. Many lives were lost in the building of the great utopia we all now relish in. Many monsters from the abyss were slain but the abyss claimed just as many heroes. We were no strangers to death. However, through cunning, hard work, and the divinity of the human spirit we vanquished every foe we faced. Finally we find ourselves here at the precipice of heaven with the devil before us and divine sword of judgment firmly in our grasp. With this act I usher in the next age of humanity. One of peace, of justice, and prosperity to all who have fought alongside us for so long for all eternity. Make it so."
The Vice President hit the firing button and for a moment time slowed. The array lit up one by one until they were all on. Then in an instant they fired to the lens which streamed the combined energy at the small blue sickly planet below us. The last hold out for the weak willed, the unwanted, the burden and embarrassment of our childhood and adolescence as a species.
"Goodbye Earth, and good Riddance" the vice president muttered under his breath. |
This Week’s Theme: Humanity, Fuck Yeah!
-----
The recent default reset threw a lot of new stuff into the mix. /r/writingprompts got the coveted status of default, as did another favorite subreddit of mine: /r/futurology. Futurology, the study of future technologies and their effects on human society and advancement, is a favorite topic of mine. Why? Because it’s one of the few fields of study where it’s hard not to get a swell of human patriotism on a regular basis. It’s *science, bitches!*
So, write a story with any of the following tropes in mind. You can write them specifically for this prompt, or write them for another prompt (like our current IP, “Rocket Man!”) and crosspost them here. Use one, two, or even all of the following:
* [Humans Are Special](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HumansAreSpecial)
* [Humanity is Superior](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HumanityIsSuperior)
* [Humans Are Warriors](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HumansAreWarriors)
* [Patrick Stewart Speech](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PatrickStewartSpeech)
The catch?
Well, there has to be a catch. Humans are awesome, **but…** Surprise me, /r/writingprompts.
This contest will run over the weekend, from 2400 GMT Friday to 0700 GMT Monday (midnight Sunday for GMT-7). Submissions will be judged equally on the quality of the response, the creativity in applying the tropes, and the quality of the self-analysis attached to the story.
Winners get one month of reddit gold, and there *can* be more than one winner should there be multiple quality responses.
---
All submissions *must* include:
1. A **story** that includes the week's tropes
2. **Analysis** of which tropes are used, and where
3. Bonus points for **introspection**: Where did you run into difficulty? Where did you get in stride? What techniques will you use in the future?
Need inspiration? Check out previous Tropedays: [#1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pxuc/cw_tropeday_contest_1_introductions/) [#2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21ds18/cw_tropeday_contest_2/) [#3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21zr40/cw_tropeday_contest_3/) [#4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22ioam/cw_tropeday_4_the_hopeless_war_contest/) [#5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2355d7/cw_tropeday_5/)
[What is Tropeday?](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pwrk/ot_welcome_to_tropeday/)
Update
---
Congratulations to /u/elizabethmerrye and /u/Gor-Gor for winning this weeks' series! The latter for playing "Humans are Warriors" straight while still managing to catch me off guard, and the former for finding a way to play "Humans are Awesome" straight while also approaching it from an angle other than the idealistic bent the trope is normally subject to.
["Come on, you sons of bitches, do you want to live forever?"](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/chk37zm)
[A schoolroom scene, 20 minutes into the future.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/chjyzgi) | [WP] Tropeday Contest #6 | The moment that soft wood gives way under the tip of a ballpoint pen. Is anything more thrilling? Shaundra doesn’t think so. She chooses a spot on the corner of the desktop. Sets the point. Places her thumb over the top. Holds the shaft in place. Presses. Resistance. Resistance. Give. That soft, satisfying crunch. One two three four, her fingers spread out and away. She moves the pen away and admires the small divot in the worn surface, rubbing her finger over it, back and forth. She picks up the pen again, this time with her whole palm over the top. Presses. Twists. How large can she make the hole today? It feels like it will be a good one.
If Ms. Hecht doesn’t get the Active Board working soon, she may be able to get away with carving a whole line or a word. Videos in science are good, but they give the teacher plenty of free time to monitor the students’ actions. Your mind is free to wander, but you have to check your fidgeting, your doodling, your carving on desks.
Mrs. Hecht is clearly frustrated with the Active Board. Today’s video is a Once In a Lifetime opportunity, and if she can’t pull up the streaming site in the next five minutes, they will all miss it. Most schools have upgraded to modern Etherboard tech with a personal display for each student embedded in a pristine white desk. James L. Farmer Middle School has yet to make the upgrade, though, and it seems doubtful that it ever will. Mrs. Hecht makes do with classroom technology that is decades out of date. Most of the time, she doesn’t even bother with it, choosing instead to tape newsprint over the useless screen and write on that with the same Crayola markers that her students use for their poster book reports. Today is important, though. She adjusts some wires. Unplugs and replugs the connection to her laptop. Refreshes the page.
This time the site loads. Nothing is happening on the small video window. (Ms. Hecht doesn’t dare try for a full screen view now that everything is working). A podium with the presidential seal stands empty in front of a blue curtain. If it wasn’t for a slight rustle in the fabric and the occasional passing shadow, you might think that the feed had frozen, which would be typical. An announcer is speaking, “We’ve been told that the President will arrive shortly with his message to the American People about the colony.”
A woman’s voice responds, “Rick, how many countries have participated in the colonization project?”
The announcer begins to answer, “Well Donna, all of the countries in the UEG have a stake in the project, and with the exception of the former Asian… Wait. Wait, I have word, the President is making his way to the stage.”
Tinny music fills the classroom. Shaundra knows this song. “Hail to the chief; He’s the chief and we must hail him!” Her dad sings it sometimes when he comes out of the shower in the morning.
The President comes on. “My fellow Americans.” The Active Board glitches and the president freezes for a moment. His voice skips, but then comes back in. “...family is the basis of human civilization. With this colonization project, the United Earth Government has sent scientists. Explorers. Pioneers. One could even say, adventurers. But at the end of the day, what we really sent, was families. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Families that we hope will be the first of many. Families that will provide new generations. Generations who will be born, and raised, and live their entire lives on Earth’s first extraplanetary…”
The board glitches out again, and Mrs. Hecht's cursor glides over the pause button. She seems unable to decide whether to press it. If she does, will the feed buffer and start again when she clicks play? Or should she wait and hope the issue resolves itself? While the teacher’s hands hover over her keyboard, Shaundra digs her pencil into the tiny well she’s dug. Pressing and twisting; making it deeper. It feels good.
The video starts back up. Mrs. Hecht’s relief is a tangible wave, and the students shift in their seats. “...But what these brave pioneers, these *families* are carrying with them is no less than the human way of life. Our Strength. Our perseverance. Our thirst for knowledge. Our cooperative spirits. And it is in this spirit that we…” Shaundra looks at the clock. Less than forty five minutes until the bell. That’s good. That’s awesome. She can’t wait to be at home, curled on the couch watching television. God, she hopes that this whole space thing doesn’t come on over Soleil and Desiree, the best show ever. She hates when the news blocks out regular TV.
*****
Analysis: I tried to include bits of a Patrick Stewart speech, but the speech itself was nearly impossible to write, and I admit I cheated it with the malfunctioning video feed. I can’t believe that mankind will ever come so far that we will eliminate the segment of society for whom enjoying and appreciating the true fruits of our advances is out of reach. I wanted to write about people for whom any “giant leap for mankind” would be relatively meaningless in the face of poverty and other mundane concerns.
I am not trying to win any contests. I recently (which is to say, yesterday) challenged myself to try a certain number of writing prompts a week. Of the ones on the front and the “new” page, this was the one I ‘got’ something for.
I love to write, but I have a long way to go before I consider myself a capable writer. I would love feedback. Criticism is fine as long as it isn’t mean. It is hard to analyze my own writing because by the time I finish with it, I am familiar with what the story is *supposed* to be and so ill equipped to judge whether or not I’ve conveyed that. Anyway. So here it is. I am posting it. I hope it doesn’t run afoul of any rules or expectations. (I wish this had been a regular prompt!) | The Commander & Chief stood on bridge of the ship with the 1st Admiral to his right and the vice president on his left. The three pillars of human progress, proliferation, and prosperity clothed in power physical and symbolic. The Chief gave a nod the comms engineer who hastily worked so the Chief's words would be heard by the entire Alliance.
"Humanity has come very far" He began. "From humble beginnings we have ventured out and found great fortune but not without paying a dire price. Many lives were lost in the building of the great utopia we all now relish in. Many monsters from the abyss were slain but the abyss claimed just as many heroes. We were no strangers to death. However, through cunning, hard work, and the divinity of the human spirit we vanquished every foe we faced. Finally we find ourselves here at the precipice of heaven with the devil before us and divine sword of judgment firmly in our grasp. With this act I usher in the next age of humanity. One of peace, of justice, and prosperity to all who have fought alongside us for so long for all eternity. Make it so."
The Vice President hit the firing button and for a moment time slowed. The array lit up one by one until they were all on. Then in an instant they fired to the lens which streamed the combined energy at the small blue sickly planet below us. The last hold out for the weak willed, the unwanted, the burden and embarrassment of our childhood and adolescence as a species.
"Goodbye Earth, and good Riddance" the vice president muttered under his breath. |
[wp] "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone." | -122
He laid in bed. The leds pulled at his skin, and the tape holding the wires and tubes in place itched.
"Do you remember that Sunday after your folks divorced." She asked.
He quietly smacked his lips, slow and with purpose. He swallowed gently and gave her a weak lethargic smile. She sat on the edge of the bed between the nurse and doctor and held his hand. "You were . . ." He breathed shallowly. "You were wearing the yellow dress." He said, smiling. "With the blue flowers."
"Yes." She laughed, bending low to kiss his fingers. He saw that she was crying and reached up to wipe away her tears.
"Careful, Walter. You can't move. It's important." The doctor told him, leaning forward to adjust the equipment one last time. Walter reluctantly lowered his arm and lay it beside him on the bed.
"Sorry, Doc. I was just saying good-bye." He murmured quietly.
"Walter, you're not going to die." The doctor told him.
He wanted to shake his head and laugh, but instead, he just moved his eyes to hers. They knew the truth.
"The rain was warm. You remember that, Walter?" She asked.
"I do. I remember dancing with you, surrounded by flowers and limbs laden and bent from the weight of too much rain. Your hair was plastered, dark and dreadful. Your sundress clung to your body, and I . . ." he swallowed and felt his eyes droop with exhaustion. "fell in love. I've loved you all my life. I loved you." He felt tears spill from his eyes and sneak down his cheek and chin and slide beneath his collar.
"Okay, Walter." The doctor told him. "It is very important that you don't move or talk."
"Will it hurt?" Walter asked.
"You won't feel a thing." The nurse assured him, taking his hand.
"You're going to miss me when I'm gone." The girl whispered, standing up.
He wanted to say good-bye, but the nurse placed a finger across his lips and shook her head. He blinked to let her know he understood and looked back to the girl. She smiled and backed away further. He felt different and closed his eyes as whatever the doctor was doing took effect. He felt pressure but no pain. It went on for several minutes. Walter kept his eyes closed. He felt part of him slipping away, like slowly having having a skein peeled away, then with a victorious groan and grunt, the doctor exhaled in relief.
"Got it." He said simply. Walter waited for the nausceous feeling to go away before opening his eyes.
"She's gone." Walter groaned, fighting the burning sensation he knew would end in body wracking sobs.
"I know, Walter. Without the tumor, the hallucinations will stop." The doctor told him soothingly.
"But, I loved her." He cried quietly. "All my life." He couldn't stop the tears.
The nurse swallowed the lump in her throat and took her patient's hand. "I'm sorry." She whispered.
"If we had waited . . ." The doctor said, leaving it hanging. Walter pulled the nurses hand up and kissed it and cried some more. She gave him a brief hug and released his hand so she could start removing the halo holding his head still. "You still have the memories." The doctor told him in an attempt to console him. Walter continued sobbing long after and fell asleep with his tears drying on his cheeks.
She had been right. He did miss her. | You're going to miss me when I'm gone. But you already knew that. You have since you were a child and I was diagnosed. You knew before I did, about my illness, but you've always been like that. You're going to have to go through some parts of your life without me, but know that you'll be fine. You've always been fine. It's going to hurt, and I'm sorry, and I can't tell you that it's going to get better after a while, I don't think it does. But it gets easier. Not better, but easier to deal with. You'll learn how to be fine. Other people will need you to be. I need you to be.
You know you're gonna miss me when I'm gone, but please know that it's not nearly as much as I'll miss you. I love you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I understand it's not fair. But life never is, it's not supposed to be. Let me tell you, and oh, I hope you'll listen, you can't have the good without the bad.
And there's so much bad right now that there's no way that you aren't in for a world of happiness.
Yes, I know that I wont be there, and sure, you're not happy now. But if I've taught you anything, it is how to love, and it's going to be your job to teach others that once I'm gone. And I'm almost gone.
I'm sorry. I love you. Yes, I know it's not fair. But listen. LISTEN. You don't let this change you. Not for the worse anyway. You take this feeling right here, in your chest right now. You take that tightness, and you let it happen. Let yourself feel.
But not for too long. Take that feeling in your chest and transform it, like I taught you, into something you can share with others. Just because your heart is tight doesn't mean it's closed. You feel, just for a little while, as HARD as you can, and then you do something about it. You share your soul with as many people you can, be kind, understand that there are those who are not as strong as you, and you be there for them.
I've seen you since you were a child, it's all you ever wanted to do. Help people. You can't help me. That's okay, I wouldn't let you if you could anyway. But you can help others. Go and heal others, and you'll heal yourself.
I'll always be here for you, in your memories and in that tight feeling in your chest. But I like to think I've taught you well, so go and be there for others.
I love you. I'm sorry. | |
[wp] "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone." | The first time I saw you, I thought you were ugly as shit. You've got a crooked nose and you know it. Don't hate it too much, your reflection will keep you company. Plus you have really shiny hair, I saw that the second time around, when it caught fire. You always had a certain incendiary charm about you. Then the next time and forever, I saw your eyes, and in your eyes I saw not love, not color, not a clue to your innermost thoughts, not the depths of your soul and neither some sappy poetry, I just kinda sorta saw my whole life. My whole damn life, you know? Everything I am, everything I ever was or will be. Listen up, it's all lost now. It's all gone. I'm dying and I'm scared. I wanna see you again but then I might not see anything, or I might just see heaven and that'd be such a let down because I want to see our life together, just one more time.
And you don't even know it, but it's fading from your eyes. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone because I'm what's missing in you. I'm the empty spot on your bed and the quiet in your friday night and the cold in the palm of your hand and the lips unkissed and the ringless finger and half the baby that never was and just one less promise.
I'm part of you. Look, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone, you will, but when you amputate something, you have to... to learn to fulfill that limb's tasks with what remains - and my task was always to make you happy, every single day of my life. I'm failing today, aren't I? I'm making you cry now, aren't I?
I'm sorry. I'm selfish. I kinda want to be missed. | You're going to miss me when I'm gone. But you already knew that. You have since you were a child and I was diagnosed. You knew before I did, about my illness, but you've always been like that. You're going to have to go through some parts of your life without me, but know that you'll be fine. You've always been fine. It's going to hurt, and I'm sorry, and I can't tell you that it's going to get better after a while, I don't think it does. But it gets easier. Not better, but easier to deal with. You'll learn how to be fine. Other people will need you to be. I need you to be.
You know you're gonna miss me when I'm gone, but please know that it's not nearly as much as I'll miss you. I love you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I understand it's not fair. But life never is, it's not supposed to be. Let me tell you, and oh, I hope you'll listen, you can't have the good without the bad.
And there's so much bad right now that there's no way that you aren't in for a world of happiness.
Yes, I know that I wont be there, and sure, you're not happy now. But if I've taught you anything, it is how to love, and it's going to be your job to teach others that once I'm gone. And I'm almost gone.
I'm sorry. I love you. Yes, I know it's not fair. But listen. LISTEN. You don't let this change you. Not for the worse anyway. You take this feeling right here, in your chest right now. You take that tightness, and you let it happen. Let yourself feel.
But not for too long. Take that feeling in your chest and transform it, like I taught you, into something you can share with others. Just because your heart is tight doesn't mean it's closed. You feel, just for a little while, as HARD as you can, and then you do something about it. You share your soul with as many people you can, be kind, understand that there are those who are not as strong as you, and you be there for them.
I've seen you since you were a child, it's all you ever wanted to do. Help people. You can't help me. That's okay, I wouldn't let you if you could anyway. But you can help others. Go and heal others, and you'll heal yourself.
I'll always be here for you, in your memories and in that tight feeling in your chest. But I like to think I've taught you well, so go and be there for others.
I love you. I'm sorry. | |
[wp] "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone." | -122
He laid in bed. The leds pulled at his skin, and the tape holding the wires and tubes in place itched.
"Do you remember that Sunday after your folks divorced." She asked.
He quietly smacked his lips, slow and with purpose. He swallowed gently and gave her a weak lethargic smile. She sat on the edge of the bed between the nurse and doctor and held his hand. "You were . . ." He breathed shallowly. "You were wearing the yellow dress." He said, smiling. "With the blue flowers."
"Yes." She laughed, bending low to kiss his fingers. He saw that she was crying and reached up to wipe away her tears.
"Careful, Walter. You can't move. It's important." The doctor told him, leaning forward to adjust the equipment one last time. Walter reluctantly lowered his arm and lay it beside him on the bed.
"Sorry, Doc. I was just saying good-bye." He murmured quietly.
"Walter, you're not going to die." The doctor told him.
He wanted to shake his head and laugh, but instead, he just moved his eyes to hers. They knew the truth.
"The rain was warm. You remember that, Walter?" She asked.
"I do. I remember dancing with you, surrounded by flowers and limbs laden and bent from the weight of too much rain. Your hair was plastered, dark and dreadful. Your sundress clung to your body, and I . . ." he swallowed and felt his eyes droop with exhaustion. "fell in love. I've loved you all my life. I loved you." He felt tears spill from his eyes and sneak down his cheek and chin and slide beneath his collar.
"Okay, Walter." The doctor told him. "It is very important that you don't move or talk."
"Will it hurt?" Walter asked.
"You won't feel a thing." The nurse assured him, taking his hand.
"You're going to miss me when I'm gone." The girl whispered, standing up.
He wanted to say good-bye, but the nurse placed a finger across his lips and shook her head. He blinked to let her know he understood and looked back to the girl. She smiled and backed away further. He felt different and closed his eyes as whatever the doctor was doing took effect. He felt pressure but no pain. It went on for several minutes. Walter kept his eyes closed. He felt part of him slipping away, like slowly having having a skein peeled away, then with a victorious groan and grunt, the doctor exhaled in relief.
"Got it." He said simply. Walter waited for the nausceous feeling to go away before opening his eyes.
"She's gone." Walter groaned, fighting the burning sensation he knew would end in body wracking sobs.
"I know, Walter. Without the tumor, the hallucinations will stop." The doctor told him soothingly.
"But, I loved her." He cried quietly. "All my life." He couldn't stop the tears.
The nurse swallowed the lump in her throat and took her patient's hand. "I'm sorry." She whispered.
"If we had waited . . ." The doctor said, leaving it hanging. Walter pulled the nurses hand up and kissed it and cried some more. She gave him a brief hug and released his hand so she could start removing the halo holding his head still. "You still have the memories." The doctor told him in an attempt to console him. Walter continued sobbing long after and fell asleep with his tears drying on his cheeks.
She had been right. He did miss her. | You're gonna miss me when I'm gone.
Or didn't you think about that? That one day I'd just up and leave? Screw you. Everything always has to go your way huh? Doesn't it? You're a self-centered asshole and I'm leaving. I'm done. Family? You try to tell me that family is important? Fuck you.
You know where my family is? My family is a country away. My family, my *friends* are sitting across several state lines and one border.
So I'm leaving. I've tossed all my shit in the car and I'm getting the hell out of here. You wanna stop me? Go ahead and try. I'm eighteen, you bastard. I turned eighteen today. You didn't even remember your own son's birthday, you spastic fucker.
You, with the drinking and the drugs and the alcohol and the beatings.
Oh, by the way? I'm taking Lilly, too. You know, your daughter. My sister? She's older then I am, but you still treat her like shit. You treat everyone like shit. Fuck you.
So we're leaving. Who's gonna clean up your messes now, huh? Who's gonna do the dishes, cook the food, clean the house, who's gonna slave away for you now?
I'm not sorry that I'm leaving you at all. I hope you burn in hell.
Fuck you.
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone. | |
[wp] "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone." | The first time I saw you, I thought you were ugly as shit. You've got a crooked nose and you know it. Don't hate it too much, your reflection will keep you company. Plus you have really shiny hair, I saw that the second time around, when it caught fire. You always had a certain incendiary charm about you. Then the next time and forever, I saw your eyes, and in your eyes I saw not love, not color, not a clue to your innermost thoughts, not the depths of your soul and neither some sappy poetry, I just kinda sorta saw my whole life. My whole damn life, you know? Everything I am, everything I ever was or will be. Listen up, it's all lost now. It's all gone. I'm dying and I'm scared. I wanna see you again but then I might not see anything, or I might just see heaven and that'd be such a let down because I want to see our life together, just one more time.
And you don't even know it, but it's fading from your eyes. You're gonna miss me when I'm gone because I'm what's missing in you. I'm the empty spot on your bed and the quiet in your friday night and the cold in the palm of your hand and the lips unkissed and the ringless finger and half the baby that never was and just one less promise.
I'm part of you. Look, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone, you will, but when you amputate something, you have to... to learn to fulfill that limb's tasks with what remains - and my task was always to make you happy, every single day of my life. I'm failing today, aren't I? I'm making you cry now, aren't I?
I'm sorry. I'm selfish. I kinda want to be missed. | You're gonna miss me when I'm gone.
Or didn't you think about that? That one day I'd just up and leave? Screw you. Everything always has to go your way huh? Doesn't it? You're a self-centered asshole and I'm leaving. I'm done. Family? You try to tell me that family is important? Fuck you.
You know where my family is? My family is a country away. My family, my *friends* are sitting across several state lines and one border.
So I'm leaving. I've tossed all my shit in the car and I'm getting the hell out of here. You wanna stop me? Go ahead and try. I'm eighteen, you bastard. I turned eighteen today. You didn't even remember your own son's birthday, you spastic fucker.
You, with the drinking and the drugs and the alcohol and the beatings.
Oh, by the way? I'm taking Lilly, too. You know, your daughter. My sister? She's older then I am, but you still treat her like shit. You treat everyone like shit. Fuck you.
So we're leaving. Who's gonna clean up your messes now, huh? Who's gonna do the dishes, cook the food, clean the house, who's gonna slave away for you now?
I'm not sorry that I'm leaving you at all. I hope you burn in hell.
Fuck you.
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone. | |
[wp] "You're gonna miss me when I'm gone." | -122
He laid in bed. The leds pulled at his skin, and the tape holding the wires and tubes in place itched.
"Do you remember that Sunday after your folks divorced." She asked.
He quietly smacked his lips, slow and with purpose. He swallowed gently and gave her a weak lethargic smile. She sat on the edge of the bed between the nurse and doctor and held his hand. "You were . . ." He breathed shallowly. "You were wearing the yellow dress." He said, smiling. "With the blue flowers."
"Yes." She laughed, bending low to kiss his fingers. He saw that she was crying and reached up to wipe away her tears.
"Careful, Walter. You can't move. It's important." The doctor told him, leaning forward to adjust the equipment one last time. Walter reluctantly lowered his arm and lay it beside him on the bed.
"Sorry, Doc. I was just saying good-bye." He murmured quietly.
"Walter, you're not going to die." The doctor told him.
He wanted to shake his head and laugh, but instead, he just moved his eyes to hers. They knew the truth.
"The rain was warm. You remember that, Walter?" She asked.
"I do. I remember dancing with you, surrounded by flowers and limbs laden and bent from the weight of too much rain. Your hair was plastered, dark and dreadful. Your sundress clung to your body, and I . . ." he swallowed and felt his eyes droop with exhaustion. "fell in love. I've loved you all my life. I loved you." He felt tears spill from his eyes and sneak down his cheek and chin and slide beneath his collar.
"Okay, Walter." The doctor told him. "It is very important that you don't move or talk."
"Will it hurt?" Walter asked.
"You won't feel a thing." The nurse assured him, taking his hand.
"You're going to miss me when I'm gone." The girl whispered, standing up.
He wanted to say good-bye, but the nurse placed a finger across his lips and shook her head. He blinked to let her know he understood and looked back to the girl. She smiled and backed away further. He felt different and closed his eyes as whatever the doctor was doing took effect. He felt pressure but no pain. It went on for several minutes. Walter kept his eyes closed. He felt part of him slipping away, like slowly having having a skein peeled away, then with a victorious groan and grunt, the doctor exhaled in relief.
"Got it." He said simply. Walter waited for the nausceous feeling to go away before opening his eyes.
"She's gone." Walter groaned, fighting the burning sensation he knew would end in body wracking sobs.
"I know, Walter. Without the tumor, the hallucinations will stop." The doctor told him soothingly.
"But, I loved her." He cried quietly. "All my life." He couldn't stop the tears.
The nurse swallowed the lump in her throat and took her patient's hand. "I'm sorry." She whispered.
"If we had waited . . ." The doctor said, leaving it hanging. Walter pulled the nurses hand up and kissed it and cried some more. She gave him a brief hug and released his hand so she could start removing the halo holding his head still. "You still have the memories." The doctor told him in an attempt to console him. Walter continued sobbing long after and fell asleep with his tears drying on his cheeks.
She had been right. He did miss her. | It's hell, sitting here staring down the barrel of this gun. I can see it, the rifling, twisting. My eyes flick lazily to the sight, then down to the fingers on the grip, then to the face of the person holding it.
"You gonna say it, or do I gotta say it...?" I ask.
"Shut up," she hisses, hand starting to shake a little. These chains are tight, real tight. Damn things are biting into my skin. This is not a good night, not at all. First, I get the call that there's a god damn La Gomera undead in damned San Francisco of all things. "Shut up, Mark. Shut the fuck up."
She's crying, crying a lot. It's not pretty, looking at my sister like this. Monster hunters. We're supposed to be monster hunters, the best damn monster hunters out there. We can do anything together.
Except what I need most right now.
Even we can't do that.
"Sis, you gotta say it. Say it, or you'll regret saying nothing. Cold emptiness is going to do nothing but fuck you up in the head."
The bite hurt like hell.
God damn fire. Civilians trying to play hero, throwing damned molotovs. God, these fuckin' chains. God, this fuckin' bite. It can't possibly hurt any worse, it's a burning throbbing ache and it smells like a cess pool.
"I don't want to say it!" she shouts, taking the gun off my face. I raised her. Parents dead when she was six years old. I was sixteen. Got a job, brought her up. Found out about monster hunting, and together we got into the game. Made money, got ourselves set up nice and rich. Got guns, got body armor.
But the fire burned a damned hole in my pants leg. Burned the flesh too. Some god damned zed got a fuckin' well cooked meal. Sealed pants leg and it burned right through because zombies aren't supposed to use fire, they never are. Not even the mutated fuckers, they use acid at worst.
"Someone's got to say it. We treat each other... like siblings do, and we fight all the time, but you gotta say this sis... someone's got to, or you're going to... lose it. This world can't lose you, no way, not the best damn hunter I've ever seen. Say it while I'm still here sis."
"No! No, god damn it! What if someone... finds a way, a... a cure!?"
"They ain't gonna do it in the next ten minutes. Look at the wound... I can smell it, and... I bet I'm in stage two," I tell her, taking a shuddering breath. Heat feels like it's in my head now. God damn it's hard to focus... blurry vision... shit. "This is... La Gomera shit, sis... no cure, no treatment..."
She's sobbing so hard now. The worst part is by the time we noticed I was already losing control of my body... can't hold a gun, or I'd blow myself away... only a registered hunter can execute a living infected person... Guards all around, outside the quarantine room...
"I don't... God damn it, I don't want to say it! You say it!"
"Put the gun against my head. I'll say what you need to say, or hear, and as soon as I'm done... you pull the trigger," I manage, breathless. "I ain't got much time and I wanna die with some sort of dignity. You gotta do this before I turn."
"Bro, I..."
"What are we, sis?" I demand. God damn it, I can feel it, parasitic fucking things... hurts... vision is getting reddish about the edges... damn...
"Hunters, but-"
"Why do we do the job!?"
"Because... because..."
Need to hurry this up. Can't turn. She sees me like that it'll cripple her mentally against all such... fucking things in the future...
"Why do we do the job!? Tell me!" I shout hoarsely.
"Because it has to be done!" she roars in reply.
"And!?"
A moment of silence.
"And because we like it. Because we have no other skills. Because we're... because someone has to do it, and... because if we don't, people die."
"Now... now, knuckle up, shoot me, and then go home to your girlfriend and cry. Take a few weeks off, hate everything a while, then move on, got it?"
Another long silence. Heart beating wrong... this pain, all down my left arm. She won't look me in the eye.
Her hand is still shaking when she points the pistol at my face. Her other hand rises to check her hazmat mask and goggles, to make sure they're sealed. The barrel touches my forehead... shit, I have one hell of a fever, it feels like ice...
"Say it, then. Say it for me. I always had trouble saying..."
Her feelings. Therapy helped but she still ain't good at talking about emotions. But I know here like the back of my hand. I know what she feels.
"You love... me. You hate me for leaving you alone, just like mom and dad did. You forgive me for the bullshit. I love you too, sis, I surely do. Oh, and as much as we fight, and you think I'm a jacka-" I'm cut off by a cough, a hacking cough. Blood flecks my pantlegs. Stage three... fever, red vision, uncontrollable coughing, he... hemo... hemopt... coughing up blood. "The point is, you're going to miss me... when I'm gone..."
Her finger is tightening on the trig-
(Hm. Tried. Ehn.) | |
[wp] examine a Redditor of your choice's comment history as if you are a film noir detective. | Please keep in mind Rule 2 located on the sidebar ------>
Top teir replies must be stories.
"DO ME" is not a story. They have all been removed. | "Mister?" a tinny female voice from across the room inquired.
I looked up and was greeted by my perky-breasted secretary.
"We need you to examine this Reddit account. We suspect he's an SP." she said.
"A shitposter? We see those on the daily, what makes this guy so special?"
"He's crossed the HKM."
"Some shitposting dog actually broke a hundred thousand? Did he start posting on the Century Club?"
"No sir. But the potential to influence this site still lies in his hands."
"I'll pry that privilege off his grimy paws, dead or alive."
When she left I opened my cabinet and took out a pack of smokes. I would need one.
First, I checked his recent comments. Some witty reply to a /r/lewronggeneration fucker on /r/gaming. Some comments from /r/HipHopHeads, and a few from /r/Montageparodies, /r/Games, and /r/PS4.
He was a 'hippy hop' fan *as well* as a console peasant? She was right, this scum was a true shitposter.
I wanted to see what contributed to the bulk of his karma. I wanted to see the 'thanks for gold!' and the countless edits.
I was not disappointed.
Useless replies, overused macros, and shitty stories filled my monitor. It was horrifying. He even lied and said he was the CEO of some 'hippy hop' company.
After the initial shock I poured myself a drink and grabbed another smoke.
Did I want to foray into the dark world of controversial sorting?
I did.
More stupid 'hippy hop' and video game opinions. This perp was an unending pile of shit. He even used to watch some children's show about unicorns or something. Sick bastard.
I clicked the red x in the corner and took another swig of my drink. I was going to get this shitposter. What was that fucker's name again? I double clicked chrome and went back through my history to bring the pages back.
/u/ThatParanoidPenguin. That was his name. | |
[wp] examine a Redditor of your choice's comment history as if you are a film noir detective. | Something's fishy.
I scroll through my phone, looking for justice. The crime seemed too dastardly for anyone on this site to ever commit. Two users. Doxxed. No answers. It had to be an alt account, it was created 3 days ago. But why, and who? My thumb swipes the screen and there he is. I have a strong feeling growing inside me, a hunch. the last time my hunch was wrong was the old Boston Marathon case. I mouth his name as I scroll through his comment history.
"Vargas."
I seek internet justice, which is justice in its truest form. No people, only users. Users that risk their accounts to doxx the helpless. You sick scum, I'll get you.
6 days ago. "They are both pretty large men. Maybe take them one at a time."
Obviously he's talking about how he will only try and reveal the identity of one user at a time. Look at him, practically admitting to the crime in one single comment. A couple more compromising replies and I will have him shadowbanned.
9 days ago. "Yes, let's queue up in an orderly fashion so that we can all get a crack at her."
This is torture. He is flaunting his guilty status in front of me like a bully who won't give me my Ken doll back. No matter. He will pay for this inconsiderate molestation of two helpless Redditors accounts.
"Wait."
I gasp when I see it. The biggest Reddit conspiracy of all time has shown itself to me and only me. I will become an internet hero with his own detective series. The comment is self explanatory to me, but others must have missed it.
9 days ago. "Maybe I am Unidan?
*gasp*."
I rush to my laptop. I can pick any random subreddit, it won't matter. I'll be on the front page in about twenty minutes. I click on /r/news and start a self post. After an hour of furious typing, I see my magnum opus.
"BREAKING NEWS! Vargas is Unidan. They have both been doxxing everyone they can find on this site. I urge the top Reddit mods to shadowban immediately- details inside."
I will be famous in a few minutes, I just have to promise that I will change for the bet-
-1
No.
-3
No..
-8
No!
-29
NO!!!!!!!!!!!
I send /u/_vargas_ a pm.
"I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY! Goodbye Unidan."
The gun fits perfectly in my mouth.
| (*Note: the author apologizes for the quality of his similes and metaphors.*)
The case had been given to me by a large dame who could've been the prize sow on any hog farm. It was pretty simple: she'd told me there was a guy around her neighborhood who was making her feel downright uncomfortable. I'd taken a drag on my cigar and told the broad I'd do it -- for a price.
She'd come into my office last Wednesday for the meeting I'd asked her for. Grasped between her fat sausage-like fingers was a stack of papers.
"Here's what I've been able to gather, detective," she said, her voice about as pleasant to listen to as a cat in heat having a fight with out-of-tune guitar. "He likes to frequent an online forum. He posts there a lot, and I thought maybe you could gimme the inside scoop on him."
"What's the forum?" I ask, blowing smoke out of the corner of my mouth.
"Reddit," she'd replied.
I knew the place. Reddit. It was a hive of idiocy, mostly, a gathering of dimwits with a few smarties sprinkled into the mix.
"I hate that place. You'd better have a good reason, and a good chunk of dough to hand over if you want me to do the job, lady."
She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope that was almost as fat as her. She dropped it onto the desk with a loud thud. "Does the reason really matter?"
--------------------
Two days later, I was on the case. I'd opened the file to be greeted by name in large black letters, a name only a mother could love:
**/u/tomutwit.**
And beside that, a barely legible handwritten note:
*Lemme know what he's been up to. I'd like to keep an eye on him.*
I knew what tool I would need for this case: a laptop. I took out my trusty old one -- it weighed more than a blue whale and had probably been used by Neanderthals, but it got the job done. Plus, no one would ever think to look on it to see what a detective like me was up to.
I snooped around his profile for a bit. Hmm. Looked like he liked to write, too. Was in charge of a few communities, and was exceptionally proud of being named Tom. Liked to run around AskReddit and play Minecraft. Nothing too strange. What was the fat broad's beef with this guy?
I poked around a little more, and then I found what I was looking for. He'd begun to craft a secret code, one that would have been very difficult to crack. But I had found the key.
August 30, 2013. He'd let himself slip, [revealing what the code meant](http://www.reddit.com/r/teenagers/comments/1ldovs/shit_guys_theyve_figured_out_our_secret_code/cbyaunb?context=3).
> LDIU
> Lets Do It Unprotected
It wasn't really all that bad though. I began to have suspicions about the lady who'd tasked me with the assignment...
------------
She came back in next Monday, a cow in a floral dress.
"So," she asked, "what'd you find?"
"Lady," I said, taking a puff of my cigar. I was amazed it still hadn't gone out after having been smoking it for almost a week. "I got a question for you."
"Go ahead."
"Why'd ya want me to spy on this kid?"
"I... er... well, I just needed to know what he was up to!"
"He's just a normal teenager, lady. Plays Minecraft, likes to write, so on."
"No! I know there has to be something more!"
"Do you... Ms. Utwit?"
She gasped. "That's right," I said. "Don't think you can try to pull one over on the greatest detective to ever live. I did find something, but you'll have to look for yourself if you want to know what it is. Don't come back here with any more dirty work, Ms. Utwit. Next time you want someone to spy on your son for you, hire someone with a little less integrity." I took another puff on my cigar as she stood there, shocked. "Now get out of my office."
(*Sorry, this was kinda awful.*)
| |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | As is walked into the Oval Office for the very first time, it hit me. There were secrets, things is till didn't know about the very country I was elected to lead. There were secrets kept even from me, the highest authority. I felt that after years of climbing the ladder I had earned the right to know. I picked up my phone, feeling in my hand the power that could be exerted by this one small cord bound device sitting on the top of my desk. I phoned the chief of staff.
"Get me my cabinet and their top people. I'm talking CIA directors, four star generals, whatever Hillary Clinton is right now, just get me people who know stuff."
"Yes sir."
This was the only response I would accept.
I waited for them to arrive. By three thirty, the conference room was awash with the most powerful people in he Western World. I sat them down, quickly establishing my dominance within the group. They may have the experience, but they're worked for me now. I stood up, ready to press upon them the question that had been so bothering me.
"Ladies and gentlemen", I boomed, demanding a response.
"If the aliens never crashed at Roswell, who is gonna fess up and tell me what the hell we're really keeping at Area 51."
A man in military dress stood up. His uniform identified him as a senior Air Force official, but I had never met him before.
The man introduced himself as General Jeffrey Adams, the head of all USAF covert operations.
"We had a felling you would want to know" , General Adams continued, "so we prepared a file."
General Adams placed a thin Manila folder with the Air Force seal on the table.
"Sir, with all due respect, this is a national secret. You may never speak to anyone about this, understood. In his folder are the photographs of the most sensitive subjects currently held by the United States. You cannot unsee this information."
I opened the folder, and nearly dropped to the floor. in the folder were three photos. The genetically modified pink lettuce and two headed llama caught my attention, but it was the third photo that shook me to my core. In a comfortably finished space, seated on a tufted pedestal, was the living, breathing Tupac Shakur.
| “President Anders, we have something quite important we must discuss before you may proceed. Please follow me.”
Deep beneath the Pentagon, President Anders followed his primary security adviser and two guards into what appeared to be a simple dark blue room with grid-like patterns on the walls and a large meeting table. Seated were the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff along with a handful of men he had never seen before. Once everyone took their seats, the doors were locked shut and the grid-like pattern on the walls seemingly turned on to emanate a faint, almost unnoticeable green glow. One of the unidentified men stood up with nothing but a remote in his hand and began to talk in a stern voice.
“Mr. President, what I am about to tell you is without a doubt the most important thing to happen to our world in years. I advise you listen and you listen carefully because this is something that has been in the making for over 120 years. I will not go into the details of who founded our cause and organization but I will explain what it is, what your role is, and what will happen.”
“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt but I would appreciate an introduction.,” asked the President.
“My name is David Stevenson and I am the head of a rather special organization with a very specific agenda. You have never heard of us, you have never heard our name, but you have met many of our powerful members unknowingly and I can guarantee that.”
Everyone in the room but the president had the same look on their faces. They all looked like they had heard this explanation hundreds of times before. The president sat there expecting more explanations for trivial conspiracies of the past.
David clicked a button on the remote and a verdant hologram of a Dutch hotel was floating above the center of the table.
“Bilderburg, 1955. I’m sure you have heard of it Mr. President. Some of the world’s most powerful leaders gathered here to discuss various topics and agendas. A select few of these individuals who’s identities have been erased, never to be disclosed, with their supreme understanding of the world and immense wealth founded a secret organization with the most powerful of agendas. Their reach grew exponentially and absolutely no one knows of it’s existence except their members. No one has defected, no one can. We have members in almost every 1st world nation and countless others, many of which who are in very powerful positions. Of course there are other occasions during which most of our organization’s agenda and structure are discussed. Obviously you are aware of the Bohemian Grove which provides perfect cover for more serious matters but I will continue with what is more important. Simply put Mr. President, we are the organization responsible for planning the world’s integration into a single nation, a single government, a single force.”
The president slowly put down the coffee he was sipping and smiled. “You’re kidding right? What is this? An inaugration joke?,” he asked laughing.
“Mr. President I can assure you this is no joke. Let me be very clear, there are no options when it comes to what I am telling you.,” said David
The president’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. What about all the people who are going to be absolutely opposed to this? Think of all the new world order nutjobs who are going to have a field day. Riots will break out everywhere! And if no one other than your members know, why are you telling me this?,” exclaimed the President.
“I am telling you this only because you are the new president that is in office during our most crucial phase of the agenda. Your opposing candidate, he was unfit for the task however your Vice President, well we’ll discuss what will happen should you chose foolishly to not comply. And don’t worry, we will cover the resistance we will face in a minute Mr. President.”
“VP Castle? What’s his involvement in all this?,” Anders inquired.
“Fine Mr. President, I’ll just tell you now. The Vice President has been a member since 2050. It would be very easy for us to do what we did in 2046 to you and have Castle carry out the operation. We are giving you this chance because we know you are a reasonable, smart man Mr. President. Now please, if I may continue.”
The President sat back in his chair watching intently. David clicked yet another button and the image of the hologram morphed into a rotating image of the globe. As he clicked yet another button, blue and red blips began appearing all over the rotating Earth.
“Mr. President those blue blips represent governments, companies, militaries, etcetera etcetera that we have members within and potential influence over. The red blips in particular represent military assets and weapons that are fully equipped and under our control. Again, I stress no one outside of our organization knows of these assets. We have been covertly militarizing, using our funds into creating some of the best military equipment that is ready to be utilized. Before I continue, I will say this. We have tried Mr. President, we have tried to create utopias. We planned to create an isolated utopia but none of it would work. This is our only option as a human race to thrive and survive.”
“What are you saying Mr. Stevenson? What is the point of all this weaponry? Whatever happened to Democracy, to honor? No more bullshit, I want answers now.,” said the president, his mind racing with the possibilities of what Stevenson had just said.
“Democracy only works if the populace are smart enough to understand what is right, not what is comfortable for them at the moment. I will explain everything, please just listen.,” David said as he changed the hologram yet again, this time with simulated flight paths of military aircraft and sea vessels to different locations all over the globe.
“There will be many who oppose us, I would expect the majority of people to oppose us in fact. However the truth is, we know what we are doing is right. We have planned this, done the research, put in the years and years of work and we know that this is right. There will be very specific rules in this nation that ensure the survival of our species. It’s simply social natural selection, we are providing for our species to move on and thrive. Earth can only last us so long, then the next planet, then the next, then who knows. My point is, we have formulated the perfect agenda to bring about not only the creation of this great new nation, but we have thought ahead to prolong our species. Now you asked about the weapons. This is where you come in Mr. President. You are now part of our Spearhead Phase, the single moment when we reveal to the world what our plans are. We have had enough conspiring, planning, slow manipulation, and playing puppet masters to the world. It is during your presidency when we can begin shaping the new world. Your Generals all know about this and have prepared as well as your predecessor, hell it would be easier for me to tell you who here doesn't know about this. ”
President Anders sat there silently watching the simulation hologram as never before seen military aircraft swarmed the world's skies, surrounding any and every nation in a gridlock of military superiority. He watched as colossal sea vessels traveled along projected routes deploying more aircraft and vehicles onto the various countries. As he watched the hologram he attempted to grasp the immensity of such a perfectly orchestrated plan all while questioning his own morals as not only a President, but a human being.
“Don’t worry Mr. President...once it is all completed it will be a fair world, no religion, no war, no crime, just progression, evolution and ascendance. A quick sequence of war to end all future conflict and ensure our future is bright. Our future will be bright Mr. President.”
“Shall we begin?"
To be continued...
| |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | The leader of the armies was very tall. He was the tallest in his class of '95 at the elite army school of New York and everyone always told him he was very tall.
"You're very tall, Army Leader One", said the President, suggestively.
The President was 72 years old and was elected last week after he promised to end the robot wars that had ravaged his nation of US since the last 5 years. Really though he did not want to end the war because he earned money from making lasers.
"It's bum bum time Mr President", said Army Leader One.
"What does that mean?"
"It is a secret that only the army and the president are allowed to know".
"Show me".
Army Leader One reached for his chin and grabbed tightly to the skin. It was a mask! He pulled it off, up over his head, revealing that his head was actually a solid bum, a male bottom, his rear end. The man was an arse head.
"What".
"Mr President, everyone in the army has a bum for a head. It's part of the initiation following basic training". Army Leader One was speaking from some sort of voice box located in the sphincter, at least that was the best guess the 72 year old president could make.
"Right. Should I be doing anything now?", replied Mr President.
"No, not really".
"Cool ok".
| “President Anders, we have something quite important we must discuss before you may proceed. Please follow me.”
Deep beneath the Pentagon, President Anders followed his primary security adviser and two guards into what appeared to be a simple dark blue room with grid-like patterns on the walls and a large meeting table. Seated were the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff along with a handful of men he had never seen before. Once everyone took their seats, the doors were locked shut and the grid-like pattern on the walls seemingly turned on to emanate a faint, almost unnoticeable green glow. One of the unidentified men stood up with nothing but a remote in his hand and began to talk in a stern voice.
“Mr. President, what I am about to tell you is without a doubt the most important thing to happen to our world in years. I advise you listen and you listen carefully because this is something that has been in the making for over 120 years. I will not go into the details of who founded our cause and organization but I will explain what it is, what your role is, and what will happen.”
“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt but I would appreciate an introduction.,” asked the President.
“My name is David Stevenson and I am the head of a rather special organization with a very specific agenda. You have never heard of us, you have never heard our name, but you have met many of our powerful members unknowingly and I can guarantee that.”
Everyone in the room but the president had the same look on their faces. They all looked like they had heard this explanation hundreds of times before. The president sat there expecting more explanations for trivial conspiracies of the past.
David clicked a button on the remote and a verdant hologram of a Dutch hotel was floating above the center of the table.
“Bilderburg, 1955. I’m sure you have heard of it Mr. President. Some of the world’s most powerful leaders gathered here to discuss various topics and agendas. A select few of these individuals who’s identities have been erased, never to be disclosed, with their supreme understanding of the world and immense wealth founded a secret organization with the most powerful of agendas. Their reach grew exponentially and absolutely no one knows of it’s existence except their members. No one has defected, no one can. We have members in almost every 1st world nation and countless others, many of which who are in very powerful positions. Of course there are other occasions during which most of our organization’s agenda and structure are discussed. Obviously you are aware of the Bohemian Grove which provides perfect cover for more serious matters but I will continue with what is more important. Simply put Mr. President, we are the organization responsible for planning the world’s integration into a single nation, a single government, a single force.”
The president slowly put down the coffee he was sipping and smiled. “You’re kidding right? What is this? An inaugration joke?,” he asked laughing.
“Mr. President I can assure you this is no joke. Let me be very clear, there are no options when it comes to what I am telling you.,” said David
The president’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. What about all the people who are going to be absolutely opposed to this? Think of all the new world order nutjobs who are going to have a field day. Riots will break out everywhere! And if no one other than your members know, why are you telling me this?,” exclaimed the President.
“I am telling you this only because you are the new president that is in office during our most crucial phase of the agenda. Your opposing candidate, he was unfit for the task however your Vice President, well we’ll discuss what will happen should you chose foolishly to not comply. And don’t worry, we will cover the resistance we will face in a minute Mr. President.”
“VP Castle? What’s his involvement in all this?,” Anders inquired.
“Fine Mr. President, I’ll just tell you now. The Vice President has been a member since 2050. It would be very easy for us to do what we did in 2046 to you and have Castle carry out the operation. We are giving you this chance because we know you are a reasonable, smart man Mr. President. Now please, if I may continue.”
The President sat back in his chair watching intently. David clicked yet another button and the image of the hologram morphed into a rotating image of the globe. As he clicked yet another button, blue and red blips began appearing all over the rotating Earth.
“Mr. President those blue blips represent governments, companies, militaries, etcetera etcetera that we have members within and potential influence over. The red blips in particular represent military assets and weapons that are fully equipped and under our control. Again, I stress no one outside of our organization knows of these assets. We have been covertly militarizing, using our funds into creating some of the best military equipment that is ready to be utilized. Before I continue, I will say this. We have tried Mr. President, we have tried to create utopias. We planned to create an isolated utopia but none of it would work. This is our only option as a human race to thrive and survive.”
“What are you saying Mr. Stevenson? What is the point of all this weaponry? Whatever happened to Democracy, to honor? No more bullshit, I want answers now.,” said the president, his mind racing with the possibilities of what Stevenson had just said.
“Democracy only works if the populace are smart enough to understand what is right, not what is comfortable for them at the moment. I will explain everything, please just listen.,” David said as he changed the hologram yet again, this time with simulated flight paths of military aircraft and sea vessels to different locations all over the globe.
“There will be many who oppose us, I would expect the majority of people to oppose us in fact. However the truth is, we know what we are doing is right. We have planned this, done the research, put in the years and years of work and we know that this is right. There will be very specific rules in this nation that ensure the survival of our species. It’s simply social natural selection, we are providing for our species to move on and thrive. Earth can only last us so long, then the next planet, then the next, then who knows. My point is, we have formulated the perfect agenda to bring about not only the creation of this great new nation, but we have thought ahead to prolong our species. Now you asked about the weapons. This is where you come in Mr. President. You are now part of our Spearhead Phase, the single moment when we reveal to the world what our plans are. We have had enough conspiring, planning, slow manipulation, and playing puppet masters to the world. It is during your presidency when we can begin shaping the new world. Your Generals all know about this and have prepared as well as your predecessor, hell it would be easier for me to tell you who here doesn't know about this. ”
President Anders sat there silently watching the simulation hologram as never before seen military aircraft swarmed the world's skies, surrounding any and every nation in a gridlock of military superiority. He watched as colossal sea vessels traveled along projected routes deploying more aircraft and vehicles onto the various countries. As he watched the hologram he attempted to grasp the immensity of such a perfectly orchestrated plan all while questioning his own morals as not only a President, but a human being.
“Don’t worry Mr. President...once it is all completed it will be a fair world, no religion, no war, no crime, just progression, evolution and ascendance. A quick sequence of war to end all future conflict and ensure our future is bright. Our future will be bright Mr. President.”
“Shall we begin?"
To be continued...
| |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | “HI, NELSON.” He sat there looking like an arrogant teenage hipster with anger issues. As I stared at him, still mostly disbelieving, a deep sense of revulsion began to swell in my intestines.
"This is... He is not." I stared at my orientation coordinator, Greg, with a hanging, idiotic face.
"I think I need you to explain this again."
"Yes sir. This is God."
I was trying to assimilate an entire day of non-stop information flow. Now, I seemed to be hallucinating. A few minutes earlier, Greg had been leading me through the final stages of my White House tour. My inauguration had been merely hours earlier in frigid northeastern weather, though I could barely feel the icy air through all the adrenaline pumping through me. Soon after I met Greg, who began my exhausting tour of the white house. Room after room of smiling, applauding people. I was exhausted. My face was exhausted. My right hand was exhausted. The Oval Office was the last stop and my excitement for that first sit-down in the big chair was rivaled only by my desire for sleep. Two sizable secret service agents opened the double doors before me. I was immediately crestfallen, however, when Greg hurried past me.
"We can't stop here, sir, there's one last thing we need to do." Greg walked up to a bookshelf, pulled back a handful of books. He was apparently manipulating some small keypad. A moment later, there was an audible hydraulic gas release and the entire wooden panel next to the book shelf pushed forward and then jerked off to the left, revealing a hidden concrete passageway and steel spiral staircase.
I tried to keep pace with Greg as he disappeared down the staircase. At the bottom, another long passageway led us towards a well-lit doorway, which in turn opened into a great white room. At the rear center of this room stood the only discernible object in the room, a golden throne supporting an obnoxious teenage kid, spikey blond hair, blue eyes, dressed in all black. He was wearing some kind of… heavy metal? T-shirt. Lots of fire, blood, some band name I’d never heard of… “Underoath”?
“APPARENTLY YOU ARE HAVING A HARD TIME PUTTING THIS ALL TOGETHER, NELSON. IT’S OK. I KNOW IT’S PROBABLY MY FAULT FOR MAKING YOU A LITTLE SLOW.” I snapped back to the present, realizing I had just been addressed telepathically by, God?
“I’m not, I mean, I never have been that slow.” I responded carefully, trying to resist showing my growing concern.
“JUST FUCKING WITH YOU A LITTLE, NELSON, IT’S COOL. SEE WHAT I MEAN? SLOW.”
“I’ve been an atheist all my life. I’m having a pretty hard time making sense of this at the moment.”
“I KNOW NELSON. I’M STILL STRONGLY LEANING TOWARDS HELL FOR YOU.” A playful smile crept over his face.
“I-I don’t understand. Why are you a teenage kid?”
“THE WHOLE IMMORTALITY THING IS NOT EXACTLY ACCURATE. APPARENTLY I JUST HAVE A REALLY REALLY LONG LIFE. LOTS OF KNOWLEDGE. SHITTY HORMONES. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.”
“Wait wait wait. So the Bible is... Real?”
“YEAH MOST OF IT. I WAS PRETTY YOUNG FOR A LOT OF IT THOUGH. I WAS ONLY LIKE 5 WHEN THE WHOLE “LET THERE BE LIGHT” THING HAPPENED. I WAS LIKE 6 WHEN I HAD THE WHOLE NOAH AND THE FLOOD TEMPER TANTRUM. MADE SURE HE SAVED ALL THE GIRAFFES AND LIONS THOUGH. I WAS LAME BACK THEN."
"So the earth is... How old?" My brain was furiously sorting through the mass of contradictions in Christianity, trying to find some kind of proof that this wasn't happening.
“YOUR YEARS? LIKE 5,000.”
“That’s not possible. Science. Dinosaurs.”
“HAHAHA SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE FALLEN FOR THAT SHIT. SOOO MANY SCIENTISTS IN HELL RIGHT NOW.”
"So... Hell is…"
"TOTALLY REAL. TOTALLY AWESOME. I MADE THAT WHEN I WAS 12, RIGHT AFTER JESUS. IT’S LIKE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST MOSH PIT."
"You... Made it? Why the f... Why?"
"HMM, IM STARTING TO SENSE YOU DONT LOVE ME ENOUGH, NELSON, SURE YOU DONT WANT TO LOVE ME A LITTLE HARDER?" His mouth broke into a toothy smile.
“How is this all.. happening?”
“I DON’T KNOW, I JUST THINK OF SHIT AND IT HAPPENS. I THOUGHT OF THIS WHOLE WORLD WHEN I WAS FIVE. WHY DO YOU THINK HUMANS ARE SO MISSHAPEN AND BULBOUS? FUNNY AS FUCK THOUGH SO I JUST LEFT YOU THAT WAY.”
“The Devil?”
“REAL. AND AWESOME.”
“So being Gay…”
“HELL. EWW.”
“Then why did you make it so that people could be gay???”
“I DUNNO…. I’M GETTING A LITTLE BORED NELSON.”
Greg interjected at that point. “Your holiness, may I suggest that you instruct Greg on what your priorities are for his presidency?”
“THANKS GREG, SURE. SO, NELSON. YOU HAVE THIS BIG FUCKING ARMY. I MADE SURE YOU DID. BASICALLY I WANT YOU TO GO OUT THERE AND TRY TO CONVERT/WIPE OUT ANYONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN ME. TRY TO HELP OUT EXXON WHEN YOU CAN ALSO. I FUCKING LOVE OIL. LOVE CARS. I’LL SHOW YOU MY LAMBO SOMETIME. TRY NOT TO USE NUKES CAUSE THAT FUCKS UP A LOT OF MY PLANS WHENEVER THAT HAPPENES, BUT IF YOU HAVE TO, WHATEVS. COOL EXPLOSION.”
“Uh, God…”
“IT’S “YOUR HOLINESS,” NELSON.”
Greg began to usher me back out of the room towards the stairwell. “Thank you for this audience, your holiness. I’ll make sure that he gets up to speed on the rest of your priorities and legacy.”
“READ THE BIBLE, NELSON, COVER TO COVER.” Every word out of his mouth deepened my sense of frightened disgust. As Greg and I approached the stairwell, I had the strongest desire to run, to leave the White House, to leave the country, to leave everything. I wanted to get away from this wretched new reality, find some escape to the feeling of autonomy I used to have, to the comfort of my old beliefs. Then, with a life altering pang of terror, it hit me: God is everywhere. | “President Anders, we have something quite important we must discuss before you may proceed. Please follow me.”
Deep beneath the Pentagon, President Anders followed his primary security adviser and two guards into what appeared to be a simple dark blue room with grid-like patterns on the walls and a large meeting table. Seated were the Secretary of Defense and the Joint Chiefs of Staff along with a handful of men he had never seen before. Once everyone took their seats, the doors were locked shut and the grid-like pattern on the walls seemingly turned on to emanate a faint, almost unnoticeable green glow. One of the unidentified men stood up with nothing but a remote in his hand and began to talk in a stern voice.
“Mr. President, what I am about to tell you is without a doubt the most important thing to happen to our world in years. I advise you listen and you listen carefully because this is something that has been in the making for over 120 years. I will not go into the details of who founded our cause and organization but I will explain what it is, what your role is, and what will happen.”
“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt but I would appreciate an introduction.,” asked the President.
“My name is David Stevenson and I am the head of a rather special organization with a very specific agenda. You have never heard of us, you have never heard our name, but you have met many of our powerful members unknowingly and I can guarantee that.”
Everyone in the room but the president had the same look on their faces. They all looked like they had heard this explanation hundreds of times before. The president sat there expecting more explanations for trivial conspiracies of the past.
David clicked a button on the remote and a verdant hologram of a Dutch hotel was floating above the center of the table.
“Bilderburg, 1955. I’m sure you have heard of it Mr. President. Some of the world’s most powerful leaders gathered here to discuss various topics and agendas. A select few of these individuals who’s identities have been erased, never to be disclosed, with their supreme understanding of the world and immense wealth founded a secret organization with the most powerful of agendas. Their reach grew exponentially and absolutely no one knows of it’s existence except their members. No one has defected, no one can. We have members in almost every 1st world nation and countless others, many of which who are in very powerful positions. Of course there are other occasions during which most of our organization’s agenda and structure are discussed. Obviously you are aware of the Bohemian Grove which provides perfect cover for more serious matters but I will continue with what is more important. Simply put Mr. President, we are the organization responsible for planning the world’s integration into a single nation, a single government, a single force.”
The president slowly put down the coffee he was sipping and smiled. “You’re kidding right? What is this? An inaugration joke?,” he asked laughing.
“Mr. President I can assure you this is no joke. Let me be very clear, there are no options when it comes to what I am telling you.,” said David
The president’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. What about all the people who are going to be absolutely opposed to this? Think of all the new world order nutjobs who are going to have a field day. Riots will break out everywhere! And if no one other than your members know, why are you telling me this?,” exclaimed the President.
“I am telling you this only because you are the new president that is in office during our most crucial phase of the agenda. Your opposing candidate, he was unfit for the task however your Vice President, well we’ll discuss what will happen should you chose foolishly to not comply. And don’t worry, we will cover the resistance we will face in a minute Mr. President.”
“VP Castle? What’s his involvement in all this?,” Anders inquired.
“Fine Mr. President, I’ll just tell you now. The Vice President has been a member since 2050. It would be very easy for us to do what we did in 2046 to you and have Castle carry out the operation. We are giving you this chance because we know you are a reasonable, smart man Mr. President. Now please, if I may continue.”
The President sat back in his chair watching intently. David clicked yet another button and the image of the hologram morphed into a rotating image of the globe. As he clicked yet another button, blue and red blips began appearing all over the rotating Earth.
“Mr. President those blue blips represent governments, companies, militaries, etcetera etcetera that we have members within and potential influence over. The red blips in particular represent military assets and weapons that are fully equipped and under our control. Again, I stress no one outside of our organization knows of these assets. We have been covertly militarizing, using our funds into creating some of the best military equipment that is ready to be utilized. Before I continue, I will say this. We have tried Mr. President, we have tried to create utopias. We planned to create an isolated utopia but none of it would work. This is our only option as a human race to thrive and survive.”
“What are you saying Mr. Stevenson? What is the point of all this weaponry? Whatever happened to Democracy, to honor? No more bullshit, I want answers now.,” said the president, his mind racing with the possibilities of what Stevenson had just said.
“Democracy only works if the populace are smart enough to understand what is right, not what is comfortable for them at the moment. I will explain everything, please just listen.,” David said as he changed the hologram yet again, this time with simulated flight paths of military aircraft and sea vessels to different locations all over the globe.
“There will be many who oppose us, I would expect the majority of people to oppose us in fact. However the truth is, we know what we are doing is right. We have planned this, done the research, put in the years and years of work and we know that this is right. There will be very specific rules in this nation that ensure the survival of our species. It’s simply social natural selection, we are providing for our species to move on and thrive. Earth can only last us so long, then the next planet, then the next, then who knows. My point is, we have formulated the perfect agenda to bring about not only the creation of this great new nation, but we have thought ahead to prolong our species. Now you asked about the weapons. This is where you come in Mr. President. You are now part of our Spearhead Phase, the single moment when we reveal to the world what our plans are. We have had enough conspiring, planning, slow manipulation, and playing puppet masters to the world. It is during your presidency when we can begin shaping the new world. Your Generals all know about this and have prepared as well as your predecessor, hell it would be easier for me to tell you who here doesn't know about this. ”
President Anders sat there silently watching the simulation hologram as never before seen military aircraft swarmed the world's skies, surrounding any and every nation in a gridlock of military superiority. He watched as colossal sea vessels traveled along projected routes deploying more aircraft and vehicles onto the various countries. As he watched the hologram he attempted to grasp the immensity of such a perfectly orchestrated plan all while questioning his own morals as not only a President, but a human being.
“Don’t worry Mr. President...once it is all completed it will be a fair world, no religion, no war, no crime, just progression, evolution and ascendance. A quick sequence of war to end all future conflict and ensure our future is bright. Our future will be bright Mr. President.”
“Shall we begin?"
To be continued...
| |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | The leader of the armies was very tall. He was the tallest in his class of '95 at the elite army school of New York and everyone always told him he was very tall.
"You're very tall, Army Leader One", said the President, suggestively.
The President was 72 years old and was elected last week after he promised to end the robot wars that had ravaged his nation of US since the last 5 years. Really though he did not want to end the war because he earned money from making lasers.
"It's bum bum time Mr President", said Army Leader One.
"What does that mean?"
"It is a secret that only the army and the president are allowed to know".
"Show me".
Army Leader One reached for his chin and grabbed tightly to the skin. It was a mask! He pulled it off, up over his head, revealing that his head was actually a solid bum, a male bottom, his rear end. The man was an arse head.
"What".
"Mr President, everyone in the army has a bum for a head. It's part of the initiation following basic training". Army Leader One was speaking from some sort of voice box located in the sphincter, at least that was the best guess the 72 year old president could make.
"Right. Should I be doing anything now?", replied Mr President.
"No, not really".
"Cool ok".
| "Mr. President, there's been a, um...a breach in security."
"A breach? What kind of breach?"
"Well, there's a couple who claims to be your wife's parents..."
"Oh, no. Do they look like this?"
"Right on down to the disapproving scowl. Should we let them in?"
"No. Oh god, no. Just, um...just tell them that I'm not here. I'm busy doing...president stuff."
"But Mr. President, this is right where you would be doing 'president stuff,' as you so eloquently put it."
"Fine. Let them in. But I want extra security while they're here."
"Very well, Mr. President." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | “HI, NELSON.” He sat there looking like an arrogant teenage hipster with anger issues. As I stared at him, still mostly disbelieving, a deep sense of revulsion began to swell in my intestines.
"This is... He is not." I stared at my orientation coordinator, Greg, with a hanging, idiotic face.
"I think I need you to explain this again."
"Yes sir. This is God."
I was trying to assimilate an entire day of non-stop information flow. Now, I seemed to be hallucinating. A few minutes earlier, Greg had been leading me through the final stages of my White House tour. My inauguration had been merely hours earlier in frigid northeastern weather, though I could barely feel the icy air through all the adrenaline pumping through me. Soon after I met Greg, who began my exhausting tour of the white house. Room after room of smiling, applauding people. I was exhausted. My face was exhausted. My right hand was exhausted. The Oval Office was the last stop and my excitement for that first sit-down in the big chair was rivaled only by my desire for sleep. Two sizable secret service agents opened the double doors before me. I was immediately crestfallen, however, when Greg hurried past me.
"We can't stop here, sir, there's one last thing we need to do." Greg walked up to a bookshelf, pulled back a handful of books. He was apparently manipulating some small keypad. A moment later, there was an audible hydraulic gas release and the entire wooden panel next to the book shelf pushed forward and then jerked off to the left, revealing a hidden concrete passageway and steel spiral staircase.
I tried to keep pace with Greg as he disappeared down the staircase. At the bottom, another long passageway led us towards a well-lit doorway, which in turn opened into a great white room. At the rear center of this room stood the only discernible object in the room, a golden throne supporting an obnoxious teenage kid, spikey blond hair, blue eyes, dressed in all black. He was wearing some kind of… heavy metal? T-shirt. Lots of fire, blood, some band name I’d never heard of… “Underoath”?
“APPARENTLY YOU ARE HAVING A HARD TIME PUTTING THIS ALL TOGETHER, NELSON. IT’S OK. I KNOW IT’S PROBABLY MY FAULT FOR MAKING YOU A LITTLE SLOW.” I snapped back to the present, realizing I had just been addressed telepathically by, God?
“I’m not, I mean, I never have been that slow.” I responded carefully, trying to resist showing my growing concern.
“JUST FUCKING WITH YOU A LITTLE, NELSON, IT’S COOL. SEE WHAT I MEAN? SLOW.”
“I’ve been an atheist all my life. I’m having a pretty hard time making sense of this at the moment.”
“I KNOW NELSON. I’M STILL STRONGLY LEANING TOWARDS HELL FOR YOU.” A playful smile crept over his face.
“I-I don’t understand. Why are you a teenage kid?”
“THE WHOLE IMMORTALITY THING IS NOT EXACTLY ACCURATE. APPARENTLY I JUST HAVE A REALLY REALLY LONG LIFE. LOTS OF KNOWLEDGE. SHITTY HORMONES. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.”
“Wait wait wait. So the Bible is... Real?”
“YEAH MOST OF IT. I WAS PRETTY YOUNG FOR A LOT OF IT THOUGH. I WAS ONLY LIKE 5 WHEN THE WHOLE “LET THERE BE LIGHT” THING HAPPENED. I WAS LIKE 6 WHEN I HAD THE WHOLE NOAH AND THE FLOOD TEMPER TANTRUM. MADE SURE HE SAVED ALL THE GIRAFFES AND LIONS THOUGH. I WAS LAME BACK THEN."
"So the earth is... How old?" My brain was furiously sorting through the mass of contradictions in Christianity, trying to find some kind of proof that this wasn't happening.
“YOUR YEARS? LIKE 5,000.”
“That’s not possible. Science. Dinosaurs.”
“HAHAHA SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE FALLEN FOR THAT SHIT. SOOO MANY SCIENTISTS IN HELL RIGHT NOW.”
"So... Hell is…"
"TOTALLY REAL. TOTALLY AWESOME. I MADE THAT WHEN I WAS 12, RIGHT AFTER JESUS. IT’S LIKE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST MOSH PIT."
"You... Made it? Why the f... Why?"
"HMM, IM STARTING TO SENSE YOU DONT LOVE ME ENOUGH, NELSON, SURE YOU DONT WANT TO LOVE ME A LITTLE HARDER?" His mouth broke into a toothy smile.
“How is this all.. happening?”
“I DON’T KNOW, I JUST THINK OF SHIT AND IT HAPPENS. I THOUGHT OF THIS WHOLE WORLD WHEN I WAS FIVE. WHY DO YOU THINK HUMANS ARE SO MISSHAPEN AND BULBOUS? FUNNY AS FUCK THOUGH SO I JUST LEFT YOU THAT WAY.”
“The Devil?”
“REAL. AND AWESOME.”
“So being Gay…”
“HELL. EWW.”
“Then why did you make it so that people could be gay???”
“I DUNNO…. I’M GETTING A LITTLE BORED NELSON.”
Greg interjected at that point. “Your holiness, may I suggest that you instruct Greg on what your priorities are for his presidency?”
“THANKS GREG, SURE. SO, NELSON. YOU HAVE THIS BIG FUCKING ARMY. I MADE SURE YOU DID. BASICALLY I WANT YOU TO GO OUT THERE AND TRY TO CONVERT/WIPE OUT ANYONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN ME. TRY TO HELP OUT EXXON WHEN YOU CAN ALSO. I FUCKING LOVE OIL. LOVE CARS. I’LL SHOW YOU MY LAMBO SOMETIME. TRY NOT TO USE NUKES CAUSE THAT FUCKS UP A LOT OF MY PLANS WHENEVER THAT HAPPENES, BUT IF YOU HAVE TO, WHATEVS. COOL EXPLOSION.”
“Uh, God…”
“IT’S “YOUR HOLINESS,” NELSON.”
Greg began to usher me back out of the room towards the stairwell. “Thank you for this audience, your holiness. I’ll make sure that he gets up to speed on the rest of your priorities and legacy.”
“READ THE BIBLE, NELSON, COVER TO COVER.” Every word out of his mouth deepened my sense of frightened disgust. As Greg and I approached the stairwell, I had the strongest desire to run, to leave the White House, to leave the country, to leave everything. I wanted to get away from this wretched new reality, find some escape to the feeling of autonomy I used to have, to the comfort of my old beliefs. Then, with a life altering pang of terror, it hit me: God is everywhere. | "Mr. President, there's been a, um...a breach in security."
"A breach? What kind of breach?"
"Well, there's a couple who claims to be your wife's parents..."
"Oh, no. Do they look like this?"
"Right on down to the disapproving scowl. Should we let them in?"
"No. Oh god, no. Just, um...just tell them that I'm not here. I'm busy doing...president stuff."
"But Mr. President, this is right where you would be doing 'president stuff,' as you so eloquently put it."
"Fine. Let them in. But I want extra security while they're here."
"Very well, Mr. President." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | "So there are no aliens?"
"No Mr. President, every supposed alien contact investigated turned out to be completely false." the soft spoken man from the NSA said. He was an African-American man sharply dressed in a nice suit.
"Area 51 is...?"
"Nothing more than an Air Force research center setup by humans in the 1960's."
"Ok. So, what is this big secret? Kennedy? Let me guess, Kennedy was killed by Johnson's people, who wanted Vietnam escalated."
The calm man from the NSA just smiled briefly and replied "Its... deeper than that Mr. President."
"Deeper? Oh, don't tell me 9/11 was staged."
"No, Mr. President. 9/11 was perpetrated by religious extremists." the man calmly replied.
"Well, I give up. Tell me the big secret."
The man again smiled a quick flash of a smile and said "Unfortunately, no one can be... told this secret. They have to be shown."
The man from the NSA stood up from the sofa in the Oval Office and gently looked at the President, who out of a sense of awkwardness also stood up."
The man from the NSA pulled out his cellphone and flipped it open. A voice said "Operator."
The man from the NSA said simply "Load the jump program."
Suddenly, the Oval Office shrunk, and disintegrated. The newly elected President felt dizzy and weightless. It seemed as if he were falling, but there was no wind. He looked down and saw Manhattan quickly rising to meet him. Before he could think about it, he realized that he and the NSA agent were standing outside, on the roof of a skyscraper in Manhattan hundreds of miles from the Oval Office.
Shocked is not quite a strong enough word for what he was feeling. He looked at the NSA agent with disbelief.
"We're living in a dream world, Mr. President. There was a movie made hundreds of years ago by two brothers named Warshowsky. Somehow they learned the truth about our species."
"What... Species?"
"Humans, of course. We live inside a giant... think of it as a computer program... although it is far more complicated than that."
"What. The. Fuck..." the President stammered.
The NSA agent just smiled again quickly.
"You believe it to be the year 2008, when in fact it is actually the year 2753. A long time ago the earth actually was as you believe it to be. Humans created intelligent machines, and we marveled at our brilliance. Eventually, humans and the machines went to war. Humans lost badly. A man called Neo stopped the war and created peace. Humans are mostly left alone. Very few people know the truth."
The President just stood in shock. "I always loved that movie."
The NSA agent just smiled again and said "Remain here Mr. President. Secret Service Agents will arrive soon, escort you to Air Force One and fly you back to Washington. I am leaving now, but we will talk again soon. Mr. President, for your own safety, and the safety of the people you were elected to serve... I suggest you don't mention this truth to anyone. At least not yet."
The NSA agent turned and jumped an arc 40 feet into the air and 300 feet long and landed on the roof of a different skyscraper.
The 64 year old man, who was a decorated veteran, a career politician, a married man with two children, and had recently been elected as President of the United States just stood there and said "Whoa." | "Mr. President, there's been a, um...a breach in security."
"A breach? What kind of breach?"
"Well, there's a couple who claims to be your wife's parents..."
"Oh, no. Do they look like this?"
"Right on down to the disapproving scowl. Should we let them in?"
"No. Oh god, no. Just, um...just tell them that I'm not here. I'm busy doing...president stuff."
"But Mr. President, this is right where you would be doing 'president stuff,' as you so eloquently put it."
"Fine. Let them in. But I want extra security while they're here."
"Very well, Mr. President." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Mr. President? There's more.
"Don't tell me, there really were WMD's in Iraq?"
Of course not, in fact, Mr. Hussein just happened to have lost a bet.
"Well then what is it?"
You may want to sit down for this, sir.
"Wha-okay. There. I'm ready. What is it that you still have to tell me?"
Mr. President, I regret to inform you that the Hokey-Pokey isn't what it's all about. It was, back in the 60's, but we phased it out, rather recently, in fact, in favor of twerking. As of January 2013, twerking is what it has all been about. | "Mr. President, there's been a, um...a breach in security."
"A breach? What kind of breach?"
"Well, there's a couple who claims to be your wife's parents..."
"Oh, no. Do they look like this?"
"Right on down to the disapproving scowl. Should we let them in?"
"No. Oh god, no. Just, um...just tell them that I'm not here. I'm busy doing...president stuff."
"But Mr. President, this is right where you would be doing 'president stuff,' as you so eloquently put it."
"Fine. Let them in. But I want extra security while they're here."
"Very well, Mr. President." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | “HI, NELSON.” He sat there looking like an arrogant teenage hipster with anger issues. As I stared at him, still mostly disbelieving, a deep sense of revulsion began to swell in my intestines.
"This is... He is not." I stared at my orientation coordinator, Greg, with a hanging, idiotic face.
"I think I need you to explain this again."
"Yes sir. This is God."
I was trying to assimilate an entire day of non-stop information flow. Now, I seemed to be hallucinating. A few minutes earlier, Greg had been leading me through the final stages of my White House tour. My inauguration had been merely hours earlier in frigid northeastern weather, though I could barely feel the icy air through all the adrenaline pumping through me. Soon after I met Greg, who began my exhausting tour of the white house. Room after room of smiling, applauding people. I was exhausted. My face was exhausted. My right hand was exhausted. The Oval Office was the last stop and my excitement for that first sit-down in the big chair was rivaled only by my desire for sleep. Two sizable secret service agents opened the double doors before me. I was immediately crestfallen, however, when Greg hurried past me.
"We can't stop here, sir, there's one last thing we need to do." Greg walked up to a bookshelf, pulled back a handful of books. He was apparently manipulating some small keypad. A moment later, there was an audible hydraulic gas release and the entire wooden panel next to the book shelf pushed forward and then jerked off to the left, revealing a hidden concrete passageway and steel spiral staircase.
I tried to keep pace with Greg as he disappeared down the staircase. At the bottom, another long passageway led us towards a well-lit doorway, which in turn opened into a great white room. At the rear center of this room stood the only discernible object in the room, a golden throne supporting an obnoxious teenage kid, spikey blond hair, blue eyes, dressed in all black. He was wearing some kind of… heavy metal? T-shirt. Lots of fire, blood, some band name I’d never heard of… “Underoath”?
“APPARENTLY YOU ARE HAVING A HARD TIME PUTTING THIS ALL TOGETHER, NELSON. IT’S OK. I KNOW IT’S PROBABLY MY FAULT FOR MAKING YOU A LITTLE SLOW.” I snapped back to the present, realizing I had just been addressed telepathically by, God?
“I’m not, I mean, I never have been that slow.” I responded carefully, trying to resist showing my growing concern.
“JUST FUCKING WITH YOU A LITTLE, NELSON, IT’S COOL. SEE WHAT I MEAN? SLOW.”
“I’ve been an atheist all my life. I’m having a pretty hard time making sense of this at the moment.”
“I KNOW NELSON. I’M STILL STRONGLY LEANING TOWARDS HELL FOR YOU.” A playful smile crept over his face.
“I-I don’t understand. Why are you a teenage kid?”
“THE WHOLE IMMORTALITY THING IS NOT EXACTLY ACCURATE. APPARENTLY I JUST HAVE A REALLY REALLY LONG LIFE. LOTS OF KNOWLEDGE. SHITTY HORMONES. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.”
“Wait wait wait. So the Bible is... Real?”
“YEAH MOST OF IT. I WAS PRETTY YOUNG FOR A LOT OF IT THOUGH. I WAS ONLY LIKE 5 WHEN THE WHOLE “LET THERE BE LIGHT” THING HAPPENED. I WAS LIKE 6 WHEN I HAD THE WHOLE NOAH AND THE FLOOD TEMPER TANTRUM. MADE SURE HE SAVED ALL THE GIRAFFES AND LIONS THOUGH. I WAS LAME BACK THEN."
"So the earth is... How old?" My brain was furiously sorting through the mass of contradictions in Christianity, trying to find some kind of proof that this wasn't happening.
“YOUR YEARS? LIKE 5,000.”
“That’s not possible. Science. Dinosaurs.”
“HAHAHA SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE FALLEN FOR THAT SHIT. SOOO MANY SCIENTISTS IN HELL RIGHT NOW.”
"So... Hell is…"
"TOTALLY REAL. TOTALLY AWESOME. I MADE THAT WHEN I WAS 12, RIGHT AFTER JESUS. IT’S LIKE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST MOSH PIT."
"You... Made it? Why the f... Why?"
"HMM, IM STARTING TO SENSE YOU DONT LOVE ME ENOUGH, NELSON, SURE YOU DONT WANT TO LOVE ME A LITTLE HARDER?" His mouth broke into a toothy smile.
“How is this all.. happening?”
“I DON’T KNOW, I JUST THINK OF SHIT AND IT HAPPENS. I THOUGHT OF THIS WHOLE WORLD WHEN I WAS FIVE. WHY DO YOU THINK HUMANS ARE SO MISSHAPEN AND BULBOUS? FUNNY AS FUCK THOUGH SO I JUST LEFT YOU THAT WAY.”
“The Devil?”
“REAL. AND AWESOME.”
“So being Gay…”
“HELL. EWW.”
“Then why did you make it so that people could be gay???”
“I DUNNO…. I’M GETTING A LITTLE BORED NELSON.”
Greg interjected at that point. “Your holiness, may I suggest that you instruct Greg on what your priorities are for his presidency?”
“THANKS GREG, SURE. SO, NELSON. YOU HAVE THIS BIG FUCKING ARMY. I MADE SURE YOU DID. BASICALLY I WANT YOU TO GO OUT THERE AND TRY TO CONVERT/WIPE OUT ANYONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN ME. TRY TO HELP OUT EXXON WHEN YOU CAN ALSO. I FUCKING LOVE OIL. LOVE CARS. I’LL SHOW YOU MY LAMBO SOMETIME. TRY NOT TO USE NUKES CAUSE THAT FUCKS UP A LOT OF MY PLANS WHENEVER THAT HAPPENES, BUT IF YOU HAVE TO, WHATEVS. COOL EXPLOSION.”
“Uh, God…”
“IT’S “YOUR HOLINESS,” NELSON.”
Greg began to usher me back out of the room towards the stairwell. “Thank you for this audience, your holiness. I’ll make sure that he gets up to speed on the rest of your priorities and legacy.”
“READ THE BIBLE, NELSON, COVER TO COVER.” Every word out of his mouth deepened my sense of frightened disgust. As Greg and I approached the stairwell, I had the strongest desire to run, to leave the White House, to leave the country, to leave everything. I wanted to get away from this wretched new reality, find some escape to the feeling of autonomy I used to have, to the comfort of my old beliefs. Then, with a life altering pang of terror, it hit me: God is everywhere. | "it was the best we could do, Mr president"
"No, this isn't right. You *knew* this wasn't right." The sight of it was disgusting. Its eyes pierced through me, almost looking for sympathy. But it wasn't looking for anything. Not any more.
"Sir, it had to be done. The country would have collapsed if we lost the technology, and the security of america would have been compromised as well. We made a decision"
"Yes, the wrong one. This is disgusting!" The rage was unbearable, I didn't think this was what the american government was doing, to children. "Is this even necessary?! All this, for the sake of the internet?!"
"Sir, you're failing to understand the gravity of the situation. The internet is the greatest collective resource we have. It is now the key point in our Military Intelligence, and our very economy. Its completely necessary. And these children power it."
"IT DOESN'T JUSTIFY **THIS!**" I screamed. This was unbearable. Turning to look at him, suspended in his capsule, he stared, no end of wires hooked into his brain. "Does he.....he feel pain?"
"No. But he's not aware either."
"So, you rob him of a life he never had?"
"Most of them would never have had a life."
"How many do you have?" There was a pause.
"five thousand"
"FIVE THOUSAND!?" This was to much to handle. There had to be a better way, in this day and age, with the advancements and technology....this was the technology. This was the modern age. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Mr. President, I don't know how to tell you this, but...
Did you ever watch those old "Star Treks". You know how they would stand on that platform, and "beam down" to whatever alien planet had the chicks that Kirk wanted to bone?
Yes...
Aliens have done that. To Earth. We aren't in the same solar system anymore. We're actually not even in the same galaxy anymore. We're in Andromeda. Nasa confirmed this last month. Sometime between 1980 and 2014, we were "beamed" to a new location in the galaxy. Here's the kicker, though, sir. Since light can only move so fast, we were "in transit" for 10,000 years at minimum. That means that we've lost 10,000 years as a planet. | "it was the best we could do, Mr president"
"No, this isn't right. You *knew* this wasn't right." The sight of it was disgusting. Its eyes pierced through me, almost looking for sympathy. But it wasn't looking for anything. Not any more.
"Sir, it had to be done. The country would have collapsed if we lost the technology, and the security of america would have been compromised as well. We made a decision"
"Yes, the wrong one. This is disgusting!" The rage was unbearable, I didn't think this was what the american government was doing, to children. "Is this even necessary?! All this, for the sake of the internet?!"
"Sir, you're failing to understand the gravity of the situation. The internet is the greatest collective resource we have. It is now the key point in our Military Intelligence, and our very economy. Its completely necessary. And these children power it."
"IT DOESN'T JUSTIFY **THIS!**" I screamed. This was unbearable. Turning to look at him, suspended in his capsule, he stared, no end of wires hooked into his brain. "Does he.....he feel pain?"
"No. But he's not aware either."
"So, you rob him of a life he never had?"
"Most of them would never have had a life."
"How many do you have?" There was a pause.
"five thousand"
"FIVE THOUSAND!?" This was to much to handle. There had to be a better way, in this day and age, with the advancements and technology....this was the technology. This was the modern age. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | "So there are no aliens?"
"No Mr. President, every supposed alien contact investigated turned out to be completely false." the soft spoken man from the NSA said. He was an African-American man sharply dressed in a nice suit.
"Area 51 is...?"
"Nothing more than an Air Force research center setup by humans in the 1960's."
"Ok. So, what is this big secret? Kennedy? Let me guess, Kennedy was killed by Johnson's people, who wanted Vietnam escalated."
The calm man from the NSA just smiled briefly and replied "Its... deeper than that Mr. President."
"Deeper? Oh, don't tell me 9/11 was staged."
"No, Mr. President. 9/11 was perpetrated by religious extremists." the man calmly replied.
"Well, I give up. Tell me the big secret."
The man again smiled a quick flash of a smile and said "Unfortunately, no one can be... told this secret. They have to be shown."
The man from the NSA stood up from the sofa in the Oval Office and gently looked at the President, who out of a sense of awkwardness also stood up."
The man from the NSA pulled out his cellphone and flipped it open. A voice said "Operator."
The man from the NSA said simply "Load the jump program."
Suddenly, the Oval Office shrunk, and disintegrated. The newly elected President felt dizzy and weightless. It seemed as if he were falling, but there was no wind. He looked down and saw Manhattan quickly rising to meet him. Before he could think about it, he realized that he and the NSA agent were standing outside, on the roof of a skyscraper in Manhattan hundreds of miles from the Oval Office.
Shocked is not quite a strong enough word for what he was feeling. He looked at the NSA agent with disbelief.
"We're living in a dream world, Mr. President. There was a movie made hundreds of years ago by two brothers named Warshowsky. Somehow they learned the truth about our species."
"What... Species?"
"Humans, of course. We live inside a giant... think of it as a computer program... although it is far more complicated than that."
"What. The. Fuck..." the President stammered.
The NSA agent just smiled again quickly.
"You believe it to be the year 2008, when in fact it is actually the year 2753. A long time ago the earth actually was as you believe it to be. Humans created intelligent machines, and we marveled at our brilliance. Eventually, humans and the machines went to war. Humans lost badly. A man called Neo stopped the war and created peace. Humans are mostly left alone. Very few people know the truth."
The President just stood in shock. "I always loved that movie."
The NSA agent just smiled again and said "Remain here Mr. President. Secret Service Agents will arrive soon, escort you to Air Force One and fly you back to Washington. I am leaving now, but we will talk again soon. Mr. President, for your own safety, and the safety of the people you were elected to serve... I suggest you don't mention this truth to anyone. At least not yet."
The NSA agent turned and jumped an arc 40 feet into the air and 300 feet long and landed on the roof of a different skyscraper.
The 64 year old man, who was a decorated veteran, a career politician, a married man with two children, and had recently been elected as President of the United States just stood there and said "Whoa." | "it was the best we could do, Mr president"
"No, this isn't right. You *knew* this wasn't right." The sight of it was disgusting. Its eyes pierced through me, almost looking for sympathy. But it wasn't looking for anything. Not any more.
"Sir, it had to be done. The country would have collapsed if we lost the technology, and the security of america would have been compromised as well. We made a decision"
"Yes, the wrong one. This is disgusting!" The rage was unbearable, I didn't think this was what the american government was doing, to children. "Is this even necessary?! All this, for the sake of the internet?!"
"Sir, you're failing to understand the gravity of the situation. The internet is the greatest collective resource we have. It is now the key point in our Military Intelligence, and our very economy. Its completely necessary. And these children power it."
"IT DOESN'T JUSTIFY **THIS!**" I screamed. This was unbearable. Turning to look at him, suspended in his capsule, he stared, no end of wires hooked into his brain. "Does he.....he feel pain?"
"No. But he's not aware either."
"So, you rob him of a life he never had?"
"Most of them would never have had a life."
"How many do you have?" There was a pause.
"five thousand"
"FIVE THOUSAND!?" This was to much to handle. There had to be a better way, in this day and age, with the advancements and technology....this was the technology. This was the modern age. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Mr. President? There's more.
"Don't tell me, there really were WMD's in Iraq?"
Of course not, in fact, Mr. Hussein just happened to have lost a bet.
"Well then what is it?"
You may want to sit down for this, sir.
"Wha-okay. There. I'm ready. What is it that you still have to tell me?"
Mr. President, I regret to inform you that the Hokey-Pokey isn't what it's all about. It was, back in the 60's, but we phased it out, rather recently, in fact, in favor of twerking. As of January 2013, twerking is what it has all been about. | "it was the best we could do, Mr president"
"No, this isn't right. You *knew* this wasn't right." The sight of it was disgusting. Its eyes pierced through me, almost looking for sympathy. But it wasn't looking for anything. Not any more.
"Sir, it had to be done. The country would have collapsed if we lost the technology, and the security of america would have been compromised as well. We made a decision"
"Yes, the wrong one. This is disgusting!" The rage was unbearable, I didn't think this was what the american government was doing, to children. "Is this even necessary?! All this, for the sake of the internet?!"
"Sir, you're failing to understand the gravity of the situation. The internet is the greatest collective resource we have. It is now the key point in our Military Intelligence, and our very economy. Its completely necessary. And these children power it."
"IT DOESN'T JUSTIFY **THIS!**" I screamed. This was unbearable. Turning to look at him, suspended in his capsule, he stared, no end of wires hooked into his brain. "Does he.....he feel pain?"
"No. But he's not aware either."
"So, you rob him of a life he never had?"
"Most of them would never have had a life."
"How many do you have?" There was a pause.
"five thousand"
"FIVE THOUSAND!?" This was to much to handle. There had to be a better way, in this day and age, with the advancements and technology....this was the technology. This was the modern age. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | “HI, NELSON.” He sat there looking like an arrogant teenage hipster with anger issues. As I stared at him, still mostly disbelieving, a deep sense of revulsion began to swell in my intestines.
"This is... He is not." I stared at my orientation coordinator, Greg, with a hanging, idiotic face.
"I think I need you to explain this again."
"Yes sir. This is God."
I was trying to assimilate an entire day of non-stop information flow. Now, I seemed to be hallucinating. A few minutes earlier, Greg had been leading me through the final stages of my White House tour. My inauguration had been merely hours earlier in frigid northeastern weather, though I could barely feel the icy air through all the adrenaline pumping through me. Soon after I met Greg, who began my exhausting tour of the white house. Room after room of smiling, applauding people. I was exhausted. My face was exhausted. My right hand was exhausted. The Oval Office was the last stop and my excitement for that first sit-down in the big chair was rivaled only by my desire for sleep. Two sizable secret service agents opened the double doors before me. I was immediately crestfallen, however, when Greg hurried past me.
"We can't stop here, sir, there's one last thing we need to do." Greg walked up to a bookshelf, pulled back a handful of books. He was apparently manipulating some small keypad. A moment later, there was an audible hydraulic gas release and the entire wooden panel next to the book shelf pushed forward and then jerked off to the left, revealing a hidden concrete passageway and steel spiral staircase.
I tried to keep pace with Greg as he disappeared down the staircase. At the bottom, another long passageway led us towards a well-lit doorway, which in turn opened into a great white room. At the rear center of this room stood the only discernible object in the room, a golden throne supporting an obnoxious teenage kid, spikey blond hair, blue eyes, dressed in all black. He was wearing some kind of… heavy metal? T-shirt. Lots of fire, blood, some band name I’d never heard of… “Underoath”?
“APPARENTLY YOU ARE HAVING A HARD TIME PUTTING THIS ALL TOGETHER, NELSON. IT’S OK. I KNOW IT’S PROBABLY MY FAULT FOR MAKING YOU A LITTLE SLOW.” I snapped back to the present, realizing I had just been addressed telepathically by, God?
“I’m not, I mean, I never have been that slow.” I responded carefully, trying to resist showing my growing concern.
“JUST FUCKING WITH YOU A LITTLE, NELSON, IT’S COOL. SEE WHAT I MEAN? SLOW.”
“I’ve been an atheist all my life. I’m having a pretty hard time making sense of this at the moment.”
“I KNOW NELSON. I’M STILL STRONGLY LEANING TOWARDS HELL FOR YOU.” A playful smile crept over his face.
“I-I don’t understand. Why are you a teenage kid?”
“THE WHOLE IMMORTALITY THING IS NOT EXACTLY ACCURATE. APPARENTLY I JUST HAVE A REALLY REALLY LONG LIFE. LOTS OF KNOWLEDGE. SHITTY HORMONES. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.”
“Wait wait wait. So the Bible is... Real?”
“YEAH MOST OF IT. I WAS PRETTY YOUNG FOR A LOT OF IT THOUGH. I WAS ONLY LIKE 5 WHEN THE WHOLE “LET THERE BE LIGHT” THING HAPPENED. I WAS LIKE 6 WHEN I HAD THE WHOLE NOAH AND THE FLOOD TEMPER TANTRUM. MADE SURE HE SAVED ALL THE GIRAFFES AND LIONS THOUGH. I WAS LAME BACK THEN."
"So the earth is... How old?" My brain was furiously sorting through the mass of contradictions in Christianity, trying to find some kind of proof that this wasn't happening.
“YOUR YEARS? LIKE 5,000.”
“That’s not possible. Science. Dinosaurs.”
“HAHAHA SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE FALLEN FOR THAT SHIT. SOOO MANY SCIENTISTS IN HELL RIGHT NOW.”
"So... Hell is…"
"TOTALLY REAL. TOTALLY AWESOME. I MADE THAT WHEN I WAS 12, RIGHT AFTER JESUS. IT’S LIKE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST MOSH PIT."
"You... Made it? Why the f... Why?"
"HMM, IM STARTING TO SENSE YOU DONT LOVE ME ENOUGH, NELSON, SURE YOU DONT WANT TO LOVE ME A LITTLE HARDER?" His mouth broke into a toothy smile.
“How is this all.. happening?”
“I DON’T KNOW, I JUST THINK OF SHIT AND IT HAPPENS. I THOUGHT OF THIS WHOLE WORLD WHEN I WAS FIVE. WHY DO YOU THINK HUMANS ARE SO MISSHAPEN AND BULBOUS? FUNNY AS FUCK THOUGH SO I JUST LEFT YOU THAT WAY.”
“The Devil?”
“REAL. AND AWESOME.”
“So being Gay…”
“HELL. EWW.”
“Then why did you make it so that people could be gay???”
“I DUNNO…. I’M GETTING A LITTLE BORED NELSON.”
Greg interjected at that point. “Your holiness, may I suggest that you instruct Greg on what your priorities are for his presidency?”
“THANKS GREG, SURE. SO, NELSON. YOU HAVE THIS BIG FUCKING ARMY. I MADE SURE YOU DID. BASICALLY I WANT YOU TO GO OUT THERE AND TRY TO CONVERT/WIPE OUT ANYONE WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN ME. TRY TO HELP OUT EXXON WHEN YOU CAN ALSO. I FUCKING LOVE OIL. LOVE CARS. I’LL SHOW YOU MY LAMBO SOMETIME. TRY NOT TO USE NUKES CAUSE THAT FUCKS UP A LOT OF MY PLANS WHENEVER THAT HAPPENES, BUT IF YOU HAVE TO, WHATEVS. COOL EXPLOSION.”
“Uh, God…”
“IT’S “YOUR HOLINESS,” NELSON.”
Greg began to usher me back out of the room towards the stairwell. “Thank you for this audience, your holiness. I’ll make sure that he gets up to speed on the rest of your priorities and legacy.”
“READ THE BIBLE, NELSON, COVER TO COVER.” Every word out of his mouth deepened my sense of frightened disgust. As Greg and I approached the stairwell, I had the strongest desire to run, to leave the White House, to leave the country, to leave everything. I wanted to get away from this wretched new reality, find some escape to the feeling of autonomy I used to have, to the comfort of my old beliefs. Then, with a life altering pang of terror, it hit me: God is everywhere. | The leader of the armies was very tall. He was the tallest in his class of '95 at the elite army school of New York and everyone always told him he was very tall.
"You're very tall, Army Leader One", said the President, suggestively.
The President was 72 years old and was elected last week after he promised to end the robot wars that had ravaged his nation of US since the last 5 years. Really though he did not want to end the war because he earned money from making lasers.
"It's bum bum time Mr President", said Army Leader One.
"What does that mean?"
"It is a secret that only the army and the president are allowed to know".
"Show me".
Army Leader One reached for his chin and grabbed tightly to the skin. It was a mask! He pulled it off, up over his head, revealing that his head was actually a solid bum, a male bottom, his rear end. The man was an arse head.
"What".
"Mr President, everyone in the army has a bum for a head. It's part of the initiation following basic training". Army Leader One was speaking from some sort of voice box located in the sphincter, at least that was the best guess the 72 year old president could make.
"Right. Should I be doing anything now?", replied Mr President.
"No, not really".
"Cool ok".
| |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Mr. President? There's more.
"Don't tell me, there really were WMD's in Iraq?"
Of course not, in fact, Mr. Hussein just happened to have lost a bet.
"Well then what is it?"
You may want to sit down for this, sir.
"Wha-okay. There. I'm ready. What is it that you still have to tell me?"
Mr. President, I regret to inform you that the Hokey-Pokey isn't what it's all about. It was, back in the 60's, but we phased it out, rather recently, in fact, in favor of twerking. As of January 2013, twerking is what it has all been about. | "How do I phrase this?" the Librarian of Congress searched for the perfect words. "It was a false flag operation."
The President was puzzled. He knew this guy oversaw and curated some of the oldest documents — the most seminal pieces of work — in American history. But what he was saying seemed unfounded. It was not merely impossible, but ludicrous.
"A false flag operation?" the President shook his head. "Why would he authorize that? What did it achieve?"
"Don't you see?" the Librarian grabbed the President's arm with one hand to focus his attention. "We were untested, unprepared for the new world order. The system that was in place was failing. He had the means and the money; he did what he had to. Because of it, this nation is better."
The President gathered his thoughts. "So it was all based on a lie. The greatest nation of people on the face of the earth just fell for it."
"Well, he didn't organize the operation for personal gain," the Librarian added in a conciliatory tone. "His connections with Daniel Shays redirected this nation toward prosperity. It was for the good of everyone!"
"No, his actions subverted the will of the people," the President was outraged. "And he obviously gained tremendously as a result. I doubt that it is an accident that Washington *became* our first president."
"Without his actions, without his aid for Shays' Rebellion, the Constitution would have never been written. This nation would have fallen apart at the seams under the Articles of Confederation. The United States of America as you know it is indebted to George Washington more than the people will ever know."
"Well," the President straightened his tie, "if the ends justify the means." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | There was a slight flicker in one of the lights above. Not quite an annoyance, but the kind of irritation that was consciously noted. The President felt the gazes of the men surrounding him, waiting. He ought to focus, to formulate some kind of response. How could he address millions but falter in front of so few?
"Sir?" came the inquiry. It was a title he had heard before, one he allowed himself to enjoy. The road to the presidency had been a trying one, and he the taste of his recent success was sweeter than he could have imagined. Or rather, it had been. The light flickered again, and the President frowned.
"You're certain?" he asked softly, addressing an official looking man wearing thick spectacles. The man's expression was grim, but weary, as though relaying the news had been as taxing as it was to hear.
"Yes, sir. The vessel is being completed even as we speak. Aside from the time required for testing, it is imperative that we launch immediately." The President looked again at the papers in front of him. One, an analysis of the trajectory of the asteroid. The 95% collision probability. Next to it, a stack nearly six inches thick. Names. Names important enough to be potentially selected.
"How many?" he whispered. The weight of his responsibility seemed to crush him into his chair.
"Ten thousand, no more," came the reply.
The light flickered. The President sighed. | "How do I phrase this?" the Librarian of Congress searched for the perfect words. "It was a false flag operation."
The President was puzzled. He knew this guy oversaw and curated some of the oldest documents — the most seminal pieces of work — in American history. But what he was saying seemed unfounded. It was not merely impossible, but ludicrous.
"A false flag operation?" the President shook his head. "Why would he authorize that? What did it achieve?"
"Don't you see?" the Librarian grabbed the President's arm with one hand to focus his attention. "We were untested, unprepared for the new world order. The system that was in place was failing. He had the means and the money; he did what he had to. Because of it, this nation is better."
The President gathered his thoughts. "So it was all based on a lie. The greatest nation of people on the face of the earth just fell for it."
"Well, he didn't organize the operation for personal gain," the Librarian added in a conciliatory tone. "His connections with Daniel Shays redirected this nation toward prosperity. It was for the good of everyone!"
"No, his actions subverted the will of the people," the President was outraged. "And he obviously gained tremendously as a result. I doubt that it is an accident that Washington *became* our first president."
"Without his actions, without his aid for Shays' Rebellion, the Constitution would have never been written. This nation would have fallen apart at the seams under the Articles of Confederation. The United States of America as you know it is indebted to George Washington more than the people will ever know."
"Well," the President straightened his tie, "if the ends justify the means." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Gen. Franks and Secretary Barnes wished me good afternoon as they left the conference room, leaving just Doug Wirtz and I in the room. I suppressed a yawn – it had been a very long day, on top of a couple very long weeks, and I knew that if I didn’t get some sleep soon, I’d be all but useless tomorrow.
But Wirtz had booked a few extra minutes of time for what he billed as “sensitive, my-eyes-only” information, and I wasn’t about to get off on the wrong foot with the head of the NSA – even if I did have plans to replace him soon.
“So, Doug. What can I do for you?” I asked, topping off my coffee from the pitcher on the table. It had the presidential seal on it, as did the mug – and the sugar holder, and the back of my chair, and just about every other item in the room. I guess I was going to have to get used to that.
“Mr. President,” Wirtz replied, “it’s beholden on me to inform you of information that you alone, as president, are privy to – aside from myself and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The information you’re about to hear is written down nowhere, is passed along verbally only to sitting presidents and to new heads of the NSA and Joint Chiefs. We three are the only ones in the U.S. government privy to said information.”
Intriguing. I’d had umpteen security briefings -- military readiness, intelligence assets and operations, operations against foreign governments, cyberwar programs. But they’d all been attended by dozens of military officers and civilian officials, and had been buried in reams of paper, all of it marked secret.
“I see,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. “Sounds interesting. Are you going to tell me about little green men out at Area 51?” I’d been hoping to lighten the mood a bit, but Wirtz didn’t even crack a smile.
“No sir,” he replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “It’s about our nuclear arsenal, and the arsenals of the other nuclear powers.”
I sat up straighter, and regretted the attempt at levity. I’d had the briefings about our nuclear assets, codes, states of readiness and launch procedures. Of all the weighty matters that I’d spent the past few weeks digesting, nothing chilled me more than the weight of the responsibility of the terrible power that could be unleashed on my orders.
“I’m listening, Doug,” I said, looking him square in the eye.
“There are no such things.”
I paused, waiting for him to continue, but he simply stared at me.
“What do you mean, ‘there are no such things?’ ”
“Simply that, Mr. President. There are currently no working nuclear warheads anywhere in the world. And there won’t be any for the foreseeable future.”
I stared at him, my mind racing through the hours of meetings I’d attended on our ballistic missile subs, our Minuteman II missiles, our B2 bombers. The codes, the plans, the scenarios. And the capabilities of our potential nuclear adversaries.
“Doug … what the hell are you talking about? Of *course* there are nukes – I’ve spent hours over the past few days going over assets and codes and plans. Is this some kind of joke?”
Now a small smile played on his lips. “I said the exact same thing to my predecessor, and I expect yours said the same to *his* predecessor, too. But I swear to you this is no joke. We have *no* nuclear weapons, and neither do the Russians, the Chinese, the British or French, the Indians or Pakistanis or Israelis. No one.”
“This is … I don’t understand,” I said, stumbling over my words as my thoughts raced. “What about all the generals and colonels I’ve met with over the past few days, giving me detailed information on our missiles and bombs and subs and aircraft, and their nuclear capabilities? What about my national security team? They certainly seem to believe we have a nuclear arsenal. Some of their jobs, in fact, are entirely *dependent* on our nuclear arsenal!”
Wirtz leaned back a bit and folded his arms. “Well sir, as far as all those people are concerned, we *do* possess working nuclear weapons. After all, they’re a cornerstone of our defense policy. Or at least that’s what the world thinks. And that’s precisely what we want them to think.” He leaned forward again and cleared his throat. “In the most concise manner in which I can, let me lay out my understanding of what happened.”
He leaned forward for the water pitcher, filled a glass, sipped and then began. “The Manhattan Project, the Trinity tests, the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki … all of that occurred,” he said. “But what very few people know is that President Truman was horrified, absolutely horrified, at the results of the bombing, as were many of the top U.S. officials of the time. However, it was also recognized that without them, it was possible Japan would have continued to fight, resulting in many hundreds of thousands more casualties. Truman and his administration faced a conundrum: On one hand, the weapon was too awful to contemplate using again. On the other hand, the very idea that it *might* be used might serve to prevent future world wars.
“Truman and his people were aware that Stalin had already received intelligence about the Trinity experiments and was working to create his own nukes. He approached Churchill and Churchill approached de Gaulle, and the three of them approached Stalin. Truman shared the data concerning the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, as well as the nascent U.S. plans for the hydrogen bomb. The others were as horrified as he was. The four decided then and there not to pursue the development of nuclear weapons, and to work jointly to prevent anyone else from doing so.
(continued in comments) | "How do I phrase this?" the Librarian of Congress searched for the perfect words. "It was a false flag operation."
The President was puzzled. He knew this guy oversaw and curated some of the oldest documents — the most seminal pieces of work — in American history. But what he was saying seemed unfounded. It was not merely impossible, but ludicrous.
"A false flag operation?" the President shook his head. "Why would he authorize that? What did it achieve?"
"Don't you see?" the Librarian grabbed the President's arm with one hand to focus his attention. "We were untested, unprepared for the new world order. The system that was in place was failing. He had the means and the money; he did what he had to. Because of it, this nation is better."
The President gathered his thoughts. "So it was all based on a lie. The greatest nation of people on the face of the earth just fell for it."
"Well, he didn't organize the operation for personal gain," the Librarian added in a conciliatory tone. "His connections with Daniel Shays redirected this nation toward prosperity. It was for the good of everyone!"
"No, his actions subverted the will of the people," the President was outraged. "And he obviously gained tremendously as a result. I doubt that it is an accident that Washington *became* our first president."
"Without his actions, without his aid for Shays' Rebellion, the Constitution would have never been written. This nation would have fallen apart at the seams under the Articles of Confederation. The United States of America as you know it is indebted to George Washington more than the people will ever know."
"Well," the President straightened his tie, "if the ends justify the means." | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Mr. President? There's more.
"Don't tell me, there really were WMD's in Iraq?"
Of course not, in fact, Mr. Hussein just happened to have lost a bet.
"Well then what is it?"
You may want to sit down for this, sir.
"Wha-okay. There. I'm ready. What is it that you still have to tell me?"
Mr. President, I regret to inform you that the Hokey-Pokey isn't what it's all about. It was, back in the 60's, but we phased it out, rather recently, in fact, in favor of twerking. As of January 2013, twerking is what it has all been about. | Mr. President, I don't know how to tell you this, but...
Did you ever watch those old "Star Treks". You know how they would stand on that platform, and "beam down" to whatever alien planet had the chicks that Kirk wanted to bone?
Yes...
Aliens have done that. To Earth. We aren't in the same solar system anymore. We're actually not even in the same galaxy anymore. We're in Andromeda. Nasa confirmed this last month. Sometime between 1980 and 2014, we were "beamed" to a new location in the galaxy. Here's the kicker, though, sir. Since light can only move so fast, we were "in transit" for 10,000 years at minimum. That means that we've lost 10,000 years as a planet. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Gen. Franks and Secretary Barnes wished me good afternoon as they left the conference room, leaving just Doug Wirtz and I in the room. I suppressed a yawn – it had been a very long day, on top of a couple very long weeks, and I knew that if I didn’t get some sleep soon, I’d be all but useless tomorrow.
But Wirtz had booked a few extra minutes of time for what he billed as “sensitive, my-eyes-only” information, and I wasn’t about to get off on the wrong foot with the head of the NSA – even if I did have plans to replace him soon.
“So, Doug. What can I do for you?” I asked, topping off my coffee from the pitcher on the table. It had the presidential seal on it, as did the mug – and the sugar holder, and the back of my chair, and just about every other item in the room. I guess I was going to have to get used to that.
“Mr. President,” Wirtz replied, “it’s beholden on me to inform you of information that you alone, as president, are privy to – aside from myself and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The information you’re about to hear is written down nowhere, is passed along verbally only to sitting presidents and to new heads of the NSA and Joint Chiefs. We three are the only ones in the U.S. government privy to said information.”
Intriguing. I’d had umpteen security briefings -- military readiness, intelligence assets and operations, operations against foreign governments, cyberwar programs. But they’d all been attended by dozens of military officers and civilian officials, and had been buried in reams of paper, all of it marked secret.
“I see,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. “Sounds interesting. Are you going to tell me about little green men out at Area 51?” I’d been hoping to lighten the mood a bit, but Wirtz didn’t even crack a smile.
“No sir,” he replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “It’s about our nuclear arsenal, and the arsenals of the other nuclear powers.”
I sat up straighter, and regretted the attempt at levity. I’d had the briefings about our nuclear assets, codes, states of readiness and launch procedures. Of all the weighty matters that I’d spent the past few weeks digesting, nothing chilled me more than the weight of the responsibility of the terrible power that could be unleashed on my orders.
“I’m listening, Doug,” I said, looking him square in the eye.
“There are no such things.”
I paused, waiting for him to continue, but he simply stared at me.
“What do you mean, ‘there are no such things?’ ”
“Simply that, Mr. President. There are currently no working nuclear warheads anywhere in the world. And there won’t be any for the foreseeable future.”
I stared at him, my mind racing through the hours of meetings I’d attended on our ballistic missile subs, our Minuteman II missiles, our B2 bombers. The codes, the plans, the scenarios. And the capabilities of our potential nuclear adversaries.
“Doug … what the hell are you talking about? Of *course* there are nukes – I’ve spent hours over the past few days going over assets and codes and plans. Is this some kind of joke?”
Now a small smile played on his lips. “I said the exact same thing to my predecessor, and I expect yours said the same to *his* predecessor, too. But I swear to you this is no joke. We have *no* nuclear weapons, and neither do the Russians, the Chinese, the British or French, the Indians or Pakistanis or Israelis. No one.”
“This is … I don’t understand,” I said, stumbling over my words as my thoughts raced. “What about all the generals and colonels I’ve met with over the past few days, giving me detailed information on our missiles and bombs and subs and aircraft, and their nuclear capabilities? What about my national security team? They certainly seem to believe we have a nuclear arsenal. Some of their jobs, in fact, are entirely *dependent* on our nuclear arsenal!”
Wirtz leaned back a bit and folded his arms. “Well sir, as far as all those people are concerned, we *do* possess working nuclear weapons. After all, they’re a cornerstone of our defense policy. Or at least that’s what the world thinks. And that’s precisely what we want them to think.” He leaned forward again and cleared his throat. “In the most concise manner in which I can, let me lay out my understanding of what happened.”
He leaned forward for the water pitcher, filled a glass, sipped and then began. “The Manhattan Project, the Trinity tests, the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki … all of that occurred,” he said. “But what very few people know is that President Truman was horrified, absolutely horrified, at the results of the bombing, as were many of the top U.S. officials of the time. However, it was also recognized that without them, it was possible Japan would have continued to fight, resulting in many hundreds of thousands more casualties. Truman and his administration faced a conundrum: On one hand, the weapon was too awful to contemplate using again. On the other hand, the very idea that it *might* be used might serve to prevent future world wars.
“Truman and his people were aware that Stalin had already received intelligence about the Trinity experiments and was working to create his own nukes. He approached Churchill and Churchill approached de Gaulle, and the three of them approached Stalin. Truman shared the data concerning the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, as well as the nascent U.S. plans for the hydrogen bomb. The others were as horrified as he was. The four decided then and there not to pursue the development of nuclear weapons, and to work jointly to prevent anyone else from doing so.
(continued in comments) | "What's wrong, sir?" General Stephens asked me. Looking back at it now, I suppose the disappointment was dripping down my face.
"Oh, it's nothing. I just thought we had to be hiding *something*. I mean, did Bill Clinton even get his dick sucked by Monica Lewinsky? Because I was kinda hoping I might get in on something like that."
"That actually did happen, Mr. President. Several times."
"Wonderful. That redhead down the hall looks pretty cute. You think she's game?"
"That's my daughter."
"So...no?"
Admittedly, I probably shouldn't have said that. Stephens punched in the face soon after that, but don't worry. I had him killed a few days later. His daughter gave the best blowjobs when she was grieving, by the way. I almost thought about killing her boyfriend to keep the tears flowing, but I didn't want her becoming too attached.
Anyway, before I had someone take care of Stephens, he told me something quite shocking.
You know Arnold Schwarzenegger? He was actually a botched military project. Originally, they were going to use him as their first military robot, but something went wrong while developing his speech. They were forced to send him overseas to get fixed, and when they received him back, no one could understand what the fuck he was saying.
Even worse, he couldn't understand them! They would give him orders, he would nod and say, "I'll be back!" But he never would come back. Apparently he would go to the gym and stay there until someone lured him back in with chicken breasts and broccoli.
After a year of setbacks, they decided to admit defeat and sent him to Hollywood to become an actor. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | "What do you *mean* we don't technically exist?" the newly elected President exclaimed, practically rising from his chair.
The Secretary of Defense leaned in, grabbing President Nelson by the cuff of his jacket.
"Please remain calm, sir," he replied dryly, barely lifting his head from the black file sprawled on the table.
"H-how can that be? The revolution? The War of 1812? I thought we won..." Swallowing deep, the President slouched back into his chair. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. The SecDef glared up from the file and continued.
"Those were staged operations. Two of the most successful large-scale clandestine operations in military history. The founding fathers were in fact compensated operatives under His Majesty's employ."
President Nelson couldn't help but laugh. He raised his head from his hands and clasped them below his chin. He tried replaying all of American history through this new lens.
"What about all the wars? All the politics of the past two hundred fifty years? T-The culture, the movements? What was all that?"
The Secretary reclined in his chair, almost unable to hide his boredom. "All these things are still uniquely American. With that being said," he added, tapping the desk with his index finger, "the United States is still a protectorate and part of the United Kingdom, so 'uniquely American' is somewhat of an overstatement. We do what we're told by Her Majesty, and are rewarded with a certain level of autonomy."
The President stood and faced the portrait hung at the far end of the table. The stern, stoic face of George Washington stared back. The eyes seemed to have a newfound emptiness.
"Am I still the President?"
The SecDef grunted and flipped the file closed, removing his glasses from his suit pocket and sliding them over his nose.
"That all depends," he said, pulling a King James Bible from his briefcase and plopping it next to the black file.
"Are you ready for your second Oath?"
------
Edited for grammar. | "What's wrong, sir?" General Stephens asked me. Looking back at it now, I suppose the disappointment was dripping down my face.
"Oh, it's nothing. I just thought we had to be hiding *something*. I mean, did Bill Clinton even get his dick sucked by Monica Lewinsky? Because I was kinda hoping I might get in on something like that."
"That actually did happen, Mr. President. Several times."
"Wonderful. That redhead down the hall looks pretty cute. You think she's game?"
"That's my daughter."
"So...no?"
Admittedly, I probably shouldn't have said that. Stephens punched in the face soon after that, but don't worry. I had him killed a few days later. His daughter gave the best blowjobs when she was grieving, by the way. I almost thought about killing her boyfriend to keep the tears flowing, but I didn't want her becoming too attached.
Anyway, before I had someone take care of Stephens, he told me something quite shocking.
You know Arnold Schwarzenegger? He was actually a botched military project. Originally, they were going to use him as their first military robot, but something went wrong while developing his speech. They were forced to send him overseas to get fixed, and when they received him back, no one could understand what the fuck he was saying.
Even worse, he couldn't understand them! They would give him orders, he would nod and say, "I'll be back!" But he never would come back. Apparently he would go to the gym and stay there until someone lured him back in with chicken breasts and broccoli.
After a year of setbacks, they decided to admit defeat and sent him to Hollywood to become an actor. | |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | Gen. Franks and Secretary Barnes wished me good afternoon as they left the conference room, leaving just Doug Wirtz and I in the room. I suppressed a yawn – it had been a very long day, on top of a couple very long weeks, and I knew that if I didn’t get some sleep soon, I’d be all but useless tomorrow.
But Wirtz had booked a few extra minutes of time for what he billed as “sensitive, my-eyes-only” information, and I wasn’t about to get off on the wrong foot with the head of the NSA – even if I did have plans to replace him soon.
“So, Doug. What can I do for you?” I asked, topping off my coffee from the pitcher on the table. It had the presidential seal on it, as did the mug – and the sugar holder, and the back of my chair, and just about every other item in the room. I guess I was going to have to get used to that.
“Mr. President,” Wirtz replied, “it’s beholden on me to inform you of information that you alone, as president, are privy to – aside from myself and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. The information you’re about to hear is written down nowhere, is passed along verbally only to sitting presidents and to new heads of the NSA and Joint Chiefs. We three are the only ones in the U.S. government privy to said information.”
Intriguing. I’d had umpteen security briefings -- military readiness, intelligence assets and operations, operations against foreign governments, cyberwar programs. But they’d all been attended by dozens of military officers and civilian officials, and had been buried in reams of paper, all of it marked secret.
“I see,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. “Sounds interesting. Are you going to tell me about little green men out at Area 51?” I’d been hoping to lighten the mood a bit, but Wirtz didn’t even crack a smile.
“No sir,” he replied, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “It’s about our nuclear arsenal, and the arsenals of the other nuclear powers.”
I sat up straighter, and regretted the attempt at levity. I’d had the briefings about our nuclear assets, codes, states of readiness and launch procedures. Of all the weighty matters that I’d spent the past few weeks digesting, nothing chilled me more than the weight of the responsibility of the terrible power that could be unleashed on my orders.
“I’m listening, Doug,” I said, looking him square in the eye.
“There are no such things.”
I paused, waiting for him to continue, but he simply stared at me.
“What do you mean, ‘there are no such things?’ ”
“Simply that, Mr. President. There are currently no working nuclear warheads anywhere in the world. And there won’t be any for the foreseeable future.”
I stared at him, my mind racing through the hours of meetings I’d attended on our ballistic missile subs, our Minuteman II missiles, our B2 bombers. The codes, the plans, the scenarios. And the capabilities of our potential nuclear adversaries.
“Doug … what the hell are you talking about? Of *course* there are nukes – I’ve spent hours over the past few days going over assets and codes and plans. Is this some kind of joke?”
Now a small smile played on his lips. “I said the exact same thing to my predecessor, and I expect yours said the same to *his* predecessor, too. But I swear to you this is no joke. We have *no* nuclear weapons, and neither do the Russians, the Chinese, the British or French, the Indians or Pakistanis or Israelis. No one.”
“This is … I don’t understand,” I said, stumbling over my words as my thoughts raced. “What about all the generals and colonels I’ve met with over the past few days, giving me detailed information on our missiles and bombs and subs and aircraft, and their nuclear capabilities? What about my national security team? They certainly seem to believe we have a nuclear arsenal. Some of their jobs, in fact, are entirely *dependent* on our nuclear arsenal!”
Wirtz leaned back a bit and folded his arms. “Well sir, as far as all those people are concerned, we *do* possess working nuclear weapons. After all, they’re a cornerstone of our defense policy. Or at least that’s what the world thinks. And that’s precisely what we want them to think.” He leaned forward again and cleared his throat. “In the most concise manner in which I can, let me lay out my understanding of what happened.”
He leaned forward for the water pitcher, filled a glass, sipped and then began. “The Manhattan Project, the Trinity tests, the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki … all of that occurred,” he said. “But what very few people know is that President Truman was horrified, absolutely horrified, at the results of the bombing, as were many of the top U.S. officials of the time. However, it was also recognized that without them, it was possible Japan would have continued to fight, resulting in many hundreds of thousands more casualties. Truman and his administration faced a conundrum: On one hand, the weapon was too awful to contemplate using again. On the other hand, the very idea that it *might* be used might serve to prevent future world wars.
“Truman and his people were aware that Stalin had already received intelligence about the Trinity experiments and was working to create his own nukes. He approached Churchill and Churchill approached de Gaulle, and the three of them approached Stalin. Truman shared the data concerning the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, as well as the nascent U.S. plans for the hydrogen bomb. The others were as horrified as he was. The four decided then and there not to pursue the development of nuclear weapons, and to work jointly to prevent anyone else from doing so.
(continued in comments) | Jesus. That was certainly unexpected.. how was it even fucking possible? Colonels, generals! Had the US really gone that deep?
''Who authorized it?''
''Bush.''
I paused. Never thought he -that- in him. Goddamn, I had to give it to Bush, it was brilliant, though also very risky. Still, how the hell did the US have those contacts? I still didn't know.. all I knew was that it was the most masterful plan of the 20th century.
''Do the Russians know this?''
''Just the men who were part of the coup.''
God damn.
''How we destroyed an empire.. Bush should've written that. Would've made for an interesting book. How the hell did we get those contacts in the Soviet Union anyway?''
''Blackmail. Cash.'' my conversationalist said, with a shrug.
''How did Bush know that Yeltsin would step up to ''stop'' the 1991 coup?''
''He didn't. But it was a win-win anyway. Either the coup failed and the Soviet republics lost faith and abandoned Gorbachev's Union Treaty, or the coup succeeded and the Soviet republics seceded violently.''
''This shit.. god damn, that was some brilliant stuff. Who could imagine those goddamn commies who marched on the Kremlin to depose Gorbachev were just US puppets? Their coup destroyed the USSR! Our seemingly eternal rival, destroyed with some simple blackmail, bribes and a fake coup!''
I couldn't help but laugh. ''Pax Americana..''
| |
[WP] You have just been elected President of the United States. You're at your introductory security meeting. You learn that aliens never crashed at Roswell and Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot JFK (etc), but you learn something astonishing that shocks you to your very core. What is it? | "What do you *mean* we don't technically exist?" the newly elected President exclaimed, practically rising from his chair.
The Secretary of Defense leaned in, grabbing President Nelson by the cuff of his jacket.
"Please remain calm, sir," he replied dryly, barely lifting his head from the black file sprawled on the table.
"H-how can that be? The revolution? The War of 1812? I thought we won..." Swallowing deep, the President slouched back into his chair. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. The SecDef glared up from the file and continued.
"Those were staged operations. Two of the most successful large-scale clandestine operations in military history. The founding fathers were in fact compensated operatives under His Majesty's employ."
President Nelson couldn't help but laugh. He raised his head from his hands and clasped them below his chin. He tried replaying all of American history through this new lens.
"What about all the wars? All the politics of the past two hundred fifty years? T-The culture, the movements? What was all that?"
The Secretary reclined in his chair, almost unable to hide his boredom. "All these things are still uniquely American. With that being said," he added, tapping the desk with his index finger, "the United States is still a protectorate and part of the United Kingdom, so 'uniquely American' is somewhat of an overstatement. We do what we're told by Her Majesty, and are rewarded with a certain level of autonomy."
The President stood and faced the portrait hung at the far end of the table. The stern, stoic face of George Washington stared back. The eyes seemed to have a newfound emptiness.
"Am I still the President?"
The SecDef grunted and flipped the file closed, removing his glasses from his suit pocket and sliding them over his nose.
"That all depends," he said, pulling a King James Bible from his briefcase and plopping it next to the black file.
"Are you ready for your second Oath?"
------
Edited for grammar. | Jesus. That was certainly unexpected.. how was it even fucking possible? Colonels, generals! Had the US really gone that deep?
''Who authorized it?''
''Bush.''
I paused. Never thought he -that- in him. Goddamn, I had to give it to Bush, it was brilliant, though also very risky. Still, how the hell did the US have those contacts? I still didn't know.. all I knew was that it was the most masterful plan of the 20th century.
''Do the Russians know this?''
''Just the men who were part of the coup.''
God damn.
''How we destroyed an empire.. Bush should've written that. Would've made for an interesting book. How the hell did we get those contacts in the Soviet Union anyway?''
''Blackmail. Cash.'' my conversationalist said, with a shrug.
''How did Bush know that Yeltsin would step up to ''stop'' the 1991 coup?''
''He didn't. But it was a win-win anyway. Either the coup failed and the Soviet republics lost faith and abandoned Gorbachev's Union Treaty, or the coup succeeded and the Soviet republics seceded violently.''
''This shit.. god damn, that was some brilliant stuff. Who could imagine those goddamn commies who marched on the Kremlin to depose Gorbachev were just US puppets? Their coup destroyed the USSR! Our seemingly eternal rival, destroyed with some simple blackmail, bribes and a fake coup!''
I couldn't help but laugh. ''Pax Americana..''
| |
Two hundred thousand.
Include this in your story somewhere. It could be an army of two hundred thousand, it could be two hundred thousand seconds, it could be 200,000 dollars.
| [WP] 200,000 | “I am afraid it´s only 200,000, which is 10 times below what we would have hoped for”
As the doctor had uttered those words I remembered feeling numb. It was what I was half expecting but when I heard it from him that day – the delivery was too impactful to trigger anything. I guess you could call it shock.
Nancy and I had been trying to conceive for nearly 3 years before we decided to get tested. Being much less stressful for the man, we decided that I should go first. So, cup in hand and videos stashed on the smartphone in my pocket, I had entered the clinical, white-walled testing room to deliver my sample for analysis. To this day I don´t understand why I couldn’t bring the sample with me, but I was too embarrassed to ask. The whole process was probably the oddest sexual experience I have had so far in my life but, like a trouper, I got down to it and ended up with a satisfying cupful to hand back to the laboratory assistant.
After delivering the news to Nancy, there were lots of tears, almost immediately I saw a change in her towards me. It was hard to pinpoint what that change was exactly and it is still hard for me to understand it today. But things were different now and I just had to get used to that.
We looked into adoption but neither of us felt that this was an adequate solution. We had nothing against adoption, but we were selfish and wanted, if possible to have our own children with at least some genetic connection to one of us. So Nancy visited the clinic herself some weeks later and was told that there was no physical reason for her not to conceive a child.
When Nancy first introduced me to Lawrence from work, I quite liked him. He was funny and seemed really interested in us, asking lots of questions during the dinner we had at home. Lawrence was (and still is) a strong, athletic type and although I wouldn´t describe him as good looking, he wasn´t off-putting either. As a sperm-donor, Nancy thought she had found the perfect match, I disagreed. In fact I couldn´t get onboard with the sperm-donor idea at all, particularly when Nancy told me that the best chance to conceive was from intercourse. But like Nancy always has been, she was determined to change my mind and offered me every conceivable argument to support her stance. In the end I couldn´t bear to deny her the right to her own child, so with much self-loathing (and Lawrence-loathing) I agreed to the terms.
When Oscar was born, Nancy was the happiest woman in the world. At first I wasn´t allowed to hold him but in time she allowed me a minute here and there. When I looked into his eyes I felt no emotion, he was just a baby, but since he made Nancy so happy, I tried my best. Lawrence visited often, after we had got Oscar back to the house. One day he came round with his tools and made him a little bed out of wood, carving his name intricately into the headboard. It was actually not a bad job, I just couldn´t bear to see the man in my own home.
One time, Nancy asked me to feed him some formula while she prepared a dinner for us and Lawrence. Normally he would have done this, but he was running late this evening. Of course I held the bottle the wrong way, allowing Oscar to swallow air bubbles, making him cry and belch almost simultaneously. I wasn´t asked to feed Oscar again.
When Lawrence tried to speak to me about my role in the house with Oscar, I remained despondent. Who was he to tell me what to do? I didn´t care about what Lawrence thought of me - but Nancy – I was living in a world I didn´t understand with her. We hadn´t slept in the same bed since Oscar had been born and our intimacy consisted of a kiss to the top of her head each morning as I left for the office. We didn’t speak, apart from baby issues and what changes she had seen in him each day. I was enveloped in a home-life I never asked for.
I think it was about 2am on the Monday when I decided to do something about it. I crept out of bed gently so as not to disturb her and pulled a rucksack from the wardrobe shelf. In it I stuffed some socks, underwear and some other odds and ends that I would need later before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and onto the landing. As I passed the living room, I saw Lawrence lying asleep on the sofa with the TV on but muted, casting color and shadow over his blanketed body. As I entered Oscar´s room I noted that he was stirring; asleep, but as if he was having a troublesome dream. The airplane mobile that Lawrence had made him was spinning gently from the draft coming through the ajar window, close to his cot. I stood and looked down at him for a moment. What a lot of trouble you have caused, I thought; something so small and innocent causing so much trouble for me and my life with Nancy. I knew it wasn´t his fault but… but it was him that was causing the problem.
The memories I have at the end of Oscar´s life are blurry. I remember the shade of blue his lips turned when my fingers got their hold on his struggling body. I remember the rasping noises he made and I remember the quiet after. The quiet was worse than anything.
After the man at the police station read me my rights I was asked to sit in a room with some other people being processed. I thought of Nancy and I during our first year together. No complications, no stresses, just fun and love and lust. Maybe I would find that again one day. Not in this town I guess - but there are plenty fish in the sea.
I am not sure when I will get out, they haven´t told me yet but it shouldn´t be much longer now. Maybe 5, maybe 8? It´s alright in here.
I won’t make the same mistake again for sure. Kids aren´t for me…
| The cards were in my hands, and my hands were shaking. I could feel cool sweat dripping down my armpits, and my eyes were watering. I had overestimated myself, and I knew it. Still 16 wasn't bad, not the best, but I had a chance.
I focused on the blackjack dealer's six card as he flipped the one next to it. Ace. A soft 17.
My knees buckled, and I could feel the ground pulling me toward it but stayed standing. There's a reason they say the house always wins. I had just lost $200,000. |
[WP] Your wife has just given birth to a healthy baby boy. Upon exiting the ER, you're startled to find yourself encircled by a group of men in lab coats. The most senior of them approaches, and in a hurried tone says, "Mr. Carlisle, there's something you need to know about your son..." | The men are all around us, their faces impassive. My wife is in a god damn wheelchair, and our son is in her arms and...
"What? What the Jumping Jack Fuck is wrong with him?" I demand, glaring.
The man, he's maybe mid forties, maybe older. White hair at the temples, short dark hair, dark eyes. Lab coats, all of them. Doctors, researchers?
"Mr. Carlisle, listen. There's nothing explicitly wrong with your son, but... if you look at his eyes, you'll see golden rings around his pupils, metallic ones," he replies calmly. "Your son, he's... *different*."
I kneel almost immediately, look at my wife's terrified face. Our son's eyes, bright green just like my wife and... metallic golden rings. That's... that's not normal.
"I didn't see these earlier. What is this?" I ask, looking up fearfully.
"They don't present until approximately thirty six hours after birth. Your son has a unique genetic mutation, sir. He's... well, put simply, your son will never be norm-"
"What does that mean!?" my wife shouts, tears in her eyes. "Can't you just explain! Don't dance around this!"
"I'm sorry. Your son has a genetic mutation that will... make him different in a variety of ways. Your son will be stronger, faster, and smarter than anyone his age. He'll grow up much faster than most, not physically, but mentally. Your son will... be a genius," he explains, trying to placate Mary. "But there are some things you need to know. This mutation will cause chronic hypersensitivity to light, to some other things... garlic, most metals including silver and gold."
"Are you telling me... my son is a vampire?" I ask. "Are you fucking insane? Who the fuck are you people?"
"Vampire is not the right word, but... the legends are not far off. He will have problems with low iron all his life, and will need to take supliments. Further, well..." he trails off and grabs my arm, pulls me away. "Listen, this is going to be a very difficult life. Your son will not sleep, for one. He will have issues with violent urges, this much we know for sure. But, his healing factors are different than most people. I know what you are feeling right now, because my daughter has the same condition."
"Who are you?" I hiss, trying to keep quiet.
He pulls a badge from his breast pocket, flipping it open.
"Dr. James Markovich, Department of Homeland Security. We're not demanding anything here, not at all. I work for a special branch of the DHS, and we are offering help. Around the clock assistance, psychological treatment and medical care for all of you."
"What do you want in return?" I ask, eyes narrowed. I am suspicious, how could I not be. DHS, for fuck's sake, and I don't even know if I believe him.
"Sir, all we ask is that you allow us to do minor non-invasive tests on a regular basis including taking regular blood tests, and that you allow us to observe. I, like I am with my daughter, am only interested in protecting your son from the ugly outside world. People will notice how different he is. His eyes eventually will be completely gold," he answers. "I'm sorry to scare you like this, but... he will get sick without iron supplements, even at this age."
What the hell do I do now? How do I...
Oh god.
I turn and take a knee again, kneeling before my wife. I do everything I can to explain to her what he said, and she's still upset. Very upset, and scared. She does what I want to do, demands proof. I need to know if this is real, I need to know if anything strange is going on here, I need to know if they're really DHS...
"Today, at four pm. If you drive to the government building on third, I can introduce you to my daughter. Further, you need passes just to get in. If that's not proof enough, I don't know what will be," he tells us. "I'm sorry we scared you, but we felt it was... less terrifying than approaching you at your house."
"We'll be there," I mutter. "Now, please, you've scared the living shit out of my wife enough. Go."
He nods respectfully.
"I apologize again, sir. Thank you for giving me a chance with this, I believe I can really help your family."
The six doctors nod to me and then follow him away, each walking to separate and disconcertingly identical black sedans with tinted windows.
I run my hand through my thick hair, frowning deeply.
Six hours have passed and we're sitting in a car outside the government building. I told her to stay home, but Mary being Mary told me to shut the hell up. Walter is asleep in the car seat and I have no idea what the fuck we do now. My heart keeps pounding in my chest, and then I get out of the car and walk around, open her door. She gets out and I'm suddenly glad she's here beside me, and glad they kept her for a decent bit of time after she gave birth.
She's probably still in a bit of pain, but the birth went off without a hitch, so there were no real complications - which is why they kept her, because they were worried something might go wrong. I might have had something to do with it too, but I wasn't about to have something bad happen and take her away right after our kid was born.
She opens the back door and pulls Walt out, not even waking him up. She's so damned perfect with him. I have no idea how anyone can be such a good mother when they've never done it before.
Then we walk towards the front door, her wearing completely understandable sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, me in my usual shirt and tie. We push through and the security guy at the desk glances up.
"Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle?"
I nod.
"Alright, here are your visitor's passes, and if you wait just a moment I'll call the doctor for you."
He hands us a pair of passes on strings, big things that are in thick plastic envelopes. This place, everyone knows this place. We had to show ID just to get through the gate. About ten minutes pass after he makes his call and the doctor from the parking lot emerges from a door behind the desk.
"Mr. Carlisle, Mrs. Carlisle, thank you for coming. If you just come right this way, we can get right to introducing you to Loraine."
So we follow him. At this point, we don't have any other choice. Both of us follow him through the door into a cold white hallway, tiles on the floor that my shoes click on, white painted walls.
It feels like we walk a long time, deep into the huge building, and then we stop before a door with two men standing on either side.
"Those men have guns," my wife hisses.
"What the hell is this, doc?"
"This is a classified area reserved for our people. I'm sorry for the surprise," he says, nodding to the men. Both turn and slide ID cards into slots. Their eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, but the man on the left, when he turns I see a glint of gold.
More... vampire things...
God, I am so scared. I'm sweating... should have used that clinical strength deodorant.
As soon as we pass through the door, we turn and enter a room with nothing but a large table and two chairs on one side, two on the other. Sitting on one side is a woman.
She smiles and it's a genuine one, showing teeth. She wears no make up what so ever, none at all. Her eyes are bright metallic gold, glinting in the light, and she's...
Wow.
She's damn pretty, with a strong jaw and the sort of face I would expect genius to come from. Her hair is short and at the moment slicked back, and it actually looks good on her. As soon as the door shuts, she rises and my perspective is all messed up. It was hard to tell how tall she is from sitting, but holy shit.
She's at least six foot eight, if not a bit taller than that.
"Hello, Mr. Carlisle, my name is Loraine Markovich. I apologize for my unprofessional attire, but I just got out of surgery and had no other clothes after washing up."
She offers her hand to me and I shake it, then she smiles wide at my wife, again... an honest smile.
"You're supposedly a genius, correct?" My wife asks. Loraine nods. "Prove it."
Loraine blinks and looks to her father. He nods.
"First, here is my medical license, and my hospital ID, and this picture in my wallet is of me during my residency," she says, holding out the cards and her wallet. I take them and peer at them, and as far as I know, they look legit. The picture too is definitely her, and it's definitely at one of the big hospitals in the city. "Second, Mr. Carlisle, you walked with a limp recently, I assume from a car accident. You have a healing blister on your hand in a position where a cane used by someone unfamiliar with one would have a blister. You walk with an uneven gait still, and you know what, let's take it a step further."
"A step further?"
"Your name is an English surname, derived from the name of a city in England. Your facial structure suggests your father was English and your mother was... Swedish, but we're not going to get into the other factors that clue me into that. I can go on and on and on, or if you want your wife can get string of numbers that is... what do they call it... oh, right. Pi. I'll go ahead and grab a white board from the conference room, and I'll calculate each digit manually - but that just proves incredible memorization skills. If you do want more, I can order the results of my registered IQ test, or I can take one in front of you. I can solve a rubiks cube in under five minutes, I can do anything you'd like."
(To be continued in a comment. Ohgodimsosorry, it's longer than I intended.) | The anxious, nervous feeling hits me, what is it? What could it be? Everything was fine, right? My heart felt like it was pounding out of my chest. He spoke again, and I analyze him. He wore a pair of tinted glasses and had a little green pen pocking out through his right pocket. His hair was black with little streaks of grey here and there. He had a pair of leather brown shoes on with khaki pants and-
“Mr. Carlisle! Are you listening to me?”
I look right up at him and stared. I think he could almost see the fear in my eyes.
“We have reason to believe that your son is, well how do you put this? Special?”
As he says those words I see a few more men with lab coats taking my son away from the room where my wife gave birth to him. He was crying and my wife was screaming
“That’s my son! What are you doing? Why are you taking him away from me!? Carlisle!!!”
“What is this?! What the hell do you people thing you’re doing!! What do you mean? He was born fine! That’s what the doctors told me! Why are you telling me this? This is fucking bullshi-“
He cut me off.
“Mr. Carlisle! I really need you to calm down!”
“This is my fucking son we’re talking about, I decide when to fucking calm down!”
His acquaintances grab my shoulders in an attempt to calm me down. I take a deep breath.
“Now, Mr. Carlisle, your son was born with good health. But we’ve taken him away just for extra precautions. It wasn’t until a couple minutes after the doctors examined him we noticed a couple things. Down at the control room there was an unidentified heat source coming from the room in which your wife was in but yet the fire alarms weren’t going off. Me and my collogues decided to go check it out only to see that your son-”
This time it was my turn to cut him off. His jaw dropped and him and his partners backed away.
I cracked my neck and stretched my hands. I blinked a couple of times and my eyes turned blood red. The skin on my body started changing into the scales I love as I feel them run down my spine. My hair lights up on fire and out of my shirt my wings begin to submerge, my glorious wings.
“Was like me?”’
| |
On arrival at Earth the recon team find the canines have enslaved a primitive ape species to perform all their physical labour, research and farming for them, the apes even following the canines round to pick up their excrement whilst the canines take their exercise. | [WP] Aliens on a distant planet find the remains of Laika the 1st dog in space drifting past their planet. They are unable to comprehend how the canine was able to construct such a machine without opposable fingers and thumbs so they send a recon mission to earth to investigate. | Really? Laika died in 1957. Laika was onboard Sputnik 2, the second most primitive spacecraft ever launched by the human race. It barely achieved Earth orbit. It certainly did not achieve escape velocity necessary to leave Earth orbit. Do I even need to mention that we're pretty sure there's no intelligent life on any planet in our solar system that for Sputnik 2 to be drifting past another planet inhabited by intelligent aliens it would have to have not only escaped Earth orbit, but also left the solar system and traveled trillions of miles to another star system... a journey that would require more than 100,000 years at the sort of speed Sputnik 2 was traveling if it were not slowed by the gravity of the Earth and the Sun as it left. If it were not coincidentally aimed at precisely the nearest star, the journey would take vastly longer, probably billions of years. Are we to imagine Laika would still be alive on arrival? Ignoring of course that Laika is already dead and Sputnik 2 returned to Earth.
I realize this is a concept thing about the relationship between people and dogs. It closely resembles and old joke, but seriously, people, we have more than enough science fiction that is severely deficient in science. We can do better than this. | "We sent that, how long ago Jim" Captain Wax asked his first mate.
"Three hunert sixeetwo years ago" replied Jim.
"Three hundred and sixty two years ago. It's pretty amazing that the vessel survived that long, went that far. Heck, it's amazing that it survived at all".
The Vorman seemed confused. When he and his people had found the remains they had surmised a world of advanced Canine activity. Yet their first contact with the Earth species was human. He spoke into the translator.
"How did the canine build and pilot a ship of such complexity?" he asked.
"Canine? Canine? You think a canine built that thing?" Wax responded "Wait... so you Vorman are pretty freakin' smart, capable of hyperspace travel, have an advanced civilization that's colonized space and you've even figured out a way for us to easily communicate. And not once did it occur to you, in your 10 years of observation from near Earth orbit or in the past 6 months of meetings and negotiations that the rocket you found was just an early test flight to see of the damn dog would live? Really? Not even once?"
The Vorman looked stunned and his face turned pale. Forgetting to turn off the translator he turned and walked slowly back to his ship muttering "oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck".
|
On arrival at Earth the recon team find the canines have enslaved a primitive ape species to perform all their physical labour, research and farming for them, the apes even following the canines round to pick up their excrement whilst the canines take their exercise. | [WP] Aliens on a distant planet find the remains of Laika the 1st dog in space drifting past their planet. They are unable to comprehend how the canine was able to construct such a machine without opposable fingers and thumbs so they send a recon mission to earth to investigate. | *Beep. Beep. Beep*
Q2 looked at the monitor. Perhaps some debris from the recent off planet mining expeditions. The excavation teams always were a bit too zealous. No matter, he’d just mark on his report that they weren’t following protocol again and he’d be back to his…wait.
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
What was this? Some sort of primitive spacecraft…? How could something like that have entered their atmosphere? Such a strange shape and lack of peripherals essential to galactic travel. He couldn’t place the materials either. Clearly some sort of alloy encasing, but of what? Corlaxtine? Norvolamine?
After his initial wave of wonder passed, he realized he had to do something. The scans hadn’t detected any sort of hazardous or explosive material, so it had flown in unmolested. The safe passage would indicate that the contents of this alien spacecraft were benign. But still…so foreign. Who knew the contents held within.
He focused his mind and relayed the message to the retrieval team. Within moments, they cast a safenet around the flying object and proceeded with invasive probing.
He heard the crew discussing the findings in his subconscious and dialed in.
“…odd. Strange and odd. This isn’t of any known galaxy here. How did this get here? And what are these materials? How could such a thing have even reached us? It should have been destroyed in the radiation storms. Not to mention it bypassing our security measures.”
“No matter, there’s nothing here to harm us.”
“Are you joking? The fact that this has even reached us when clearly it originated from so far away…This is a threat.”
“Don’t overreact. Caution. Do you remember what happened the last time we overreacted? We destroyed an entire ecosystem that could have proved valuable in our harvesting.”
“Quiet, look at this.”
Q2 waited for them to speak.
“What is this.”
“Some sort of…I don’t know. Run it through the scanner.”
Q2 waited and then heard the eruption of noise. “Is that *carbon* based? It used to…that was a life form! Get the biologists in here!”
Q2 listened in as the events unfolded. Some sort of life based in a galaxy that could only be reached through some sort of galactic tear, which would explain how it got here in the first place. The recreation of the life form revealed a four legged creature with limited physical capabilities. The creature’s anatomy did not point to any ability to create such a vehicle, no matter how primitive it may have been. No appendages with which to manipulate small objects.
“Well, we have all the information we could possibly have gained from this thing. Let’s go present our findings.”
Q2 was ecstatic. As the finder of the vessel, he was one of the chosen to explore the origins. He was to record the findings.
The decision to head out had taken 4 cycles, and his imagination had run rampant the entire time. He could not stop thinking about the possibility of interacting with the thing found in the space vessel. He lost himself in dreams and his anticipation was enough to make his membranes vibrate.
They readied themselves for the voyage. They had been able to trace where the spacecraft had been built and had the coordinates locked in. They would get there soon enough after the latest galactic tear had been found.
He had spent a lot of time looking at the recreation of the being found in the vessel. So small and strange looking, but not so unlike some of the lifeforms he had seen on other planets. They had taken to calling it Carbon Alien Type, or CAT for short. He hoped by the time they made it to CAT’s planet that CATs would still be around. Maybe he could even be friends with a CAT…
They arrived at the planet.
“Look at that!”
Q2 looked.
“We should mine that!”
Excavation teams. All they could ever think about. Q2 thought about recording that in his notes, but before he could, the captain spoke.
“No, we’re on observation duty only. We’ve scanned the location and found no presence of life. We’ll land there and observe the planet from there. If we need to get closer, we will.”
They had strict protocols when it came to observing life on other planets, especially if they were unable to ascertain the level of intelligence of the beings inhabiting the planet. They would employ the use of their long range scanners to glean what information they could. Everyone was excited to learn about this alien land. All Q2 wanted to do was to see a CAT.
“Much as we surmised, these CATs would not have been capable of building that spacecraft. It looks like the ones who manufacture these vehicles are robotic in nature and controlled by another lifeform. It appears that any vessels they send off planet don’t hold any lifeforms, though, so perhaps the CATs were the last ones to man such ships. This points to their dominion over the upright walkers. The walkers are the ones who labor all day while the CATs just laze about. They don’t seem to do much, in truth, though they do get extremely excited when they stay at their abode and the walker returns. Motivations for such excitement unclear, but their relationship seems to be that the CAT is master of the walker. Their hierarchy leads us to believe that with further evolving, the CATs pose a threat. They exhibit aggressive behavior at times and show the capacity to enslave. They have already sent one of their own outside of their galaxy. We may need to eradicate the problem before they branch out into space, much like they have already attempted.”
Q2 sent off his report. The words were largely the crews. He didn’t know how he felt about their conclusions. To him, the CATs weren’t slavers. They were…he didn’t know what. All he knew was that he wanted to spend time with one. Maybe…maybe even keep one…
But no, they were observers only and it violated galactic law to take a sentient being as your own. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do what they were accusing the CATs of doing.
But he had seen how happy the CATs were when the walkers returned home. He just wanted someone to be that happy after not seeing him for a half cycle. Maybe a CAT would be like that when it saw him?
He wanted a CAT. He had to have one.
The more he observed them, the surer he was about the CAT.
“I think…I think they exist to make the walkers happy! It’s not that the CATs are happy when the walkers come home. They are, clearly. But…I think the walkers are happy too! And I think CATs are at their happiest when the walkers are at their happiest. I don’t think their tendencies are for war. I think…I think their tendencies are for love and protection…”
“Q2, that’s ridiculous. My recommendation will be to take preventative measures to keep the CATs from gaining access again outside of this galaxy.”
“No! Captain, please. Let me just get closer for more expert evaluation before we proceed. Give me two cycles!”
“You have one. Get me definitive proof that they aren’t a warlike species and we can spare them.”
This was his chance. Q2 prepared himself to go down.
“Well, I’m off.”
The crew looked at him grimly.
He put on his suit, activated his camouflage, taking on the appearance of one of the walkers and they shot him down to the surface. And there it was. A CAT!
He went over to it, but before he could do anything, the CAT yelled at him. Unsure of how to proceed, Q2 paused. He then reached out to touch the CAT.
And then the CAT bit him.
Q2 gasped and activated his retreat back to the ship.
The captain stared at him and Q2 nodded.
“Final analysis: CATs are warlike. Proceed with preventative measures.”
| "I'm not sure Galzika, it just doesn't make sense to me still. That poor creature had an underdeveloped cranium for such an expedition. I know we've hypothesized about another race using it as a test experiment but do you really think there is a race of intelligent beings capable of being so cruel? I'm not sure I want to imagine such a thing." Zelkeva said then sighed and looked out the window. Placing his humanoid hand with seven fingers, all hoof like and covered in fur on the cold window, looking out into the cold dark space.
Galzika had her own worries and trepidation about what they were going to go see. The planet they were heading for was perfect for growing life and a few centuries back had been found to be the closest planet able to sustain life.
"Try not to be pessimistic about it all. When we reanimated the creature it was quite friendly you know, you were there. It was scared at first but it was soon playful and loving. I mean what if it cho-"
"You know that's not the case it had no identifiable way of communicating that! It was able to become anyone's friend in a matter of moments. It showed affection, genuine affection, toward everyone. I know and I just know that whatever we are going to see may be terrible. What kind of creature is capable of sending something like that into space. Alone." Zelkeva was becoming upset, an uncommon emotion for any of the Krazilva.
"You must be getting hungry, Zelkeva. It's not like you to be upset." Galzika said trying to diffuse the situation. Zelkeva let out a guttural grunt and spit up some cud and begun to chew it.
"You're right. Let's eat." A small tray of grass-like substance that was wrapped in a vacuum sealed plastic was pulled out of the wall by Galzika.
"I hate that we have to use our hands, I miss being on all fours and grazing with everyone else in the fields on our days off."
"I miss it too." Galzika said.
A voice came on the intercom. "We are now exiting lightspeed travel. The gas giant of this solar system will be used to help slow the speed of our vessel. Estimated arrival time is 3 years and three months."
"I didn't think we were so close!" Galzika said looking out the window Zelkeva snapping his head around too. The rings of the gas giant we're absolutely stunning and for the first time the sun could be seen. Grunts and moos came from the two who were chewing the grass substance. Their big grinding teeth making a *crunch crunch crunch* noise in the silence.
"I think the hardest thing I have the time coming to terms with about that poor creature is that it was so nice, scared as we were at first but nice. It's teeth weren't designed to eat our grasses but were more for shredding, designed to eat muscle. It's characteristics suggested that it was inferior and submissive to more intelligent species. I just can't help but wonder what sort of creature that would be Galzika. Our race was lucky to have even *evolved* on our planet a single organism. We're really the only race on our planet. It's so luscious though and so filled with plant life and that's how we evolved. We were unchallenged. What sort of creature would have to evolve on a planet where there is a possibility for unlimited amounts of evolution. What sort of creature could do that Galzika."
For the first time Galzika felt fear just like when they grazed near the edges of massive dropping cliffs on their homeworld. Zelkeva had finally articulated his fears of what was ahead and it made sense.
"I don't know." She said as they both looked out the window into the darkness.
EDIT: made some pretty bad spelling errors, was typing with auto correct sorry! |
On arrival at Earth the recon team find the canines have enslaved a primitive ape species to perform all their physical labour, research and farming for them, the apes even following the canines round to pick up their excrement whilst the canines take their exercise. | [WP] Aliens on a distant planet find the remains of Laika the 1st dog in space drifting past their planet. They are unable to comprehend how the canine was able to construct such a machine without opposable fingers and thumbs so they send a recon mission to earth to investigate. | The scientist waited. It was a long journey to reach the planet of the strange creature they'd found. It was deemed too dangerous to send one if their own kind so they built a quantum model.
It's design was incredibly simple... It was no goobak project. Two flagonian weeks passed before it arrived to the planet. Teleportation speeds these days have been limited by their providers... Corporatacracies have their downsides.
The first images of this distant planet have sent shock waves through the scientific community. There's so much mizunium! Of course after the initial reports we've out they had transported the rover to an isolated beechi in a place called "Ka-li-4-ni-ah". The gravity there limited the rovers movement to under a qualegue a day.
Nonetheless we've happened upon many creatures along the way. Creatures capable of floating above gravity by using their appendages to shift kukin. Fuzzy creatures big and small collecting food and even a mizuniam based creature.
It wasn't until the third day (based on this alien planets orbit) that we found out it's secret. It had a massive slave population. Based on observations, after rover1, the scientific community places it at about 7 billion slaves.
They are responsible for everything. They build, they destroy and build again. They are obsessed with some substance named moni. It may be some sort of invention by their true masters to keep them satisfied.
Many of them are owned by one of the following creatures: the specimen we found in the space craft or a generally smaller creature with sharp teeth, sharp claws that emits a 'meow' sound. Subjects of the latter seem to be more enslaved than the prior, but more research needs to be conducted.
Regardless these slaves work day and night to feed and sanitize their masters. Huge fields of midori can be seen across their planet feeding both the slaves and their masters alike.
Bathing and waste management is cared for by this ugly slave species. It appears the slaves are much dirtier due to their daily bathing rituals. Excrement from their masters is cleaned up regularly or they face a moni deficit. Such a strange world.
Most notably huge ushi-like creatures are slaughtered by the millions to feed the entirety of the population; both masters and slaves .
More research must be done on this strange place. Stay tuned flagonians!
[time to eat dinner and go to bed. Thanks for a fun prompt!] | "I'm not sure Galzika, it just doesn't make sense to me still. That poor creature had an underdeveloped cranium for such an expedition. I know we've hypothesized about another race using it as a test experiment but do you really think there is a race of intelligent beings capable of being so cruel? I'm not sure I want to imagine such a thing." Zelkeva said then sighed and looked out the window. Placing his humanoid hand with seven fingers, all hoof like and covered in fur on the cold window, looking out into the cold dark space.
Galzika had her own worries and trepidation about what they were going to go see. The planet they were heading for was perfect for growing life and a few centuries back had been found to be the closest planet able to sustain life.
"Try not to be pessimistic about it all. When we reanimated the creature it was quite friendly you know, you were there. It was scared at first but it was soon playful and loving. I mean what if it cho-"
"You know that's not the case it had no identifiable way of communicating that! It was able to become anyone's friend in a matter of moments. It showed affection, genuine affection, toward everyone. I know and I just know that whatever we are going to see may be terrible. What kind of creature is capable of sending something like that into space. Alone." Zelkeva was becoming upset, an uncommon emotion for any of the Krazilva.
"You must be getting hungry, Zelkeva. It's not like you to be upset." Galzika said trying to diffuse the situation. Zelkeva let out a guttural grunt and spit up some cud and begun to chew it.
"You're right. Let's eat." A small tray of grass-like substance that was wrapped in a vacuum sealed plastic was pulled out of the wall by Galzika.
"I hate that we have to use our hands, I miss being on all fours and grazing with everyone else in the fields on our days off."
"I miss it too." Galzika said.
A voice came on the intercom. "We are now exiting lightspeed travel. The gas giant of this solar system will be used to help slow the speed of our vessel. Estimated arrival time is 3 years and three months."
"I didn't think we were so close!" Galzika said looking out the window Zelkeva snapping his head around too. The rings of the gas giant we're absolutely stunning and for the first time the sun could be seen. Grunts and moos came from the two who were chewing the grass substance. Their big grinding teeth making a *crunch crunch crunch* noise in the silence.
"I think the hardest thing I have the time coming to terms with about that poor creature is that it was so nice, scared as we were at first but nice. It's teeth weren't designed to eat our grasses but were more for shredding, designed to eat muscle. It's characteristics suggested that it was inferior and submissive to more intelligent species. I just can't help but wonder what sort of creature that would be Galzika. Our race was lucky to have even *evolved* on our planet a single organism. We're really the only race on our planet. It's so luscious though and so filled with plant life and that's how we evolved. We were unchallenged. What sort of creature would have to evolve on a planet where there is a possibility for unlimited amounts of evolution. What sort of creature could do that Galzika."
For the first time Galzika felt fear just like when they grazed near the edges of massive dropping cliffs on their homeworld. Zelkeva had finally articulated his fears of what was ahead and it made sense.
"I don't know." She said as they both looked out the window into the darkness.
EDIT: made some pretty bad spelling errors, was typing with auto correct sorry! |
On arrival at Earth the recon team find the canines have enslaved a primitive ape species to perform all their physical labour, research and farming for them, the apes even following the canines round to pick up their excrement whilst the canines take their exercise. | [WP] Aliens on a distant planet find the remains of Laika the 1st dog in space drifting past their planet. They are unable to comprehend how the canine was able to construct such a machine without opposable fingers and thumbs so they send a recon mission to earth to investigate. | The air is rich with the sounds of celebration and the smokey smells of a thousand grills. Walking twenty feet can mean the difference between listening to Pink Floyd and the vague scent of herb, or a festive Bollywood tune and the thick rich smell of stir-fry. Children chase dogs around in the grass, and at the front of the crowd an old man hobbles up to the microphone on stage.
"Hello, and welcome to the unveiling of 'The Guardian'!" The man shouted in a raspy, excited, and quite old voice that tweaks the speakers and calms the din of the crowd.
"Today on the lawns of Washington DC we pay formal respects to one of our greatest heroes. Monuments on this scale and grandeur are reserved for those things that our nation and our world holds most dear to our hearts. Liberty. Strength. Compassion. Order. Each of our grand monuments can evoke these emotions. The fair lady who watches over Ellis island is more than a statue to the existence of liberty, but a shining beacon to the *importance* of liberty. Watching the sun glint off of her face evokes an evolutionary *need* for liberty that impresses itself somewhere deep inside. Lincoln gives us a need for compassion and wisdom, and the Washington monument is an impressive but simple virtue of strength."
"Today we unveil the greatest of these, and so without further pomp I present our monument to Love... The Guardian!"
As sheets fall from around the massive object the familiar silhouette of a dog comes into view. Towering over the crowd the familiar happy expression of the dog shines in the sun, and the crowd revels. The old man retires to his seat, and a four-armed figure takes to the podium.
"It was seventy years ago that our scientists calculated Earth's location based on the trajectory of Laika. It raised many curiosities among my people about the nature of a planet that would produce such a craft. Upon arrival we were met with more curiosities, and to be honest we were more than a little perplexed. There was some debate over whether we should destroy your planet or not..." At this statement a ripple of laughter went through the crowd.
"I'm Serious" the figure said solemnly, and a hush fell across the people.
"When we arrived we viewed your race's propensity for evil as a real threat to the universe. We knew you were primitive, but the very animalistic nature in which you treated one another was abhorrent. Wars over dirt instead of venturing in to space, hatred of the way people were born into the world, and such egotism. There was a very real danger that if left unchecked your greed and hatred could consume more than your own world." The crowd is now completely silent as the figure raises one arm pointing directly to the monument behind him.
"This... is your planet's saving grace. The fact that you could unconditionally love a mentally inferior creature. That you loved them no matter their birth or consequences, no matter their temperament or size, and that you went above and beyond for each other as a symbiotic species is what convinced my people that you were worth saving."
"In the years that followed we learned your history. Dogs were created as an act of compassion. Tribes of hunters would feed the wolves discarded by their packs, and they grew close. From that point on the dog has been an evolutionary partner of humanity. From the early pragmatic hunting aid to the modern age companion and guardian the dog has never yet failed to rise to the task. Always cheerful, loving, and loyal the dog is a symbol for the very best that this planet has to offer. I dare say I am jealous of this; your planet's greatest accomplishment."
"And so on this day of celebration let us all give thanks to the noble dog! Savior of humanity, and bearer of this planet's flame for unconditional love!"
And with that a cheer rose up from the crowd, and the sun rested upon that monument for the ages to come. | "I'm not sure Galzika, it just doesn't make sense to me still. That poor creature had an underdeveloped cranium for such an expedition. I know we've hypothesized about another race using it as a test experiment but do you really think there is a race of intelligent beings capable of being so cruel? I'm not sure I want to imagine such a thing." Zelkeva said then sighed and looked out the window. Placing his humanoid hand with seven fingers, all hoof like and covered in fur on the cold window, looking out into the cold dark space.
Galzika had her own worries and trepidation about what they were going to go see. The planet they were heading for was perfect for growing life and a few centuries back had been found to be the closest planet able to sustain life.
"Try not to be pessimistic about it all. When we reanimated the creature it was quite friendly you know, you were there. It was scared at first but it was soon playful and loving. I mean what if it cho-"
"You know that's not the case it had no identifiable way of communicating that! It was able to become anyone's friend in a matter of moments. It showed affection, genuine affection, toward everyone. I know and I just know that whatever we are going to see may be terrible. What kind of creature is capable of sending something like that into space. Alone." Zelkeva was becoming upset, an uncommon emotion for any of the Krazilva.
"You must be getting hungry, Zelkeva. It's not like you to be upset." Galzika said trying to diffuse the situation. Zelkeva let out a guttural grunt and spit up some cud and begun to chew it.
"You're right. Let's eat." A small tray of grass-like substance that was wrapped in a vacuum sealed plastic was pulled out of the wall by Galzika.
"I hate that we have to use our hands, I miss being on all fours and grazing with everyone else in the fields on our days off."
"I miss it too." Galzika said.
A voice came on the intercom. "We are now exiting lightspeed travel. The gas giant of this solar system will be used to help slow the speed of our vessel. Estimated arrival time is 3 years and three months."
"I didn't think we were so close!" Galzika said looking out the window Zelkeva snapping his head around too. The rings of the gas giant we're absolutely stunning and for the first time the sun could be seen. Grunts and moos came from the two who were chewing the grass substance. Their big grinding teeth making a *crunch crunch crunch* noise in the silence.
"I think the hardest thing I have the time coming to terms with about that poor creature is that it was so nice, scared as we were at first but nice. It's teeth weren't designed to eat our grasses but were more for shredding, designed to eat muscle. It's characteristics suggested that it was inferior and submissive to more intelligent species. I just can't help but wonder what sort of creature that would be Galzika. Our race was lucky to have even *evolved* on our planet a single organism. We're really the only race on our planet. It's so luscious though and so filled with plant life and that's how we evolved. We were unchallenged. What sort of creature would have to evolve on a planet where there is a possibility for unlimited amounts of evolution. What sort of creature could do that Galzika."
For the first time Galzika felt fear just like when they grazed near the edges of massive dropping cliffs on their homeworld. Zelkeva had finally articulated his fears of what was ahead and it made sense.
"I don't know." She said as they both looked out the window into the darkness.
EDIT: made some pretty bad spelling errors, was typing with auto correct sorry! |
On arrival at Earth the recon team find the canines have enslaved a primitive ape species to perform all their physical labour, research and farming for them, the apes even following the canines round to pick up their excrement whilst the canines take their exercise. | [WP] Aliens on a distant planet find the remains of Laika the 1st dog in space drifting past their planet. They are unable to comprehend how the canine was able to construct such a machine without opposable fingers and thumbs so they send a recon mission to earth to investigate. | The air is rich with the sounds of celebration and the smokey smells of a thousand grills. Walking twenty feet can mean the difference between listening to Pink Floyd and the vague scent of herb, or a festive Bollywood tune and the thick rich smell of stir-fry. Children chase dogs around in the grass, and at the front of the crowd an old man hobbles up to the microphone on stage.
"Hello, and welcome to the unveiling of 'The Guardian'!" The man shouted in a raspy, excited, and quite old voice that tweaks the speakers and calms the din of the crowd.
"Today on the lawns of Washington DC we pay formal respects to one of our greatest heroes. Monuments on this scale and grandeur are reserved for those things that our nation and our world holds most dear to our hearts. Liberty. Strength. Compassion. Order. Each of our grand monuments can evoke these emotions. The fair lady who watches over Ellis island is more than a statue to the existence of liberty, but a shining beacon to the *importance* of liberty. Watching the sun glint off of her face evokes an evolutionary *need* for liberty that impresses itself somewhere deep inside. Lincoln gives us a need for compassion and wisdom, and the Washington monument is an impressive but simple virtue of strength."
"Today we unveil the greatest of these, and so without further pomp I present our monument to Love... The Guardian!"
As sheets fall from around the massive object the familiar silhouette of a dog comes into view. Towering over the crowd the familiar happy expression of the dog shines in the sun, and the crowd revels. The old man retires to his seat, and a four-armed figure takes to the podium.
"It was seventy years ago that our scientists calculated Earth's location based on the trajectory of Laika. It raised many curiosities among my people about the nature of a planet that would produce such a craft. Upon arrival we were met with more curiosities, and to be honest we were more than a little perplexed. There was some debate over whether we should destroy your planet or not..." At this statement a ripple of laughter went through the crowd.
"I'm Serious" the figure said solemnly, and a hush fell across the people.
"When we arrived we viewed your race's propensity for evil as a real threat to the universe. We knew you were primitive, but the very animalistic nature in which you treated one another was abhorrent. Wars over dirt instead of venturing in to space, hatred of the way people were born into the world, and such egotism. There was a very real danger that if left unchecked your greed and hatred could consume more than your own world." The crowd is now completely silent as the figure raises one arm pointing directly to the monument behind him.
"This... is your planet's saving grace. The fact that you could unconditionally love a mentally inferior creature. That you loved them no matter their birth or consequences, no matter their temperament or size, and that you went above and beyond for each other as a symbiotic species is what convinced my people that you were worth saving."
"In the years that followed we learned your history. Dogs were created as an act of compassion. Tribes of hunters would feed the wolves discarded by their packs, and they grew close. From that point on the dog has been an evolutionary partner of humanity. From the early pragmatic hunting aid to the modern age companion and guardian the dog has never yet failed to rise to the task. Always cheerful, loving, and loyal the dog is a symbol for the very best that this planet has to offer. I dare say I am jealous of this; your planet's greatest accomplishment."
"And so on this day of celebration let us all give thanks to the noble dog! Savior of humanity, and bearer of this planet's flame for unconditional love!"
And with that a cheer rose up from the crowd, and the sun rested upon that monument for the ages to come. | *Beep. Beep. Beep*
Q2 looked at the monitor. Perhaps some debris from the recent off planet mining expeditions. The excavation teams always were a bit too zealous. No matter, he’d just mark on his report that they weren’t following protocol again and he’d be back to his…wait.
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
What was this? Some sort of primitive spacecraft…? How could something like that have entered their atmosphere? Such a strange shape and lack of peripherals essential to galactic travel. He couldn’t place the materials either. Clearly some sort of alloy encasing, but of what? Corlaxtine? Norvolamine?
After his initial wave of wonder passed, he realized he had to do something. The scans hadn’t detected any sort of hazardous or explosive material, so it had flown in unmolested. The safe passage would indicate that the contents of this alien spacecraft were benign. But still…so foreign. Who knew the contents held within.
He focused his mind and relayed the message to the retrieval team. Within moments, they cast a safenet around the flying object and proceeded with invasive probing.
He heard the crew discussing the findings in his subconscious and dialed in.
“…odd. Strange and odd. This isn’t of any known galaxy here. How did this get here? And what are these materials? How could such a thing have even reached us? It should have been destroyed in the radiation storms. Not to mention it bypassing our security measures.”
“No matter, there’s nothing here to harm us.”
“Are you joking? The fact that this has even reached us when clearly it originated from so far away…This is a threat.”
“Don’t overreact. Caution. Do you remember what happened the last time we overreacted? We destroyed an entire ecosystem that could have proved valuable in our harvesting.”
“Quiet, look at this.”
Q2 waited for them to speak.
“What is this.”
“Some sort of…I don’t know. Run it through the scanner.”
Q2 waited and then heard the eruption of noise. “Is that *carbon* based? It used to…that was a life form! Get the biologists in here!”
Q2 listened in as the events unfolded. Some sort of life based in a galaxy that could only be reached through some sort of galactic tear, which would explain how it got here in the first place. The recreation of the life form revealed a four legged creature with limited physical capabilities. The creature’s anatomy did not point to any ability to create such a vehicle, no matter how primitive it may have been. No appendages with which to manipulate small objects.
“Well, we have all the information we could possibly have gained from this thing. Let’s go present our findings.”
Q2 was ecstatic. As the finder of the vessel, he was one of the chosen to explore the origins. He was to record the findings.
The decision to head out had taken 4 cycles, and his imagination had run rampant the entire time. He could not stop thinking about the possibility of interacting with the thing found in the space vessel. He lost himself in dreams and his anticipation was enough to make his membranes vibrate.
They readied themselves for the voyage. They had been able to trace where the spacecraft had been built and had the coordinates locked in. They would get there soon enough after the latest galactic tear had been found.
He had spent a lot of time looking at the recreation of the being found in the vessel. So small and strange looking, but not so unlike some of the lifeforms he had seen on other planets. They had taken to calling it Carbon Alien Type, or CAT for short. He hoped by the time they made it to CAT’s planet that CATs would still be around. Maybe he could even be friends with a CAT…
They arrived at the planet.
“Look at that!”
Q2 looked.
“We should mine that!”
Excavation teams. All they could ever think about. Q2 thought about recording that in his notes, but before he could, the captain spoke.
“No, we’re on observation duty only. We’ve scanned the location and found no presence of life. We’ll land there and observe the planet from there. If we need to get closer, we will.”
They had strict protocols when it came to observing life on other planets, especially if they were unable to ascertain the level of intelligence of the beings inhabiting the planet. They would employ the use of their long range scanners to glean what information they could. Everyone was excited to learn about this alien land. All Q2 wanted to do was to see a CAT.
“Much as we surmised, these CATs would not have been capable of building that spacecraft. It looks like the ones who manufacture these vehicles are robotic in nature and controlled by another lifeform. It appears that any vessels they send off planet don’t hold any lifeforms, though, so perhaps the CATs were the last ones to man such ships. This points to their dominion over the upright walkers. The walkers are the ones who labor all day while the CATs just laze about. They don’t seem to do much, in truth, though they do get extremely excited when they stay at their abode and the walker returns. Motivations for such excitement unclear, but their relationship seems to be that the CAT is master of the walker. Their hierarchy leads us to believe that with further evolving, the CATs pose a threat. They exhibit aggressive behavior at times and show the capacity to enslave. They have already sent one of their own outside of their galaxy. We may need to eradicate the problem before they branch out into space, much like they have already attempted.”
Q2 sent off his report. The words were largely the crews. He didn’t know how he felt about their conclusions. To him, the CATs weren’t slavers. They were…he didn’t know what. All he knew was that he wanted to spend time with one. Maybe…maybe even keep one…
But no, they were observers only and it violated galactic law to take a sentient being as your own. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do what they were accusing the CATs of doing.
But he had seen how happy the CATs were when the walkers returned home. He just wanted someone to be that happy after not seeing him for a half cycle. Maybe a CAT would be like that when it saw him?
He wanted a CAT. He had to have one.
The more he observed them, the surer he was about the CAT.
“I think…I think they exist to make the walkers happy! It’s not that the CATs are happy when the walkers come home. They are, clearly. But…I think the walkers are happy too! And I think CATs are at their happiest when the walkers are at their happiest. I don’t think their tendencies are for war. I think…I think their tendencies are for love and protection…”
“Q2, that’s ridiculous. My recommendation will be to take preventative measures to keep the CATs from gaining access again outside of this galaxy.”
“No! Captain, please. Let me just get closer for more expert evaluation before we proceed. Give me two cycles!”
“You have one. Get me definitive proof that they aren’t a warlike species and we can spare them.”
This was his chance. Q2 prepared himself to go down.
“Well, I’m off.”
The crew looked at him grimly.
He put on his suit, activated his camouflage, taking on the appearance of one of the walkers and they shot him down to the surface. And there it was. A CAT!
He went over to it, but before he could do anything, the CAT yelled at him. Unsure of how to proceed, Q2 paused. He then reached out to touch the CAT.
And then the CAT bit him.
Q2 gasped and activated his retreat back to the ship.
The captain stared at him and Q2 nodded.
“Final analysis: CATs are warlike. Proceed with preventative measures.”
|
On arrival at Earth the recon team find the canines have enslaved a primitive ape species to perform all their physical labour, research and farming for them, the apes even following the canines round to pick up their excrement whilst the canines take their exercise. | [WP] Aliens on a distant planet find the remains of Laika the 1st dog in space drifting past their planet. They are unable to comprehend how the canine was able to construct such a machine without opposable fingers and thumbs so they send a recon mission to earth to investigate. | The air is rich with the sounds of celebration and the smokey smells of a thousand grills. Walking twenty feet can mean the difference between listening to Pink Floyd and the vague scent of herb, or a festive Bollywood tune and the thick rich smell of stir-fry. Children chase dogs around in the grass, and at the front of the crowd an old man hobbles up to the microphone on stage.
"Hello, and welcome to the unveiling of 'The Guardian'!" The man shouted in a raspy, excited, and quite old voice that tweaks the speakers and calms the din of the crowd.
"Today on the lawns of Washington DC we pay formal respects to one of our greatest heroes. Monuments on this scale and grandeur are reserved for those things that our nation and our world holds most dear to our hearts. Liberty. Strength. Compassion. Order. Each of our grand monuments can evoke these emotions. The fair lady who watches over Ellis island is more than a statue to the existence of liberty, but a shining beacon to the *importance* of liberty. Watching the sun glint off of her face evokes an evolutionary *need* for liberty that impresses itself somewhere deep inside. Lincoln gives us a need for compassion and wisdom, and the Washington monument is an impressive but simple virtue of strength."
"Today we unveil the greatest of these, and so without further pomp I present our monument to Love... The Guardian!"
As sheets fall from around the massive object the familiar silhouette of a dog comes into view. Towering over the crowd the familiar happy expression of the dog shines in the sun, and the crowd revels. The old man retires to his seat, and a four-armed figure takes to the podium.
"It was seventy years ago that our scientists calculated Earth's location based on the trajectory of Laika. It raised many curiosities among my people about the nature of a planet that would produce such a craft. Upon arrival we were met with more curiosities, and to be honest we were more than a little perplexed. There was some debate over whether we should destroy your planet or not..." At this statement a ripple of laughter went through the crowd.
"I'm Serious" the figure said solemnly, and a hush fell across the people.
"When we arrived we viewed your race's propensity for evil as a real threat to the universe. We knew you were primitive, but the very animalistic nature in which you treated one another was abhorrent. Wars over dirt instead of venturing in to space, hatred of the way people were born into the world, and such egotism. There was a very real danger that if left unchecked your greed and hatred could consume more than your own world." The crowd is now completely silent as the figure raises one arm pointing directly to the monument behind him.
"This... is your planet's saving grace. The fact that you could unconditionally love a mentally inferior creature. That you loved them no matter their birth or consequences, no matter their temperament or size, and that you went above and beyond for each other as a symbiotic species is what convinced my people that you were worth saving."
"In the years that followed we learned your history. Dogs were created as an act of compassion. Tribes of hunters would feed the wolves discarded by their packs, and they grew close. From that point on the dog has been an evolutionary partner of humanity. From the early pragmatic hunting aid to the modern age companion and guardian the dog has never yet failed to rise to the task. Always cheerful, loving, and loyal the dog is a symbol for the very best that this planet has to offer. I dare say I am jealous of this; your planet's greatest accomplishment."
"And so on this day of celebration let us all give thanks to the noble dog! Savior of humanity, and bearer of this planet's flame for unconditional love!"
And with that a cheer rose up from the crowd, and the sun rested upon that monument for the ages to come. | The scientist waited. It was a long journey to reach the planet of the strange creature they'd found. It was deemed too dangerous to send one if their own kind so they built a quantum model.
It's design was incredibly simple... It was no goobak project. Two flagonian weeks passed before it arrived to the planet. Teleportation speeds these days have been limited by their providers... Corporatacracies have their downsides.
The first images of this distant planet have sent shock waves through the scientific community. There's so much mizunium! Of course after the initial reports we've out they had transported the rover to an isolated beechi in a place called "Ka-li-4-ni-ah". The gravity there limited the rovers movement to under a qualegue a day.
Nonetheless we've happened upon many creatures along the way. Creatures capable of floating above gravity by using their appendages to shift kukin. Fuzzy creatures big and small collecting food and even a mizuniam based creature.
It wasn't until the third day (based on this alien planets orbit) that we found out it's secret. It had a massive slave population. Based on observations, after rover1, the scientific community places it at about 7 billion slaves.
They are responsible for everything. They build, they destroy and build again. They are obsessed with some substance named moni. It may be some sort of invention by their true masters to keep them satisfied.
Many of them are owned by one of the following creatures: the specimen we found in the space craft or a generally smaller creature with sharp teeth, sharp claws that emits a 'meow' sound. Subjects of the latter seem to be more enslaved than the prior, but more research needs to be conducted.
Regardless these slaves work day and night to feed and sanitize their masters. Huge fields of midori can be seen across their planet feeding both the slaves and their masters alike.
Bathing and waste management is cared for by this ugly slave species. It appears the slaves are much dirtier due to their daily bathing rituals. Excrement from their masters is cleaned up regularly or they face a moni deficit. Such a strange world.
Most notably huge ushi-like creatures are slaughtered by the millions to feed the entirety of the population; both masters and slaves .
More research must be done on this strange place. Stay tuned flagonians!
[time to eat dinner and go to bed. Thanks for a fun prompt!] |
[This is a well written example](http://joncjg.blogspot.com/2014/04/childrens-story-writing.html)
Edit: Wow, I didn't think it would get as much attention as it did. Thanks for submitting, all of you! | [WP] Write a children's story that turns into the most moral-lacking piece of work possible. | There were once a tortoise and a hare. The hare was haughty and fast, and the turtle was slow and wise. One day the hare approached the tortoise. He had bags under his eyes. "Hey, man," the hare wheezed, "listen, I need to get gas for my car--my cousin left me at the Exxon and I got to get back to my hotel where my kids are waiting for me. You got twenty dollars I can borrow? I'll send it back to you soon as I get my wallet at the hotel."
The tortoise took a $20 bill from his shell and handed it to the hare.
The hare snapped the bill crisply. "Man, you a dumb mothafucker ain't ya?"
"What?" the turtle replied indignantly.
"You dumb as fuck," the hare giggled and began to run.
"Hey," the turtle shouted, crawling after him, "hey, give me back my money!"
"Come and get it you slow-ass mothafucka!"
The tortoise crawled slowly and steadily after the hare and got absolutely nowhere worth mentioning. His steadfastness and constancy did absolutely nothing for him in this particular situation.
| Jenny lived in a remote village several miles away from any metropolitan area. The children of the village never wondered what was outside of their little home. Except Jenny was a curious child. For as long as she could remember she's desperately wanted to journey to the nearest big city, but no one had left the village for many years.
"No, you mustn't go," her friends would say. "You'll get lost in the woods and never find your way back."
Oh, but Jenny was much too enraptured by the thought of adventure to listen to friends no wiser than she. Jenny decided she would ask her grandmother for help in preparing for her journey. She'll help me, thought Jenny.
Grandmother was, you might say, something of a shit. She wholeheartedly enjoyed anything that would infuriate Jenny's parents. She luxuriates in the misery of stupid people (which to was anyone who isn't smarter than she was). She'd spent the past three weeks pretending to forget everyone she knew every few hours just to eavesdrop on conversations other people thought she would never remember. Grandmother learned new things every day.
"I'll tell you what, Timmy-"
"Jenny, gran-"
"Yes, Remmy, I'll tell you what. You give me the key to your house and I'll let you fill your pack with anything from the pantry. Just don't feed any animals you might find, they'll hunt their own food just like us."
Grandmother would spend the next few days rearranging some of the furniture in Jenny's house. A twist of a chair here, an overturned picture frame there, she'd perhaps put the toilet paper on the wrong way. Oh, and she must put the guns in different cases (Jenny's parents were both hunters, you see).
Jenny left her village the same night, heading south towards the city. She walked, singing songs to herself as she went, until she ran out of songs to sing. She must've been walking for hours and she'd eaten most of her food. Jenny decided she would climb the tallest tree she could find hoping she might see the lights of the city. She wondered if she really was lost. She found a tree that was thirty - nay, thirty two feet tall, and, after making a very large pile of leaves and straw (in case of a fall) climbed to the very top and....and there it was. There, radiant, glistening and ever-enthralling was her long awaited city.
Jenny thought. She thought about her parents, the parents she'd barely thought about before leaving. She thought about her friends, who she left without saying goodbye. She thought about her grandmother. Shit that she was, she might tell her parents where she's gone off to. Especially once she's discovered Jenny'd given her the key to her own house. She thought about Timmy and Remmy. She thought about her diary, her most intimate thoughts that were left behind. She never mentioned leaving the village in it, but her parents wouldn't know that and they'd read everything else if grandmother didn't tell them first.
Jenny heard a crack, the branch she was standing on gave way, and she fell, but her longing for the city remained in the tree. And she fell onto the leaves. Jenny was, save for a few cuts and bruises, all right. She lifted her bag, noting that there was more food left than she'd thought, dusted herself off and wrapped a cut hand in a shirt she'd brought with her. She regretted leaving her family; she missed her friends.
Jenny wanted to go back home. She felt she hadn't payed any attention to very much of anything there. In fact she couldn't remember but the most insignificant details about her home. She felt ashamed of herself at being so thoughtless, so she began her walk back home.
She walked, again, for hours. The sun was about to rise and the trip back seemed to go by faster than leaving did. She liked the thought of returning home after a journey. Short that it was, she had still been further away than she'd ever been before and that was something to be proud of. She sighed at the thought of her parents reading her diary.
And then a thing ate her. |
[This is a well written example](http://joncjg.blogspot.com/2014/04/childrens-story-writing.html)
Edit: Wow, I didn't think it would get as much attention as it did. Thanks for submitting, all of you! | [WP] Write a children's story that turns into the most moral-lacking piece of work possible. | Red Eggs And Ham
by Dr. Gauss
I make you breakfast, dearest son
Because you are my precious one
I know you like my scrambled eggs
And sausage patties, shaped like pegs
-----------------------------------
You always tell me "Thank you, dad,
for all the good food that we've had,
I love you more than anything,
inside this house, you are the King."
-----------------------------------
You really like red eggs and ham
You really like strawberry jam
You eat it while you watch TV
You eat it straight from the pantry
-----------------------------------
You do not need to know from whence
Daddy gets his ingredients
Just know that you're my shining star
And I will never wander far
-----------------------------------
You ask me why I cook downstairs
and why I took a kitchen chair
You ask why it seems all your dreams
are shattered by the sound of screams.
-----------------------------------
You do not let food go to waste,
but complain about the penny taste.
You ask why everything is red,
and why some of it smells quite...dead.
-----------------------------------
My son, you don't appreciate
the work that went into this plate
Blood, sweat and tears are in this meal
though where they're from, I must conceal
-----------------------------------
You wait until I go outside
and open the downstairs door slide
You see your mother, nice and clean
and ready to go in the sausage machine
-----------------------------------
Now you know how breakfast is made
and why daddy owns so many sharp blades
You feel sick, vomit in your hair
until you hear steps on the stairs
-----------------------------------
"My son, you should not be down here
I tried to shield you from hate and fear
But now, I fear you've seen too much
and punishment is due, as such
-----------------------------------
You cry and scream, but do not fight
You sob and wail, but do not bite
I wish that I could make this quick
but bad little boys must eat my dick
-----------------------------------
I see you choke a bit, at first
but it's like a lollipop, not the worst
your Wii remote has been your craft
now it helps you to work the shaft
-----------------------------------
I take no pleasure when I cum
because you do not look so glum
In fact, you are smiling at me
and swallowing so gleefully
-----------------------------------
My boy, I think you've been redeemed
This is the moment that i've dreamed
The day you make red eggs and ham
My lovely child, the Son of Sam.
| Jenny lived in a remote village several miles away from any metropolitan area. The children of the village never wondered what was outside of their little home. Except Jenny was a curious child. For as long as she could remember she's desperately wanted to journey to the nearest big city, but no one had left the village for many years.
"No, you mustn't go," her friends would say. "You'll get lost in the woods and never find your way back."
Oh, but Jenny was much too enraptured by the thought of adventure to listen to friends no wiser than she. Jenny decided she would ask her grandmother for help in preparing for her journey. She'll help me, thought Jenny.
Grandmother was, you might say, something of a shit. She wholeheartedly enjoyed anything that would infuriate Jenny's parents. She luxuriates in the misery of stupid people (which to was anyone who isn't smarter than she was). She'd spent the past three weeks pretending to forget everyone she knew every few hours just to eavesdrop on conversations other people thought she would never remember. Grandmother learned new things every day.
"I'll tell you what, Timmy-"
"Jenny, gran-"
"Yes, Remmy, I'll tell you what. You give me the key to your house and I'll let you fill your pack with anything from the pantry. Just don't feed any animals you might find, they'll hunt their own food just like us."
Grandmother would spend the next few days rearranging some of the furniture in Jenny's house. A twist of a chair here, an overturned picture frame there, she'd perhaps put the toilet paper on the wrong way. Oh, and she must put the guns in different cases (Jenny's parents were both hunters, you see).
Jenny left her village the same night, heading south towards the city. She walked, singing songs to herself as she went, until she ran out of songs to sing. She must've been walking for hours and she'd eaten most of her food. Jenny decided she would climb the tallest tree she could find hoping she might see the lights of the city. She wondered if she really was lost. She found a tree that was thirty - nay, thirty two feet tall, and, after making a very large pile of leaves and straw (in case of a fall) climbed to the very top and....and there it was. There, radiant, glistening and ever-enthralling was her long awaited city.
Jenny thought. She thought about her parents, the parents she'd barely thought about before leaving. She thought about her friends, who she left without saying goodbye. She thought about her grandmother. Shit that she was, she might tell her parents where she's gone off to. Especially once she's discovered Jenny'd given her the key to her own house. She thought about Timmy and Remmy. She thought about her diary, her most intimate thoughts that were left behind. She never mentioned leaving the village in it, but her parents wouldn't know that and they'd read everything else if grandmother didn't tell them first.
Jenny heard a crack, the branch she was standing on gave way, and she fell, but her longing for the city remained in the tree. And she fell onto the leaves. Jenny was, save for a few cuts and bruises, all right. She lifted her bag, noting that there was more food left than she'd thought, dusted herself off and wrapped a cut hand in a shirt she'd brought with her. She regretted leaving her family; she missed her friends.
Jenny wanted to go back home. She felt she hadn't payed any attention to very much of anything there. In fact she couldn't remember but the most insignificant details about her home. She felt ashamed of herself at being so thoughtless, so she began her walk back home.
She walked, again, for hours. The sun was about to rise and the trip back seemed to go by faster than leaving did. She liked the thought of returning home after a journey. Short that it was, she had still been further away than she'd ever been before and that was something to be proud of. She sighed at the thought of her parents reading her diary.
And then a thing ate her. |
[WP] On earth, a magician puts his hand into a top hat. In the rabbit realm, the hand emerges. It is time. The rabbit council must choose a sacrifice. | [do not read unless also stoned]
"Hare ye, hare ye!" undersecretharey Von Bunnums called to the assembly at large. "The Rabbit Council has called this emergency session in order to reach a consensus on Item #4399 of the docket: Selection of Rabbit Sacrifice for Hat Trick. It is 1300, June 8, in the Year of Our Hare 2014. First presenting arguments to the Rabbit Council is the esteemed Petros R. Rabbitopolis, First Chare of the Council.
"Thank you, Mr. Undersecretharey. As is customharey, I would like to nominate a rabbit guilty of the most heinous of crimes: defecating in the carrot patch. The rabbit in question, Poppers McHopperton, will henceforth be exiled into the human realm, where he will be forced to live in a cage or hutch, and perform all further defecatations on top of week-old newspaper. I yield the remainder of my time."
"Thank you, Mr. Rabbitopolis. The Council recognizes Madam Jacqueline Rabbitte."
"Merci. I feel that as rabbits, it is our solemn duty to uphold that which is most dear to rabbitkind: speedy fornication. Therefore, the rabbit I nominate for sacrifice is Pierre Rabbitte: this speaker's husband. This speaker can testify with conviction that he regularly elongates the sexual act, once not bringing himself to climax for over 30 minutes."
[Astonished cacophany ensues.]
"Order, order! Mme. Rabbitte, do you yield the remainder of your time?"
"I so yield."
"Thank you, Mme. Rabbitte. The Council now recognizes concerned citizen of Rabbitchester: Mr. Harey Trurabbit. Mr. Trurabbit, please state your nomination and reasoning to the Council."
"I thank yah, Mr. Undersecretharey. I done nominate those pesky little pikas--"
"Mr. Trurabbit, you are reminded that racial epithets will not be tolerated during your testimony, and further such outbursts will result in your being held in contempt by this council."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mr. Undersecretharey. Now then, these... rabbits down in my rabbithole were done hoppin' on my bed! One of those animals plum fell off and bumped his head... and had the nerve to threaten ME with a lawsuit! ME! On MY bed! I tell ya, that makes me hoppin' mad!"
"Mr. Trurabbit, you have been warned about inappropriate language previously, and your use of The Forbidden Pun forces this Council to find you in contempt. Does any Council Chare hop to expedite this hare-ing and nominate Mr. Trurabbit as the nominee for Sacrifice for the Hat Trick of June 8, 2014?"
"I so hop."
"Second."
"We have a hop and a second. All those in favor?"
[resounding yea vote]
"All opposed?"
[silence]
"Wait a cotton-pickin' minute--"
"Mr. Trurabbit, you are hare-by nominated as the sacrifice and all that other stuff I just said. This hare-ing is adjourned."
| The portal opened up half an hour ago. It was just a matter of minutes before the Hand of God would come to claim its next sacrifice. Me.
Ever since I was a small bunny, we've had these rituals. The eldest rabbit in our village got the privilege to live in the luxurious mansion at the top of Carrot Peak, with the freshest food and the softest hay. It was the least we could do for the one who would soon be swept away. They seldom got to stay for more than a few days, though. When the portal opened, they would bid farewell to their family and friends, and wait for their tragic fate at the altar. The Hand would swoop down and take them away. Rinse, repeat.
And now it was my turn.
Recently the portal stated appearing more often, and the sacrifices got younger and younger. I'm only half as old as my mother were when she got taken away. I miss her.
I turned to look at my wife and daughter. My beautiful wife. She has the same birthday as me. That's how we first started talking, when we were still in school, arguing about which of us were older, and thus had more authority. I was 35 minutes older than her, but she's still the boss around the house. I'd miss her bossing.
My daughter was crying now. Don't worry, this will be the last time. You see, I had a plan. I were to detonate a load of explosives just as I was passing through the portal. I didn't want my daughter to see both her parents gone in the same week. I was going to end this, once and for all.
The world tilted suddenly as I was jerked violently into the air. This was it.
Click.
---
It felt like I floating on clouds. But it was hay? The softest hay I've ever felt. Better than Carrot Peak Mansion. My eyesight was blurry, but I could feel someone standing next to me. "Oh, my son, you shouldn't have. You really shouldn't have." Mom?
In the distant background I could see a perplexed tuxedoclad human, staring at a burnt, smoking top hat. | |
Could either be over a long period of time, or a single pivotal event... | [WP] A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent | "Mrs. Johnson? I'm Agent Ngai and this is Agent Powers. We're from the National Security Agency. Can we come in?"
The screen door creaked open and Beth Johnson showed the agents to the kitchen. Her offer of coffee was refused so she sat.
"What's this all about? Is it Bobby? Has he done something?"
"No Mam, your husband is fine and in no trouble at all. It's James that we want to talk to you about" Ngai tried to use as optimistic a tone as possible to keep the woman calm. This type of situation was never easy.
"Jimmy? Why?" she fumbled with her mug, her voice rising in pitch. Powers placed a hand on her arm for reassurance. He smiled.
Ngai explained "Well, actually, we're here on a recruitment mission. You see, James has expressed some talents that we would find very useful in the types of operations we conduct."
"What's he done? I told those people at the Bank about the ATM. He gave all the money back and even helped them fix it"
"We know mam. It's a little bit bigger than that." Ngai said. Powers pushed some papers towards Mrs Johnson. "Since James is a minor, we're going to need your permission to hire him. So if you could just sign next to the Xs on these forms" Powers handed Mrs Johnson his pen.
She gave the forms a quick look and started to sign. Stopping and flipping to seventh page, she paused and read aloud "gives permission to remove said Child from premise and transfers full custody to the National Security Agency". She look first at Powers and then at Ngai. "You mind explaining what I'm signing?"
*shit, doesn't matter how ignorant they are they always see page seven* Ngai thought then spoke "Mam, what it means is that for certain operations, your son may need to be placed in our custody. It's for his own safety."
"You're taking my Jimmy away. For Christsake he's a 10 year old boy" Mrs. Johnson voice had raised to a level just below a scream.
"With all due respect Mam" Powers said "once you've obtained the Pakistani nuclear launch codes, the Government considers you a man." | "You ready?" whispered Tommy with a grin. "Yea...Yea I'm ready." Vivian whispered anxiously, "I'm just nervous that's all. It's my first time and all." "Yea, it's my first time too, but don't worry you'll be fine. We'll both be!" said Tommy sanguinely. "Okay, let's do this." smiled back Vivian with a wink. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here..." began the priest in a monotone voice. Today was Tommy and Vivian's wedding day. They were "hopeless romantics" as their friends liked to say; they fell for each other freshmen year of college and after three years in a relationship, decided to get married. Their parents believed they were too young, too naive but decided to trust them basing their judgment on some unconditional love bullcrap.
They were in a small, quaint church, surrounded by their closest friends, family, coworkers, role models, etc. "Today was their big day or should I say it was for a big day for Tommy and I." chuckled Alex with a grin. Alex, a NSA agent, smoked a cigar in the surveillance room. "Hey Jared? You watching the wedding unfold, buddy?" shouted Alex. "Yea, can't believe, my girl Vivian's all grow up." replied Jared from another room. "Well, you better stop it, ya sleazy bastard!" cackled Alex shortly followed by a loud cough. "Same goes for you, ya pedo!" replied Jared with an ecstatic shout. Alex and Jared were assigned to look after Tommy and Vivian respectively ever since the two lovebirds were born. Tommy and Vivian were the kids of distinguished ambassadors; therefore, the United States government wanted them closely monitored.
"I'm tearing up, Jared. Ain't love a beautiful sight? The feeling of euphoria that's created is simply indescribable." said Alex, with his head turned to Jared with a choked up voice. "Ay, don't get all poetic on me ya bastard." shouted Jared with a laugh, "Wells, how about, after the wedding we take the day off. I mean, it's not like the boss is gonna find out or anything." "Alright, sounds good." replied Alex. Alex stared at the monitor once more and simply smiled at the sight he was witnessing. "I do." said Tommy and Vivian in unison. "You may kiss the bride." said the priest. They kissed and shouts and cheers echoed from the grainy monitor. "Attaboy, Tommy." whispered Alex with a grin. |
Could either be over a long period of time, or a single pivotal event... | [WP] A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent | January 11th, 1997, 17:56 - *Search*: "How to tell if a girl likes you"
January 11th, 2008, 14:35 - *Search*: Ideas for a first date
January 11th, 2016, 12:25 - *Search*: How to choose an engagement ring
January 11th, 2020, 10:43 - *Search*: Divorce lawyers
January 11th, 2025, 13:46 - *Search*: Headache, pain in groin, fever
January 13th, 2025, 17:52 - *Search*: Liver cancer survival rates
January 14th, 2025, 16:42 - *Search*: How to write a will
January 15th, 2025, 19:43 - *Search*: Countries with assisted suicide
January 15th, 2025, 19:50 - *Search*: Tickets to Switzerland
**End of user history**
Ninja edit: I haven't written something quite like this before, so feedback would be appreciated! | "You ready?" whispered Tommy with a grin. "Yea...Yea I'm ready." Vivian whispered anxiously, "I'm just nervous that's all. It's my first time and all." "Yea, it's my first time too, but don't worry you'll be fine. We'll both be!" said Tommy sanguinely. "Okay, let's do this." smiled back Vivian with a wink. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here..." began the priest in a monotone voice. Today was Tommy and Vivian's wedding day. They were "hopeless romantics" as their friends liked to say; they fell for each other freshmen year of college and after three years in a relationship, decided to get married. Their parents believed they were too young, too naive but decided to trust them basing their judgment on some unconditional love bullcrap.
They were in a small, quaint church, surrounded by their closest friends, family, coworkers, role models, etc. "Today was their big day or should I say it was for a big day for Tommy and I." chuckled Alex with a grin. Alex, a NSA agent, smoked a cigar in the surveillance room. "Hey Jared? You watching the wedding unfold, buddy?" shouted Alex. "Yea, can't believe, my girl Vivian's all grow up." replied Jared from another room. "Well, you better stop it, ya sleazy bastard!" cackled Alex shortly followed by a loud cough. "Same goes for you, ya pedo!" replied Jared with an ecstatic shout. Alex and Jared were assigned to look after Tommy and Vivian respectively ever since the two lovebirds were born. Tommy and Vivian were the kids of distinguished ambassadors; therefore, the United States government wanted them closely monitored.
"I'm tearing up, Jared. Ain't love a beautiful sight? The feeling of euphoria that's created is simply indescribable." said Alex, with his head turned to Jared with a choked up voice. "Ay, don't get all poetic on me ya bastard." shouted Jared with a laugh, "Wells, how about, after the wedding we take the day off. I mean, it's not like the boss is gonna find out or anything." "Alright, sounds good." replied Alex. Alex stared at the monitor once more and simply smiled at the sight he was witnessing. "I do." said Tommy and Vivian in unison. "You may kiss the bride." said the priest. They kissed and shouts and cheers echoed from the grainy monitor. "Attaboy, Tommy." whispered Alex with a grin. |
Could either be over a long period of time, or a single pivotal event... | [WP] A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent | Extracts from the journal of agent NCIJ-24, Mary Flannigan
Punitive Action Division - Investigation 4B8 - Exhibit A
_________________________
New target today, a ten year old boy,
American born from East End Dakota.
He's new on the net, so I must deploy,
If I am to hit my monthly quota.
He's thirteen today, oh how he has grown,
Watched him develop for all of these years.
His LiveBlog so sweet, his fanfics have shown,
A mind and a wit beyond all his peers.
Fifteen already, oh how the years fly,
Romance and passion have filled up his life.
His Facebook my God, he's one active guy,
Flirting and parties and silly teen strife.
At eighteen my boy, he makes me so proud,
Facing the real world as he graduates.
I scream out with glee, a little too loud,
Watching his profile's new photo updates.
Now twenty I feel, if I must confess,
Things could be better my young unknown.
He fell for a girl, she made him a mess,
She stomped on his heart and left him alone.
His blogs are so sad, his Twitter so bleak,
It hurts me so much to see him so low.
His Facebook is dead, on Skype he won't speak,
If only he knew how I love him so.
He's perfect I think, so kind and so smart,
A model young man who just needs a friend.
Sometimes you fall down, or you break your heart,
We all need someone on whom to depend.
It tires me so, silly Big Brother,
I'm ready to be more a Big Mother.
I'll reach out today, it's time I acted,
Today I will meet my sweet **[REDACTED]**
| "You ready?" whispered Tommy with a grin. "Yea...Yea I'm ready." Vivian whispered anxiously, "I'm just nervous that's all. It's my first time and all." "Yea, it's my first time too, but don't worry you'll be fine. We'll both be!" said Tommy sanguinely. "Okay, let's do this." smiled back Vivian with a wink. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here..." began the priest in a monotone voice. Today was Tommy and Vivian's wedding day. They were "hopeless romantics" as their friends liked to say; they fell for each other freshmen year of college and after three years in a relationship, decided to get married. Their parents believed they were too young, too naive but decided to trust them basing their judgment on some unconditional love bullcrap.
They were in a small, quaint church, surrounded by their closest friends, family, coworkers, role models, etc. "Today was their big day or should I say it was for a big day for Tommy and I." chuckled Alex with a grin. Alex, a NSA agent, smoked a cigar in the surveillance room. "Hey Jared? You watching the wedding unfold, buddy?" shouted Alex. "Yea, can't believe, my girl Vivian's all grow up." replied Jared from another room. "Well, you better stop it, ya sleazy bastard!" cackled Alex shortly followed by a loud cough. "Same goes for you, ya pedo!" replied Jared with an ecstatic shout. Alex and Jared were assigned to look after Tommy and Vivian respectively ever since the two lovebirds were born. Tommy and Vivian were the kids of distinguished ambassadors; therefore, the United States government wanted them closely monitored.
"I'm tearing up, Jared. Ain't love a beautiful sight? The feeling of euphoria that's created is simply indescribable." said Alex, with his head turned to Jared with a choked up voice. "Ay, don't get all poetic on me ya bastard." shouted Jared with a laugh, "Wells, how about, after the wedding we take the day off. I mean, it's not like the boss is gonna find out or anything." "Alright, sounds good." replied Alex. Alex stared at the monitor once more and simply smiled at the sight he was witnessing. "I do." said Tommy and Vivian in unison. "You may kiss the bride." said the priest. They kissed and shouts and cheers echoed from the grainy monitor. "Attaboy, Tommy." whispered Alex with a grin. |
Could either be over a long period of time, or a single pivotal event... | [WP] A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent | January 11th, 1997, 17:56 - *Search*: "How to tell if a girl likes you"
January 11th, 2008, 14:35 - *Search*: Ideas for a first date
January 11th, 2016, 12:25 - *Search*: How to choose an engagement ring
January 11th, 2020, 10:43 - *Search*: Divorce lawyers
January 11th, 2025, 13:46 - *Search*: Headache, pain in groin, fever
January 13th, 2025, 17:52 - *Search*: Liver cancer survival rates
January 14th, 2025, 16:42 - *Search*: How to write a will
January 15th, 2025, 19:43 - *Search*: Countries with assisted suicide
January 15th, 2025, 19:50 - *Search*: Tickets to Switzerland
**End of user history**
Ninja edit: I haven't written something quite like this before, so feedback would be appreciated! | "Mrs. Johnson? I'm Agent Ngai and this is Agent Powers. We're from the National Security Agency. Can we come in?"
The screen door creaked open and Beth Johnson showed the agents to the kitchen. Her offer of coffee was refused so she sat.
"What's this all about? Is it Bobby? Has he done something?"
"No Mam, your husband is fine and in no trouble at all. It's James that we want to talk to you about" Ngai tried to use as optimistic a tone as possible to keep the woman calm. This type of situation was never easy.
"Jimmy? Why?" she fumbled with her mug, her voice rising in pitch. Powers placed a hand on her arm for reassurance. He smiled.
Ngai explained "Well, actually, we're here on a recruitment mission. You see, James has expressed some talents that we would find very useful in the types of operations we conduct."
"What's he done? I told those people at the Bank about the ATM. He gave all the money back and even helped them fix it"
"We know mam. It's a little bit bigger than that." Ngai said. Powers pushed some papers towards Mrs Johnson. "Since James is a minor, we're going to need your permission to hire him. So if you could just sign next to the Xs on these forms" Powers handed Mrs Johnson his pen.
She gave the forms a quick look and started to sign. Stopping and flipping to seventh page, she paused and read aloud "gives permission to remove said Child from premise and transfers full custody to the National Security Agency". She look first at Powers and then at Ngai. "You mind explaining what I'm signing?"
*shit, doesn't matter how ignorant they are they always see page seven* Ngai thought then spoke "Mam, what it means is that for certain operations, your son may need to be placed in our custody. It's for his own safety."
"You're taking my Jimmy away. For Christsake he's a 10 year old boy" Mrs. Johnson voice had raised to a level just below a scream.
"With all due respect Mam" Powers said "once you've obtained the Pakistani nuclear launch codes, the Government considers you a man." |
[WP] You live in a universe that wasn't constructed that well and the physics are buggy and things occasionally just don't work right. | I put the kettle down on the counter, one second later it started to shake and jitter. The base disappeared beneath the countertop and I lunged for it. "No, no, no! FUCK!" It dropped through and disappeared, "Every...fucking...time!"
I've tried putting it on different places on the counter, I tried turning the lights off and putting it on the counter. I rearranged the chairs and then tried it all over again with the lights on and off. I removed various appliances and other clutter from the counter, I tried the counter bare. It just wouldn't hold a hot kettle. Cold one sure, but once it was hot the thing would drop off the face of the Earth.
I went to the living room and grabbed another kettle. There was no point looking for the other one, it was gone. Maybe someone in asscrack, Missouri would tweet about all the kettles that showed up in a ditch. Maybe NASA would appeal to the public, again, to stop whatever they are doing that's sending these kettles into orbit. That wasn't likely but you never knew.
Odds are whoever found them would just make a tidy profit selling them on the bugged item market. You wouldn't think that sort of thing would sell but some folk just can't afford clean stuff. Whoever found these wouldn't know if they were clean or not and there were regs against selling something as clean if it wasn't certified. Besides, some bugged items were worth a ton of cash. Last year someone paid over a billion (clean) dollars for an oven that made any meal cooked in it fat free and delicious.
I stuck the kettle on the stove, turned off the kitchen lights, started the dishwasher, and left the kitchen. I called the customer, "No kettle solution yet, I think we're going to have to repaint. Yeah, I know, but it's that or we try another countertop. I think it's the counter. That, or your house has bigger problems than you thought." I held the phone away from my ear while the man on the other end screamed at me. Caveat emptor, asshole. | "Now watch carefully because I'm only going to show you once" I said to Toby, my curious little brother.
"All you have to do is place the toy truck in this chest, close your eyes, take the truck out of the chest without opening your eyes and then reopen the chest again and you will find that there's another toy truck in the chest."
Toby's eyes lit up brightly in excitement upon seeing me pull out a second Hot Wheels limited edition Blasting Rig Semi from the chest, identical to the one I was holding in my hand.
"No matter what it is you want more of, games, toys, or food, you can make an exact copy of it," I said as I handed him the chest.
"I know exactly what I want to make!"
I chuckled at my brother's naive excitement. It was a neat glitch I accidentally discovered after the recent 1.4.0 world update, but it would probably get patched within the next few days. The truck I copied would most likely get deleted again as the world admins cleaned up any detected duplicates, or maybe it was the original one they got rid of, not that it mattered since they are both technically the same. But until the bug was patched, it was nice to have some fun.
"Hey bro! Big bro! Look what I made!"
I turned around, half expecting Toby to have cloned his favorite transformer toy or perhaps another gameboy. He always wanted new toys but this time, to my horror, I realized that was far from what happened.
"Look! Isn't my copy cool bro?"
"No I made you! You're the copy."
"Nuh-uh! I'm the real one!"
"No I'm the real one! Big bro, tell him he's the copy!" |
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