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[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | First time writing something here, so I understand if it's shit.
Captain Hollister drew a long, slow breath in through his nose. He had to remain calm, if not for himself then for the crew of his ship, The Hercules. It had been 5 weeks since the colonies of Mars split from the Terran Empire, and in that time Hollister and his comrades had mobilised.
Three battlegroups, comprising of three Hero class battleships, two State class carriers and a multitude of cruisers and other ships had departed the orbit of Luna, separating and heading towards their own objectives. The Hercules - and her sister ships the Perseus and the Achilles - was gearing up for the first major engagement of the conflict. Hollister himself was a veteran of several prior campaigns, including the now infamous Jupiter Incident. Out of the viewport ahead of him, he could see the Martian fleet. Hollister had been told by his superiors that the Martians had only a small fleet, mostly made up of relics from the colonisation of Mars.
His superiors were wrong.
Whereas the fleet Hollister was in was a fearsome force numbering an intimidating 56 vessels, the Martian fleet was easily twice that number. At the front of the Martians was the ship that had sparked many rumours over the years - The Mephistopheles. Some said it couldn't be done, others that the rumours were just that - rumours. The Mephistopheles was bigger than all three of the battleships end to end, and allegedly carried enough nukes to render Terra no more than a charred pebble.
Hollister immediately got on comms to the Achilles and the Perseus, ordering the trio of ships into a broadside, as he got confirmation from the carriers Guardian and Kingslayer that they had launched their compliments of Sparrow fighter-bombers.
He watched the bright trails the nukes left behind them, and felt content. The battle was going well. So far, the Martians hadn't even fired a shot, whilst the Terrans had destroyed 4 ships, and damaged a further 16. The battleships were constantly pumping out their radioactive payloads into the inky darkness of space. However, a spike of power was detected from the Mephistopheles a few moments ago. Hollister ran his gaze across his fleet, taking in the lights and the flashes off cannons. Something caught his eye.
Something speeding towards the hull of the Perseus.
A blinding white flash emanated from where the object struck the Perseus, and shortly before his eyes were liquidated in their sockets, Hollister saw that the Perseus had been immolated in its entirety. The Achilles, who had her front behind the Perseus, was beheaded, before going off into an uncontrollable cartwheel. The Hercules, however, took relatively light damage, with one exception. The oxygen generators had been catastrophically hit, with no chance of repairs.
Hollister allowed himself a sad smile. This was how he was going to go. Not with a courageous last stand, or a noble sacrifice, but slowly, fighting for the last scraps of air as he watched the ships under his command get steamrolled.
(As I said, this is my first time posting here, so I apologise if it's shit.) | "They have absolutely no regard for civilization! They are degenerates and criminals who think they have some ridiculous right to self-determination! This rebellion will accomplish *nothing* aside from destroying families and obliterating progress for the next decade!" The Terran captain's rage continued to pour over the comms until the Martian commander suddenly shut it off.
"Figures we weren't able to intercept any channel that's useful." Martian Commander Olsen stared through the glass that separated the bridge from the unforgiving void - her eyes already weary from the events leading up to this moment.
Olsen glanced over to her executive officer, who made no attempt to hide the disquietude exuding from his expression, "Relax a little, we're making the right decision."
"I - I know, but our lovely friend over there has a point. Our choices are going to huge impact, and not all of it will be pleasant," his voice grave mixed with a hint of sarcasm.
"You're right - we are destroying an interplanetary empire," she returned the humor. "But they are exploiting us," her tone switched swiftly. "We are living miserably so they can live comfortably. Any chance at a peaceful resolution is slim, and that's something we have known since the beginning. We exhausted many peaceful options, but we need to strike before they can prepare for a revolution"
Her somber eyes began scanning the blackness in front of her, seemingly expecting to see something, "The ambush is going to take place with at least a couple of kilometers of space in between us. We won't see anything"
The Terran navy was not much of a navy, but more of a large task-force designed to combat ill-equipped pirates. The majority of their ships were fast, well-rounded, and incredibly effective. They were a dangerous foe the infant Martian navy needed to carefully counter.
The revolutionaries spent years setting up a honeypot - a large, decoy pirate organization, and now an ambush that spent years in the making was about to come to fruition.
The Martian fleet was barely inside of the Terran fleet's sensor range - their ships tightly packed around the trap carefully set by the Martians.
"Three minutes until we are within range," the XO stated calmly over the intercom, his fear and doubt hidden well from the crew.
The haunting sounds of the ship's artillery moving into place reverberated throughout the quiet bridge.
"I'm impressed the Terran captain picked up on the situation so quickly." Olsen said, as if distancing herself from his imminent fate.
The commander took control of the comms and broke the radio silence among their fleet, "All ships prepare to fire." The fifty Martian ships, jury-rigged with long-range cannons, were all within range and had their weapons prepped per the battle plan.
The next few seconds crept by, every Martian aware of what was about to happen to hundreds of good people.
"Fire." | |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | "Silence on the Stage! Cue lights! Roll cameras! and we are live in 3,2,1 ..."
"Welcome and thank you for joining us! I'm Kate!"
"I'm Habib! Today's date stamp is May 26 2336"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"If you're just leaving virtual immersion folks here is the IRL so far."
"We all know that the outer colonies have lived with us in peace and prosperity since the results of the Pacific Blast last century."
"Lately however some of these folks have gotten pretty grumpy Habib."
"You bet Kate, tensions among the Ares Council, the OutSpace Coalition and our very own UNISPAN have reached the tidal point."
"Is it really true that Chairman Hartzkroitz is mobilizing the military?"
"Sadly yes. As we all know the Eden Restoration project takes a lot, but many of the remote colonies no longer want to help restore our home to its rightful state."
"Mmm. That sounds scary Habib, why wouldn't everyone want to contribute to saving our birthplace and legacy?"
"Beats me Kate, but recent tragic events would seem to say they don't want to give their fair share. Last cycle we brought you the unsettling footage of the ICS-ME-5539 exploding in a clear terrorist attack. Ares spokespeople were quick to decry the attack that damaged Mar's largest spaceport, yet they were also quick to re-purpose the shipment for local use."
"Maybe a bit too quick. In response Chairman Hartzkroitz accused the Ares council of tolerating even orchestrating this latest in a string of isolationist extremist events."
"Now for the latest development, ICS-ME-5540 flight has been interdicted by Ares authorities on arrival. While publicly stating they have interned the crew for alleged arms smuggling, the calls to free the brave sailors has not gone unheard."
"Once scrambled the Personnel Carriers of UNISPAN PeaceKeepers should arrive at Mars on the next orbital to negotiate the safe return of UNISPAN property personal and the resumption of normal traffic and relations."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd roared when he took the stage. The red green Ares banners flapped idly in the light salty breeze on the Olympus Mons Plateau wafting off the Northern Sea.
"Hello Martians!" HE waited for the noise to settle before continuing.
"You all know who I am. I am You. You all know what I want. I want what is ours!"
The slogan had its usual effect.
"We stood up! We rose like the phoenix from the ashes. Fleeing the tyranny of a ruined Eden. The lie of fate and the call of Destiny revealed the truth to us! We brought life and progress to a wasteland and made our own paradise. All these long years we have built with our own hands and our own effort a place to claim as our own. A new destiny no longer fraught with the wars of our ancestors and dangerous claims of progeny."
Standard fare but he had them hooked for something new.
"Now we no longer want to tithe a taskmaster who gives us nothing! We have never been children who need to be pampered and fed. We grow our own food. We build our own machines. We Raised our own cities. All that you see we brought forth with the sweat off our brows. We have made a new home for mankind and we don't need Daddy to spank us anymore!"
The noise level was at a continuous high now but he didn't relent.
"We're not going to support a corrupt and false utopia anymore! Let them all wake up to the reality for a final time! Let them dig into the old dirt and rebuild their own house for once! For today; MARS STANDS ALONE! TODAY MARS KEEPS WHAT MARS MAKES! TODAY WE DRIVE BACK THE THIEVES!"
ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES!
---------------------------------------------------------------
"What does it mean Papa? Will the sponges really invade the reds?"
"What have I told you about using those names?"
"Sorry Papa... I'm scarred though"
"Me too buddy. OutSpace won't sit idle on this. We can't afford to. Looks like the Belt is gonna tighten for a while."
"What about the Kuipers?"
"Those cats can stay out there until it blows over. The Belt can weather this too but I hope against hope they don't come knocking when it goes sideways downstairs."
"Donny said we have more in common with Mars than Earth."
"He ain't wrong but we can't afford to take sides. Our digging goes to both sides but we need their food and finished goods. Catch is Earth has a few billion more people. This ain't going to be pretty, but keep your eyes peeled son. You're going to remember this the rest of your life."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Final decelaration burn complete."
"Orbital insertion confirmed, Negative on the guidance buoys"
"Open signal on comms get me Martian Traffic control."
"All dark sir, only locals talking"
"Fine, take us in----
*#*#* "Ares tower to IMS-ME convoy, hold your position in geo-synch and stand-down." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we do not recognize your call. Clear UNISPAN tower frequency at once."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy, UNISPAN tower has been relieved. You are to hold position. Any deviations from your current course will not be tolerated." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we are running heavy, bingo fuel status, we MUST land"
"Sir? we still have ---"
"Shut it lieutenant."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy you should have topped off at Luna. Hold position for tanker rendezvous and prepare for immediate departure." *#*#*
"Negative tower we didn't come all this way to turn around. Request immediate landing vector clearance, or we're coming in hot"
*DEEDEEDEEDEEEDEEEDEEEDEEDEEE*
"SIR HOT LAUNCHES FROM THE SURFACE"
"BATTLE STATIONS! prepare for evasive action! Ares Tower, Ares Tower, rescind interceptors immediately. You are engaging in an act of war!"
"CAPTAIN! LINE HAS GONE COLD! INTERCEPT IN 5!"
"DAMNIT!!! Take us down, we'll have to try and loose them in atmo."
"This is it isn't it Cap?"
"Yeah, it is" | "They have absolutely no regard for civilization! They are degenerates and criminals who think they have some ridiculous right to self-determination! This rebellion will accomplish *nothing* aside from destroying families and obliterating progress for the next decade!" The Terran captain's rage continued to pour over the comms until the Martian commander suddenly shut it off.
"Figures we weren't able to intercept any channel that's useful." Martian Commander Olsen stared through the glass that separated the bridge from the unforgiving void - her eyes already weary from the events leading up to this moment.
Olsen glanced over to her executive officer, who made no attempt to hide the disquietude exuding from his expression, "Relax a little, we're making the right decision."
"I - I know, but our lovely friend over there has a point. Our choices are going to huge impact, and not all of it will be pleasant," his voice grave mixed with a hint of sarcasm.
"You're right - we are destroying an interplanetary empire," she returned the humor. "But they are exploiting us," her tone switched swiftly. "We are living miserably so they can live comfortably. Any chance at a peaceful resolution is slim, and that's something we have known since the beginning. We exhausted many peaceful options, but we need to strike before they can prepare for a revolution"
Her somber eyes began scanning the blackness in front of her, seemingly expecting to see something, "The ambush is going to take place with at least a couple of kilometers of space in between us. We won't see anything"
The Terran navy was not much of a navy, but more of a large task-force designed to combat ill-equipped pirates. The majority of their ships were fast, well-rounded, and incredibly effective. They were a dangerous foe the infant Martian navy needed to carefully counter.
The revolutionaries spent years setting up a honeypot - a large, decoy pirate organization, and now an ambush that spent years in the making was about to come to fruition.
The Martian fleet was barely inside of the Terran fleet's sensor range - their ships tightly packed around the trap carefully set by the Martians.
"Three minutes until we are within range," the XO stated calmly over the intercom, his fear and doubt hidden well from the crew.
The haunting sounds of the ship's artillery moving into place reverberated throughout the quiet bridge.
"I'm impressed the Terran captain picked up on the situation so quickly." Olsen said, as if distancing herself from his imminent fate.
The commander took control of the comms and broke the radio silence among their fleet, "All ships prepare to fire." The fifty Martian ships, jury-rigged with long-range cannons, were all within range and had their weapons prepped per the battle plan.
The next few seconds crept by, every Martian aware of what was about to happen to hundreds of good people.
"Fire." | |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | First time writing something here, so I understand if it's shit.
Captain Hollister drew a long, slow breath in through his nose. He had to remain calm, if not for himself then for the crew of his ship, The Hercules. It had been 5 weeks since the colonies of Mars split from the Terran Empire, and in that time Hollister and his comrades had mobilised.
Three battlegroups, comprising of three Hero class battleships, two State class carriers and a multitude of cruisers and other ships had departed the orbit of Luna, separating and heading towards their own objectives. The Hercules - and her sister ships the Perseus and the Achilles - was gearing up for the first major engagement of the conflict. Hollister himself was a veteran of several prior campaigns, including the now infamous Jupiter Incident. Out of the viewport ahead of him, he could see the Martian fleet. Hollister had been told by his superiors that the Martians had only a small fleet, mostly made up of relics from the colonisation of Mars.
His superiors were wrong.
Whereas the fleet Hollister was in was a fearsome force numbering an intimidating 56 vessels, the Martian fleet was easily twice that number. At the front of the Martians was the ship that had sparked many rumours over the years - The Mephistopheles. Some said it couldn't be done, others that the rumours were just that - rumours. The Mephistopheles was bigger than all three of the battleships end to end, and allegedly carried enough nukes to render Terra no more than a charred pebble.
Hollister immediately got on comms to the Achilles and the Perseus, ordering the trio of ships into a broadside, as he got confirmation from the carriers Guardian and Kingslayer that they had launched their compliments of Sparrow fighter-bombers.
He watched the bright trails the nukes left behind them, and felt content. The battle was going well. So far, the Martians hadn't even fired a shot, whilst the Terrans had destroyed 4 ships, and damaged a further 16. The battleships were constantly pumping out their radioactive payloads into the inky darkness of space. However, a spike of power was detected from the Mephistopheles a few moments ago. Hollister ran his gaze across his fleet, taking in the lights and the flashes off cannons. Something caught his eye.
Something speeding towards the hull of the Perseus.
A blinding white flash emanated from where the object struck the Perseus, and shortly before his eyes were liquidated in their sockets, Hollister saw that the Perseus had been immolated in its entirety. The Achilles, who had her front behind the Perseus, was beheaded, before going off into an uncontrollable cartwheel. The Hercules, however, took relatively light damage, with one exception. The oxygen generators had been catastrophically hit, with no chance of repairs.
Hollister allowed himself a sad smile. This was how he was going to go. Not with a courageous last stand, or a noble sacrifice, but slowly, fighting for the last scraps of air as he watched the ships under his command get steamrolled.
(As I said, this is my first time posting here, so I apologise if it's shit.) | The Procession of Zurocorp soldiers eyed the crowd suspiciously. In theory they were all here to pay respects for the Governor-General of Mars, but the situation was far more complicated.
The Old Governor-General had been far more pro Martian than his superiors had desired. But now that he was dead they would likely install a new, more conservative, leader who would keep the situation under control.
Aries, Enjorlas where there to disagree. The Procession of Soldiers came to the spaceport where his coffin would be loaded onto a cruiser and taken back to earth.
Eventually there was a crack of a laser, the officer at the head of the procession fell, and then all hell broke loose. All over the station mobs of Martians swarmed the men guarding and protecting it. It had been a well coordinated attack, and within minutes most of the soldiers had either fled or died.
Enjorlas Picked up one of the Personal Plasma assault weapons with one hand, brandished a banner with a red globe on a black banner, and began giving orders "Aries, Get the Anti-space and Anti-tank Guns ready and situated, Epo, Break into the armory Everyone is going to need one of these" He said as he gestured towards the gun. "And Gavin get on the comm and see if you can get in touch with the other colonies. The rest of you, get weapons and a station. We all need to be ready for a fight."
All the revolutionaries started to move and get themselves ready. The Shield was turned on just in time for a fighter craft with the Zurocorp logo to appear in the sky. Aries was on the heavy plasma caster to shoot it down immediately, Thinking these guns weren't used to being fired at their own ships.
Epo Eventually got through the door and soon everyone was armed to fight. Gavin Managed to unlock the comm system and Enjorlas was right there to speak to as many as he could. "Martians, our time has come. I know all of you out there yearn to breathe free of our earth Masters. Take up arms as this colony has! Today is the day we have longed for!"
| |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | "Silence on the Stage! Cue lights! Roll cameras! and we are live in 3,2,1 ..."
"Welcome and thank you for joining us! I'm Kate!"
"I'm Habib! Today's date stamp is May 26 2336"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"If you're just leaving virtual immersion folks here is the IRL so far."
"We all know that the outer colonies have lived with us in peace and prosperity since the results of the Pacific Blast last century."
"Lately however some of these folks have gotten pretty grumpy Habib."
"You bet Kate, tensions among the Ares Council, the OutSpace Coalition and our very own UNISPAN have reached the tidal point."
"Is it really true that Chairman Hartzkroitz is mobilizing the military?"
"Sadly yes. As we all know the Eden Restoration project takes a lot, but many of the remote colonies no longer want to help restore our home to its rightful state."
"Mmm. That sounds scary Habib, why wouldn't everyone want to contribute to saving our birthplace and legacy?"
"Beats me Kate, but recent tragic events would seem to say they don't want to give their fair share. Last cycle we brought you the unsettling footage of the ICS-ME-5539 exploding in a clear terrorist attack. Ares spokespeople were quick to decry the attack that damaged Mar's largest spaceport, yet they were also quick to re-purpose the shipment for local use."
"Maybe a bit too quick. In response Chairman Hartzkroitz accused the Ares council of tolerating even orchestrating this latest in a string of isolationist extremist events."
"Now for the latest development, ICS-ME-5540 flight has been interdicted by Ares authorities on arrival. While publicly stating they have interned the crew for alleged arms smuggling, the calls to free the brave sailors has not gone unheard."
"Once scrambled the Personnel Carriers of UNISPAN PeaceKeepers should arrive at Mars on the next orbital to negotiate the safe return of UNISPAN property personal and the resumption of normal traffic and relations."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd roared when he took the stage. The red green Ares banners flapped idly in the light salty breeze on the Olympus Mons Plateau wafting off the Northern Sea.
"Hello Martians!" HE waited for the noise to settle before continuing.
"You all know who I am. I am You. You all know what I want. I want what is ours!"
The slogan had its usual effect.
"We stood up! We rose like the phoenix from the ashes. Fleeing the tyranny of a ruined Eden. The lie of fate and the call of Destiny revealed the truth to us! We brought life and progress to a wasteland and made our own paradise. All these long years we have built with our own hands and our own effort a place to claim as our own. A new destiny no longer fraught with the wars of our ancestors and dangerous claims of progeny."
Standard fare but he had them hooked for something new.
"Now we no longer want to tithe a taskmaster who gives us nothing! We have never been children who need to be pampered and fed. We grow our own food. We build our own machines. We Raised our own cities. All that you see we brought forth with the sweat off our brows. We have made a new home for mankind and we don't need Daddy to spank us anymore!"
The noise level was at a continuous high now but he didn't relent.
"We're not going to support a corrupt and false utopia anymore! Let them all wake up to the reality for a final time! Let them dig into the old dirt and rebuild their own house for once! For today; MARS STANDS ALONE! TODAY MARS KEEPS WHAT MARS MAKES! TODAY WE DRIVE BACK THE THIEVES!"
ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES!
---------------------------------------------------------------
"What does it mean Papa? Will the sponges really invade the reds?"
"What have I told you about using those names?"
"Sorry Papa... I'm scarred though"
"Me too buddy. OutSpace won't sit idle on this. We can't afford to. Looks like the Belt is gonna tighten for a while."
"What about the Kuipers?"
"Those cats can stay out there until it blows over. The Belt can weather this too but I hope against hope they don't come knocking when it goes sideways downstairs."
"Donny said we have more in common with Mars than Earth."
"He ain't wrong but we can't afford to take sides. Our digging goes to both sides but we need their food and finished goods. Catch is Earth has a few billion more people. This ain't going to be pretty, but keep your eyes peeled son. You're going to remember this the rest of your life."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Final decelaration burn complete."
"Orbital insertion confirmed, Negative on the guidance buoys"
"Open signal on comms get me Martian Traffic control."
"All dark sir, only locals talking"
"Fine, take us in----
*#*#* "Ares tower to IMS-ME convoy, hold your position in geo-synch and stand-down." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we do not recognize your call. Clear UNISPAN tower frequency at once."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy, UNISPAN tower has been relieved. You are to hold position. Any deviations from your current course will not be tolerated." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we are running heavy, bingo fuel status, we MUST land"
"Sir? we still have ---"
"Shut it lieutenant."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy you should have topped off at Luna. Hold position for tanker rendezvous and prepare for immediate departure." *#*#*
"Negative tower we didn't come all this way to turn around. Request immediate landing vector clearance, or we're coming in hot"
*DEEDEEDEEDEEEDEEEDEEEDEEDEEE*
"SIR HOT LAUNCHES FROM THE SURFACE"
"BATTLE STATIONS! prepare for evasive action! Ares Tower, Ares Tower, rescind interceptors immediately. You are engaging in an act of war!"
"CAPTAIN! LINE HAS GONE COLD! INTERCEPT IN 5!"
"DAMNIT!!! Take us down, we'll have to try and loose them in atmo."
"This is it isn't it Cap?"
"Yeah, it is" | The Procession of Zurocorp soldiers eyed the crowd suspiciously. In theory they were all here to pay respects for the Governor-General of Mars, but the situation was far more complicated.
The Old Governor-General had been far more pro Martian than his superiors had desired. But now that he was dead they would likely install a new, more conservative, leader who would keep the situation under control.
Aries, Enjorlas where there to disagree. The Procession of Soldiers came to the spaceport where his coffin would be loaded onto a cruiser and taken back to earth.
Eventually there was a crack of a laser, the officer at the head of the procession fell, and then all hell broke loose. All over the station mobs of Martians swarmed the men guarding and protecting it. It had been a well coordinated attack, and within minutes most of the soldiers had either fled or died.
Enjorlas Picked up one of the Personal Plasma assault weapons with one hand, brandished a banner with a red globe on a black banner, and began giving orders "Aries, Get the Anti-space and Anti-tank Guns ready and situated, Epo, Break into the armory Everyone is going to need one of these" He said as he gestured towards the gun. "And Gavin get on the comm and see if you can get in touch with the other colonies. The rest of you, get weapons and a station. We all need to be ready for a fight."
All the revolutionaries started to move and get themselves ready. The Shield was turned on just in time for a fighter craft with the Zurocorp logo to appear in the sky. Aries was on the heavy plasma caster to shoot it down immediately, Thinking these guns weren't used to being fired at their own ships.
Epo Eventually got through the door and soon everyone was armed to fight. Gavin Managed to unlock the comm system and Enjorlas was right there to speak to as many as he could. "Martians, our time has come. I know all of you out there yearn to breathe free of our earth Masters. Take up arms as this colony has! Today is the day we have longed for!"
| |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | First time writing something here, so I understand if it's shit.
Captain Hollister drew a long, slow breath in through his nose. He had to remain calm, if not for himself then for the crew of his ship, The Hercules. It had been 5 weeks since the colonies of Mars split from the Terran Empire, and in that time Hollister and his comrades had mobilised.
Three battlegroups, comprising of three Hero class battleships, two State class carriers and a multitude of cruisers and other ships had departed the orbit of Luna, separating and heading towards their own objectives. The Hercules - and her sister ships the Perseus and the Achilles - was gearing up for the first major engagement of the conflict. Hollister himself was a veteran of several prior campaigns, including the now infamous Jupiter Incident. Out of the viewport ahead of him, he could see the Martian fleet. Hollister had been told by his superiors that the Martians had only a small fleet, mostly made up of relics from the colonisation of Mars.
His superiors were wrong.
Whereas the fleet Hollister was in was a fearsome force numbering an intimidating 56 vessels, the Martian fleet was easily twice that number. At the front of the Martians was the ship that had sparked many rumours over the years - The Mephistopheles. Some said it couldn't be done, others that the rumours were just that - rumours. The Mephistopheles was bigger than all three of the battleships end to end, and allegedly carried enough nukes to render Terra no more than a charred pebble.
Hollister immediately got on comms to the Achilles and the Perseus, ordering the trio of ships into a broadside, as he got confirmation from the carriers Guardian and Kingslayer that they had launched their compliments of Sparrow fighter-bombers.
He watched the bright trails the nukes left behind them, and felt content. The battle was going well. So far, the Martians hadn't even fired a shot, whilst the Terrans had destroyed 4 ships, and damaged a further 16. The battleships were constantly pumping out their radioactive payloads into the inky darkness of space. However, a spike of power was detected from the Mephistopheles a few moments ago. Hollister ran his gaze across his fleet, taking in the lights and the flashes off cannons. Something caught his eye.
Something speeding towards the hull of the Perseus.
A blinding white flash emanated from where the object struck the Perseus, and shortly before his eyes were liquidated in their sockets, Hollister saw that the Perseus had been immolated in its entirety. The Achilles, who had her front behind the Perseus, was beheaded, before going off into an uncontrollable cartwheel. The Hercules, however, took relatively light damage, with one exception. The oxygen generators had been catastrophically hit, with no chance of repairs.
Hollister allowed himself a sad smile. This was how he was going to go. Not with a courageous last stand, or a noble sacrifice, but slowly, fighting for the last scraps of air as he watched the ships under his command get steamrolled.
(As I said, this is my first time posting here, so I apologise if it's shit.) | "We are approaching the Laviathan sir."
"All crews to their transports."
Sam was part of Charlie squadron, in a crew of four. They raced to their transport to strap in for the ride out. Charlie was to slip in the center of the station from the north and drop off the payloads in the middle, where the smaller grav wouldn't hinder them. Then they were to make their way to the bridge. The battle would be won or lost based on who had control of Laviathan.
3. 2. 1.
The transport detached from their spinning carrier, being pointed at their target at the time to conserve fuel. Sam found it amusing to think that anyone would care when there wouldn't be any kind of retreat anyways. Besides, it meant his transport was in front, and most likely to be shot at.
Standing in the cargo box in his armor, Sam closed his eyes and tried to relax. The plan required a boarding party to take the Laviathan, while the cruisers would move in to present formidable enough problems for the station that it would be forced to ignore the transports. Of course the captain of the station might just decide they could shrug off the firepower and focus only on the boarding party. That meant the cruisers had to hit hard enough to threaten destruction.
*Nothing like boarding a ship while actively trying to destroy it.*
After half an hour he could feel transport rock and their pilot came in their headsets "hold tight, here we go." They were immobilized in their armor so there was no point in holding on to anything, but the sentiment was nice.
Then he felt the first jerk.
Spin and turn, he could only sit and feel the effects on his body and hope that after suffering through this, they didn't just get shot out of the sky. He opened his eyes to look at the other three. Justin, the new guy, had his eyes squeezed tight and face tensed up. Sergeant, also with her eyes closed but saying something to herself. Or maybe just singing. Then Ruth. She had spent more time in space than any of them and just looked bored.
Ruth turned and smiled grimly at Sam before turning to look back at nothing.
Suddenly there was a vibration and the jerking stopped. He looked over at Ruth who was frowning now, and then their com came on.
"We've been hit and most of our engines are down. We are falling towards the Laviathan and will make impact in thirty seconds. I will use what thrusters we have to give you a good entryway. Good luck."
He said it with that infuriating calm, even as Sam thought about how fast they must be going in, and how the bastard was no doubt watching the damn station coming up. There was some small force on his body that told him the captain was indeed still using some thrusters.
"Brace for impact."
Empty words, locked in as he was, but he appreciated at least knowing when it was coming.
The transport banged as Sam was slammed around in his suit. They must have either been going slow enough not to kill them all or fast enough to simply go through some of the outer hull, because Sam was immediately aware of aching body parts. Then he felt the vibration of the boarding spikes extending from their cargo pod.
"This is it, let's go" the Sargent was attentive and ready to go. Their locks came off and all four activated weapon systems, all while moving about, both to make sure they could but also just for the relief of being able to. The door in the floor opened, they had arrived. | |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | "Silence on the Stage! Cue lights! Roll cameras! and we are live in 3,2,1 ..."
"Welcome and thank you for joining us! I'm Kate!"
"I'm Habib! Today's date stamp is May 26 2336"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"If you're just leaving virtual immersion folks here is the IRL so far."
"We all know that the outer colonies have lived with us in peace and prosperity since the results of the Pacific Blast last century."
"Lately however some of these folks have gotten pretty grumpy Habib."
"You bet Kate, tensions among the Ares Council, the OutSpace Coalition and our very own UNISPAN have reached the tidal point."
"Is it really true that Chairman Hartzkroitz is mobilizing the military?"
"Sadly yes. As we all know the Eden Restoration project takes a lot, but many of the remote colonies no longer want to help restore our home to its rightful state."
"Mmm. That sounds scary Habib, why wouldn't everyone want to contribute to saving our birthplace and legacy?"
"Beats me Kate, but recent tragic events would seem to say they don't want to give their fair share. Last cycle we brought you the unsettling footage of the ICS-ME-5539 exploding in a clear terrorist attack. Ares spokespeople were quick to decry the attack that damaged Mar's largest spaceport, yet they were also quick to re-purpose the shipment for local use."
"Maybe a bit too quick. In response Chairman Hartzkroitz accused the Ares council of tolerating even orchestrating this latest in a string of isolationist extremist events."
"Now for the latest development, ICS-ME-5540 flight has been interdicted by Ares authorities on arrival. While publicly stating they have interned the crew for alleged arms smuggling, the calls to free the brave sailors has not gone unheard."
"Once scrambled the Personnel Carriers of UNISPAN PeaceKeepers should arrive at Mars on the next orbital to negotiate the safe return of UNISPAN property personal and the resumption of normal traffic and relations."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd roared when he took the stage. The red green Ares banners flapped idly in the light salty breeze on the Olympus Mons Plateau wafting off the Northern Sea.
"Hello Martians!" HE waited for the noise to settle before continuing.
"You all know who I am. I am You. You all know what I want. I want what is ours!"
The slogan had its usual effect.
"We stood up! We rose like the phoenix from the ashes. Fleeing the tyranny of a ruined Eden. The lie of fate and the call of Destiny revealed the truth to us! We brought life and progress to a wasteland and made our own paradise. All these long years we have built with our own hands and our own effort a place to claim as our own. A new destiny no longer fraught with the wars of our ancestors and dangerous claims of progeny."
Standard fare but he had them hooked for something new.
"Now we no longer want to tithe a taskmaster who gives us nothing! We have never been children who need to be pampered and fed. We grow our own food. We build our own machines. We Raised our own cities. All that you see we brought forth with the sweat off our brows. We have made a new home for mankind and we don't need Daddy to spank us anymore!"
The noise level was at a continuous high now but he didn't relent.
"We're not going to support a corrupt and false utopia anymore! Let them all wake up to the reality for a final time! Let them dig into the old dirt and rebuild their own house for once! For today; MARS STANDS ALONE! TODAY MARS KEEPS WHAT MARS MAKES! TODAY WE DRIVE BACK THE THIEVES!"
ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES!
---------------------------------------------------------------
"What does it mean Papa? Will the sponges really invade the reds?"
"What have I told you about using those names?"
"Sorry Papa... I'm scarred though"
"Me too buddy. OutSpace won't sit idle on this. We can't afford to. Looks like the Belt is gonna tighten for a while."
"What about the Kuipers?"
"Those cats can stay out there until it blows over. The Belt can weather this too but I hope against hope they don't come knocking when it goes sideways downstairs."
"Donny said we have more in common with Mars than Earth."
"He ain't wrong but we can't afford to take sides. Our digging goes to both sides but we need their food and finished goods. Catch is Earth has a few billion more people. This ain't going to be pretty, but keep your eyes peeled son. You're going to remember this the rest of your life."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Final decelaration burn complete."
"Orbital insertion confirmed, Negative on the guidance buoys"
"Open signal on comms get me Martian Traffic control."
"All dark sir, only locals talking"
"Fine, take us in----
*#*#* "Ares tower to IMS-ME convoy, hold your position in geo-synch and stand-down." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we do not recognize your call. Clear UNISPAN tower frequency at once."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy, UNISPAN tower has been relieved. You are to hold position. Any deviations from your current course will not be tolerated." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we are running heavy, bingo fuel status, we MUST land"
"Sir? we still have ---"
"Shut it lieutenant."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy you should have topped off at Luna. Hold position for tanker rendezvous and prepare for immediate departure." *#*#*
"Negative tower we didn't come all this way to turn around. Request immediate landing vector clearance, or we're coming in hot"
*DEEDEEDEEDEEEDEEEDEEEDEEDEEE*
"SIR HOT LAUNCHES FROM THE SURFACE"
"BATTLE STATIONS! prepare for evasive action! Ares Tower, Ares Tower, rescind interceptors immediately. You are engaging in an act of war!"
"CAPTAIN! LINE HAS GONE COLD! INTERCEPT IN 5!"
"DAMNIT!!! Take us down, we'll have to try and loose them in atmo."
"This is it isn't it Cap?"
"Yeah, it is" | "We are approaching the Laviathan sir."
"All crews to their transports."
Sam was part of Charlie squadron, in a crew of four. They raced to their transport to strap in for the ride out. Charlie was to slip in the center of the station from the north and drop off the payloads in the middle, where the smaller grav wouldn't hinder them. Then they were to make their way to the bridge. The battle would be won or lost based on who had control of Laviathan.
3. 2. 1.
The transport detached from their spinning carrier, being pointed at their target at the time to conserve fuel. Sam found it amusing to think that anyone would care when there wouldn't be any kind of retreat anyways. Besides, it meant his transport was in front, and most likely to be shot at.
Standing in the cargo box in his armor, Sam closed his eyes and tried to relax. The plan required a boarding party to take the Laviathan, while the cruisers would move in to present formidable enough problems for the station that it would be forced to ignore the transports. Of course the captain of the station might just decide they could shrug off the firepower and focus only on the boarding party. That meant the cruisers had to hit hard enough to threaten destruction.
*Nothing like boarding a ship while actively trying to destroy it.*
After half an hour he could feel transport rock and their pilot came in their headsets "hold tight, here we go." They were immobilized in their armor so there was no point in holding on to anything, but the sentiment was nice.
Then he felt the first jerk.
Spin and turn, he could only sit and feel the effects on his body and hope that after suffering through this, they didn't just get shot out of the sky. He opened his eyes to look at the other three. Justin, the new guy, had his eyes squeezed tight and face tensed up. Sergeant, also with her eyes closed but saying something to herself. Or maybe just singing. Then Ruth. She had spent more time in space than any of them and just looked bored.
Ruth turned and smiled grimly at Sam before turning to look back at nothing.
Suddenly there was a vibration and the jerking stopped. He looked over at Ruth who was frowning now, and then their com came on.
"We've been hit and most of our engines are down. We are falling towards the Laviathan and will make impact in thirty seconds. I will use what thrusters we have to give you a good entryway. Good luck."
He said it with that infuriating calm, even as Sam thought about how fast they must be going in, and how the bastard was no doubt watching the damn station coming up. There was some small force on his body that told him the captain was indeed still using some thrusters.
"Brace for impact."
Empty words, locked in as he was, but he appreciated at least knowing when it was coming.
The transport banged as Sam was slammed around in his suit. They must have either been going slow enough not to kill them all or fast enough to simply go through some of the outer hull, because Sam was immediately aware of aching body parts. Then he felt the vibration of the boarding spikes extending from their cargo pod.
"This is it, let's go" the Sargent was attentive and ready to go. Their locks came off and all four activated weapon systems, all while moving about, both to make sure they could but also just for the relief of being able to. The door in the floor opened, they had arrived. | |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | First time writing something here, so I understand if it's shit.
Captain Hollister drew a long, slow breath in through his nose. He had to remain calm, if not for himself then for the crew of his ship, The Hercules. It had been 5 weeks since the colonies of Mars split from the Terran Empire, and in that time Hollister and his comrades had mobilised.
Three battlegroups, comprising of three Hero class battleships, two State class carriers and a multitude of cruisers and other ships had departed the orbit of Luna, separating and heading towards their own objectives. The Hercules - and her sister ships the Perseus and the Achilles - was gearing up for the first major engagement of the conflict. Hollister himself was a veteran of several prior campaigns, including the now infamous Jupiter Incident. Out of the viewport ahead of him, he could see the Martian fleet. Hollister had been told by his superiors that the Martians had only a small fleet, mostly made up of relics from the colonisation of Mars.
His superiors were wrong.
Whereas the fleet Hollister was in was a fearsome force numbering an intimidating 56 vessels, the Martian fleet was easily twice that number. At the front of the Martians was the ship that had sparked many rumours over the years - The Mephistopheles. Some said it couldn't be done, others that the rumours were just that - rumours. The Mephistopheles was bigger than all three of the battleships end to end, and allegedly carried enough nukes to render Terra no more than a charred pebble.
Hollister immediately got on comms to the Achilles and the Perseus, ordering the trio of ships into a broadside, as he got confirmation from the carriers Guardian and Kingslayer that they had launched their compliments of Sparrow fighter-bombers.
He watched the bright trails the nukes left behind them, and felt content. The battle was going well. So far, the Martians hadn't even fired a shot, whilst the Terrans had destroyed 4 ships, and damaged a further 16. The battleships were constantly pumping out their radioactive payloads into the inky darkness of space. However, a spike of power was detected from the Mephistopheles a few moments ago. Hollister ran his gaze across his fleet, taking in the lights and the flashes off cannons. Something caught his eye.
Something speeding towards the hull of the Perseus.
A blinding white flash emanated from where the object struck the Perseus, and shortly before his eyes were liquidated in their sockets, Hollister saw that the Perseus had been immolated in its entirety. The Achilles, who had her front behind the Perseus, was beheaded, before going off into an uncontrollable cartwheel. The Hercules, however, took relatively light damage, with one exception. The oxygen generators had been catastrophically hit, with no chance of repairs.
Hollister allowed himself a sad smile. This was how he was going to go. Not with a courageous last stand, or a noble sacrifice, but slowly, fighting for the last scraps of air as he watched the ships under his command get steamrolled.
(As I said, this is my first time posting here, so I apologise if it's shit.) | Everything was silent. I could hear my own breathing but with the voice activated coms nothing else. I sat and waited for the assault to begin. I supposed that a Greek warrior fighting the ancient Persians and a marine about to land on Iwo Jima would have had that in common with me. The waiting I mean, not the silence. I was aware that outside the tin can the Mars Authority had shoved us into missiles and counter missiles were playing a deadly game. With any luck, the tin can's defensive lasers and missiles would keep us alive long enough to board the Earther battleship. We were only one of a hundred or more smaller launch ships. Mars didn't have the resources that the Earther's did but we had plenty of cannon fodder to throw at their ships.
Every one of us was a volunteer. We had to be, since the odds of survival were bleak. Nine weeks of training at grav and zero grav combat made us tough. Some, like Seranto, who sat next to me also were tech specialized. If we did manage to board, they were supposed to be able to cripple the ships internal controls, as long as we got them to a panel. Every one of us knew that was speculation since no one had ever fought a space battle before. We had no idea what to expect but we were willing to die to protect every Martian's right to be free.
I almost jumped when the com came alive. "Last call. Somehow that asshole of a pilot has kept us alive. Ready for jump. Go, go go!" The bay doors opened and we spilled out into space, suit jets giving us a push towards a nearby wall of steel. It was confusing as hell, even with the smart suits automatically identifying a port access and pushing us towards it. We had gone from silent and still into a noiseless chaos. The huge ship couldn't fire missiles at a vessel this close but brilliant lasers shot out from the close in defensive batteries, reaching out like tentacles to grab an destroy. Sure enough, a few seconds later one of them pierced the heart of the shuttle and it fell to pieces.
"Too late!" I crowed. "Too late you fucking bastards. Here we come!"
I hadn't realized I spoke out loud. "Can the chatter, Mikowski. Cutters, get that damn hatch open." Portable laser cutters lit open the access and within seconds it was off. The first two marines into the access cam flying back out as the pressure from projectile weapons tore them to pieces.
"Fuck. Fuck those defences." The lieutenant moved to the edge of the access hole and released a portable mini shock. It was a local emp bomb that created both kinetic and electronic damage, designed (we all hoped) to destroy automated defences. He hand tossed it into the hole and as quickly he lost his hand as the defences tore it off. "Fuck, fuck fuck!" he yelled in pain as the suit cut off the blood loss and sealed the breach.
Still, the shock worked. It exploded in a blast of light. We were shielded against the EMP by the ship and our suits but inside the access port, all hell broke loose. The kinetic shards ripped through the walls of the ship and destroyed the skin. Meanwhile, the EMP trashed the brains of the defences. Within seconds, we were moving into the vessel itself.
They were no cowards, these Earthers. They died under our guns bravely but this wasn't a troop ship. As suspected, actually boarding them as an assault had never occurred to the arrogant bastards back on earth. They saw this as strictly ship to ship engagement and had designed their vessels accordingly. Hell, it never would have occurred to us either if it wasn't that we had no choice. Our lack of ships of the line necessitated what the commanding officers had called a more 'creative' approach.
Our suits were lightly armoured but the smart tech in them allowed our assault to be well coordinated once inside. Seranto managed to access a panel and shut off their internal defences, looking both pleased with herself and surprised at the same time. I grinned and said "Let's give them hell."
We split into teams of three and made for our objectives. Seranto, Georges and I made for the bridge. If possible, we were to turn the ship against its own but if not, two of the other teams had explosives and were to cripple or destroy her. Our destruction of the access port had vented air and we could see that more than a few of the crew were unprepared. I pushed past one and moved towards the upper deck, where the bridge entry was supposed to be. For all I knew, they could have put the bridge in the middle or even the ass end. Nothing demanded the bridge had to be at the front, since there were no ports or windows, but Earthers seemed to favour a forward bridge.
Not paying attention almost got my head blown off. As I poked my head up the gangplank, a hail of projectiles sparked off the metal rail. Ducking down I aimed and then bounced a grenade off the deck ceiling into the hallway above. As soon as it exploded I shot up, allowing momentum to bounce me off the deck ceiling and raking the area the shots came from with my laser. Light, fortunately, did not create inertia so my trajectory wasn't changed when I fired. Seranto and Georges followed me quickly but there was no need. The Grenade has splattered the brave souls defending the bridge entrance. Their suits were ripped apart and bits of flesh floated around as the bodies drifted lifelessly.
"There it is. Shall we knock?" Georges' gallows humour made me smile. We took positions, and opened the access door. A rush of air blew Seranto back but she quickly regained herself. We waited. Nothing. We waited a whole minute. Nothing. After a few more seconds, we were expecting a response but none seemed forthcoming. "Seems okay to go in." Georges said as she went in first.
"Oh, god." Georges gagged. No one on the bridge had worn suits. When we pulled the hatch, they lost their air and in the few minutes we had waited, vacuum had torn the air from their lungs and the air pressure inside them had ballooned them up as their skin expanded to match the external pressure. One of them had hit something, a cut releasing the pressure leaving a bloody mess over everything.
"Lieutenant. We have the bridge. Hold off on destruction until Seranto sees what she can do." I spoke calmly not allowing the revulsion to dictate my speech.
"Affirmative. FYI, resistance is gone. Seems they weren't suited." The way the Lieutenant sounded, I guessed we weren't the only ones facing a gory scene.
Seranto plugged her suit interface into a comp port access. Within seconds, lights started coming on across the bridge. Tactical displays starting showing us two sets of blips. Seranto pointed at the green blips. "That is Earther ships. The red blips are us. The ship has the red blips targeted."
"Can you change the input parameters, Seranto?" I asked.
An evil grin lit up her face, clearly visible through the suits face panel. She spoke a few lines of code, instructed the computer to accept the new commands and waited. The green blips all turned red. The red blips turned green, indicating friend status.
"Lieutenant, we have her. Requesting permission to fire." I waited.
"Granted." Her voice was jubilant. "All able personnel, move to gunnery stations and prepare for engagement." It was the command none of us expected but all of us hoped for. "On my way to the bridge but don't wait for me. Engage."
I slipped into a tactical station and locked the ship harness into place. Georges took navigation and Seranto remained at the computer. The training we had was basic but it allowed us to identify and target. "Seranto, see if you can get a message out on our frequency and ask them nicely not to shoot at us?" I quipped.
Within seconds the first wave to ship to ship missiles shot out from the destroyer towards Earther support ships. Taken by surprise, our first salvo severely damage two ships and destroyed two others. A second, then third wave. We kept shooting until their wasn't a missile left. By the time we were done, the few remaining Earther ships were burning for home or, if unable, had surrendered. One ship exploded with no warning. No one ever knew if there was some damage we didn't see or if the captain was simply unwilling to surrender.
Decades later, when they told the stories of the defence of Mars against the Earth, it was universally agreed that the assault of Earth Alliance Destroyer Texas was the beginning of the end. Losing the pride of their fleet and most powerful ship to a handful of grunts turned the public against the Earther governments. They still fought, three more battles and a handful of skirmishes, but their heart was no longer in the fight.
When we arrived home with a ship of the line and almost no casualties (aside from the two and the hand of one junior lieutenant) we became instant heroes. Being a hero didn't do Seranto much good when she was killed in the Battle of the Moon. Georges was equally unlucky during a minor skirmish near Phobos. I was lucky. I survived the war but even now, every night, I see them in my dreams. The few, brave few, that rode a tin can into hell and came back to tell about it. | |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | "Silence on the Stage! Cue lights! Roll cameras! and we are live in 3,2,1 ..."
"Welcome and thank you for joining us! I'm Kate!"
"I'm Habib! Today's date stamp is May 26 2336"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"If you're just leaving virtual immersion folks here is the IRL so far."
"We all know that the outer colonies have lived with us in peace and prosperity since the results of the Pacific Blast last century."
"Lately however some of these folks have gotten pretty grumpy Habib."
"You bet Kate, tensions among the Ares Council, the OutSpace Coalition and our very own UNISPAN have reached the tidal point."
"Is it really true that Chairman Hartzkroitz is mobilizing the military?"
"Sadly yes. As we all know the Eden Restoration project takes a lot, but many of the remote colonies no longer want to help restore our home to its rightful state."
"Mmm. That sounds scary Habib, why wouldn't everyone want to contribute to saving our birthplace and legacy?"
"Beats me Kate, but recent tragic events would seem to say they don't want to give their fair share. Last cycle we brought you the unsettling footage of the ICS-ME-5539 exploding in a clear terrorist attack. Ares spokespeople were quick to decry the attack that damaged Mar's largest spaceport, yet they were also quick to re-purpose the shipment for local use."
"Maybe a bit too quick. In response Chairman Hartzkroitz accused the Ares council of tolerating even orchestrating this latest in a string of isolationist extremist events."
"Now for the latest development, ICS-ME-5540 flight has been interdicted by Ares authorities on arrival. While publicly stating they have interned the crew for alleged arms smuggling, the calls to free the brave sailors has not gone unheard."
"Once scrambled the Personnel Carriers of UNISPAN PeaceKeepers should arrive at Mars on the next orbital to negotiate the safe return of UNISPAN property personal and the resumption of normal traffic and relations."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd roared when he took the stage. The red green Ares banners flapped idly in the light salty breeze on the Olympus Mons Plateau wafting off the Northern Sea.
"Hello Martians!" HE waited for the noise to settle before continuing.
"You all know who I am. I am You. You all know what I want. I want what is ours!"
The slogan had its usual effect.
"We stood up! We rose like the phoenix from the ashes. Fleeing the tyranny of a ruined Eden. The lie of fate and the call of Destiny revealed the truth to us! We brought life and progress to a wasteland and made our own paradise. All these long years we have built with our own hands and our own effort a place to claim as our own. A new destiny no longer fraught with the wars of our ancestors and dangerous claims of progeny."
Standard fare but he had them hooked for something new.
"Now we no longer want to tithe a taskmaster who gives us nothing! We have never been children who need to be pampered and fed. We grow our own food. We build our own machines. We Raised our own cities. All that you see we brought forth with the sweat off our brows. We have made a new home for mankind and we don't need Daddy to spank us anymore!"
The noise level was at a continuous high now but he didn't relent.
"We're not going to support a corrupt and false utopia anymore! Let them all wake up to the reality for a final time! Let them dig into the old dirt and rebuild their own house for once! For today; MARS STANDS ALONE! TODAY MARS KEEPS WHAT MARS MAKES! TODAY WE DRIVE BACK THE THIEVES!"
ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES!
---------------------------------------------------------------
"What does it mean Papa? Will the sponges really invade the reds?"
"What have I told you about using those names?"
"Sorry Papa... I'm scarred though"
"Me too buddy. OutSpace won't sit idle on this. We can't afford to. Looks like the Belt is gonna tighten for a while."
"What about the Kuipers?"
"Those cats can stay out there until it blows over. The Belt can weather this too but I hope against hope they don't come knocking when it goes sideways downstairs."
"Donny said we have more in common with Mars than Earth."
"He ain't wrong but we can't afford to take sides. Our digging goes to both sides but we need their food and finished goods. Catch is Earth has a few billion more people. This ain't going to be pretty, but keep your eyes peeled son. You're going to remember this the rest of your life."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Final decelaration burn complete."
"Orbital insertion confirmed, Negative on the guidance buoys"
"Open signal on comms get me Martian Traffic control."
"All dark sir, only locals talking"
"Fine, take us in----
*#*#* "Ares tower to IMS-ME convoy, hold your position in geo-synch and stand-down." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we do not recognize your call. Clear UNISPAN tower frequency at once."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy, UNISPAN tower has been relieved. You are to hold position. Any deviations from your current course will not be tolerated." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we are running heavy, bingo fuel status, we MUST land"
"Sir? we still have ---"
"Shut it lieutenant."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy you should have topped off at Luna. Hold position for tanker rendezvous and prepare for immediate departure." *#*#*
"Negative tower we didn't come all this way to turn around. Request immediate landing vector clearance, or we're coming in hot"
*DEEDEEDEEDEEEDEEEDEEEDEEDEEE*
"SIR HOT LAUNCHES FROM THE SURFACE"
"BATTLE STATIONS! prepare for evasive action! Ares Tower, Ares Tower, rescind interceptors immediately. You are engaging in an act of war!"
"CAPTAIN! LINE HAS GONE COLD! INTERCEPT IN 5!"
"DAMNIT!!! Take us down, we'll have to try and loose them in atmo."
"This is it isn't it Cap?"
"Yeah, it is" | Everything was silent. I could hear my own breathing but with the voice activated coms nothing else. I sat and waited for the assault to begin. I supposed that a Greek warrior fighting the ancient Persians and a marine about to land on Iwo Jima would have had that in common with me. The waiting I mean, not the silence. I was aware that outside the tin can the Mars Authority had shoved us into missiles and counter missiles were playing a deadly game. With any luck, the tin can's defensive lasers and missiles would keep us alive long enough to board the Earther battleship. We were only one of a hundred or more smaller launch ships. Mars didn't have the resources that the Earther's did but we had plenty of cannon fodder to throw at their ships.
Every one of us was a volunteer. We had to be, since the odds of survival were bleak. Nine weeks of training at grav and zero grav combat made us tough. Some, like Seranto, who sat next to me also were tech specialized. If we did manage to board, they were supposed to be able to cripple the ships internal controls, as long as we got them to a panel. Every one of us knew that was speculation since no one had ever fought a space battle before. We had no idea what to expect but we were willing to die to protect every Martian's right to be free.
I almost jumped when the com came alive. "Last call. Somehow that asshole of a pilot has kept us alive. Ready for jump. Go, go go!" The bay doors opened and we spilled out into space, suit jets giving us a push towards a nearby wall of steel. It was confusing as hell, even with the smart suits automatically identifying a port access and pushing us towards it. We had gone from silent and still into a noiseless chaos. The huge ship couldn't fire missiles at a vessel this close but brilliant lasers shot out from the close in defensive batteries, reaching out like tentacles to grab an destroy. Sure enough, a few seconds later one of them pierced the heart of the shuttle and it fell to pieces.
"Too late!" I crowed. "Too late you fucking bastards. Here we come!"
I hadn't realized I spoke out loud. "Can the chatter, Mikowski. Cutters, get that damn hatch open." Portable laser cutters lit open the access and within seconds it was off. The first two marines into the access cam flying back out as the pressure from projectile weapons tore them to pieces.
"Fuck. Fuck those defences." The lieutenant moved to the edge of the access hole and released a portable mini shock. It was a local emp bomb that created both kinetic and electronic damage, designed (we all hoped) to destroy automated defences. He hand tossed it into the hole and as quickly he lost his hand as the defences tore it off. "Fuck, fuck fuck!" he yelled in pain as the suit cut off the blood loss and sealed the breach.
Still, the shock worked. It exploded in a blast of light. We were shielded against the EMP by the ship and our suits but inside the access port, all hell broke loose. The kinetic shards ripped through the walls of the ship and destroyed the skin. Meanwhile, the EMP trashed the brains of the defences. Within seconds, we were moving into the vessel itself.
They were no cowards, these Earthers. They died under our guns bravely but this wasn't a troop ship. As suspected, actually boarding them as an assault had never occurred to the arrogant bastards back on earth. They saw this as strictly ship to ship engagement and had designed their vessels accordingly. Hell, it never would have occurred to us either if it wasn't that we had no choice. Our lack of ships of the line necessitated what the commanding officers had called a more 'creative' approach.
Our suits were lightly armoured but the smart tech in them allowed our assault to be well coordinated once inside. Seranto managed to access a panel and shut off their internal defences, looking both pleased with herself and surprised at the same time. I grinned and said "Let's give them hell."
We split into teams of three and made for our objectives. Seranto, Georges and I made for the bridge. If possible, we were to turn the ship against its own but if not, two of the other teams had explosives and were to cripple or destroy her. Our destruction of the access port had vented air and we could see that more than a few of the crew were unprepared. I pushed past one and moved towards the upper deck, where the bridge entry was supposed to be. For all I knew, they could have put the bridge in the middle or even the ass end. Nothing demanded the bridge had to be at the front, since there were no ports or windows, but Earthers seemed to favour a forward bridge.
Not paying attention almost got my head blown off. As I poked my head up the gangplank, a hail of projectiles sparked off the metal rail. Ducking down I aimed and then bounced a grenade off the deck ceiling into the hallway above. As soon as it exploded I shot up, allowing momentum to bounce me off the deck ceiling and raking the area the shots came from with my laser. Light, fortunately, did not create inertia so my trajectory wasn't changed when I fired. Seranto and Georges followed me quickly but there was no need. The Grenade has splattered the brave souls defending the bridge entrance. Their suits were ripped apart and bits of flesh floated around as the bodies drifted lifelessly.
"There it is. Shall we knock?" Georges' gallows humour made me smile. We took positions, and opened the access door. A rush of air blew Seranto back but she quickly regained herself. We waited. Nothing. We waited a whole minute. Nothing. After a few more seconds, we were expecting a response but none seemed forthcoming. "Seems okay to go in." Georges said as she went in first.
"Oh, god." Georges gagged. No one on the bridge had worn suits. When we pulled the hatch, they lost their air and in the few minutes we had waited, vacuum had torn the air from their lungs and the air pressure inside them had ballooned them up as their skin expanded to match the external pressure. One of them had hit something, a cut releasing the pressure leaving a bloody mess over everything.
"Lieutenant. We have the bridge. Hold off on destruction until Seranto sees what she can do." I spoke calmly not allowing the revulsion to dictate my speech.
"Affirmative. FYI, resistance is gone. Seems they weren't suited." The way the Lieutenant sounded, I guessed we weren't the only ones facing a gory scene.
Seranto plugged her suit interface into a comp port access. Within seconds, lights started coming on across the bridge. Tactical displays starting showing us two sets of blips. Seranto pointed at the green blips. "That is Earther ships. The red blips are us. The ship has the red blips targeted."
"Can you change the input parameters, Seranto?" I asked.
An evil grin lit up her face, clearly visible through the suits face panel. She spoke a few lines of code, instructed the computer to accept the new commands and waited. The green blips all turned red. The red blips turned green, indicating friend status.
"Lieutenant, we have her. Requesting permission to fire." I waited.
"Granted." Her voice was jubilant. "All able personnel, move to gunnery stations and prepare for engagement." It was the command none of us expected but all of us hoped for. "On my way to the bridge but don't wait for me. Engage."
I slipped into a tactical station and locked the ship harness into place. Georges took navigation and Seranto remained at the computer. The training we had was basic but it allowed us to identify and target. "Seranto, see if you can get a message out on our frequency and ask them nicely not to shoot at us?" I quipped.
Within seconds the first wave to ship to ship missiles shot out from the destroyer towards Earther support ships. Taken by surprise, our first salvo severely damage two ships and destroyed two others. A second, then third wave. We kept shooting until their wasn't a missile left. By the time we were done, the few remaining Earther ships were burning for home or, if unable, had surrendered. One ship exploded with no warning. No one ever knew if there was some damage we didn't see or if the captain was simply unwilling to surrender.
Decades later, when they told the stories of the defence of Mars against the Earth, it was universally agreed that the assault of Earth Alliance Destroyer Texas was the beginning of the end. Losing the pride of their fleet and most powerful ship to a handful of grunts turned the public against the Earther governments. They still fought, three more battles and a handful of skirmishes, but their heart was no longer in the fight.
When we arrived home with a ship of the line and almost no casualties (aside from the two and the hand of one junior lieutenant) we became instant heroes. Being a hero didn't do Seranto much good when she was killed in the Battle of the Moon. Georges was equally unlucky during a minor skirmish near Phobos. I was lucky. I survived the war but even now, every night, I see them in my dreams. The few, brave few, that rode a tin can into hell and came back to tell about it. | |
[WP] It's been 300 years since Mars was colonized. Now, there is a revolution and the colonies are fighting for their independance. The first space battle in human history is about to begin. | "Silence on the Stage! Cue lights! Roll cameras! and we are live in 3,2,1 ..."
"Welcome and thank you for joining us! I'm Kate!"
"I'm Habib! Today's date stamp is May 26 2336"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"And this is the Reality Check!"
"If you're just leaving virtual immersion folks here is the IRL so far."
"We all know that the outer colonies have lived with us in peace and prosperity since the results of the Pacific Blast last century."
"Lately however some of these folks have gotten pretty grumpy Habib."
"You bet Kate, tensions among the Ares Council, the OutSpace Coalition and our very own UNISPAN have reached the tidal point."
"Is it really true that Chairman Hartzkroitz is mobilizing the military?"
"Sadly yes. As we all know the Eden Restoration project takes a lot, but many of the remote colonies no longer want to help restore our home to its rightful state."
"Mmm. That sounds scary Habib, why wouldn't everyone want to contribute to saving our birthplace and legacy?"
"Beats me Kate, but recent tragic events would seem to say they don't want to give their fair share. Last cycle we brought you the unsettling footage of the ICS-ME-5539 exploding in a clear terrorist attack. Ares spokespeople were quick to decry the attack that damaged Mar's largest spaceport, yet they were also quick to re-purpose the shipment for local use."
"Maybe a bit too quick. In response Chairman Hartzkroitz accused the Ares council of tolerating even orchestrating this latest in a string of isolationist extremist events."
"Now for the latest development, ICS-ME-5540 flight has been interdicted by Ares authorities on arrival. While publicly stating they have interned the crew for alleged arms smuggling, the calls to free the brave sailors has not gone unheard."
"Once scrambled the Personnel Carriers of UNISPAN PeaceKeepers should arrive at Mars on the next orbital to negotiate the safe return of UNISPAN property personal and the resumption of normal traffic and relations."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd roared when he took the stage. The red green Ares banners flapped idly in the light salty breeze on the Olympus Mons Plateau wafting off the Northern Sea.
"Hello Martians!" HE waited for the noise to settle before continuing.
"You all know who I am. I am You. You all know what I want. I want what is ours!"
The slogan had its usual effect.
"We stood up! We rose like the phoenix from the ashes. Fleeing the tyranny of a ruined Eden. The lie of fate and the call of Destiny revealed the truth to us! We brought life and progress to a wasteland and made our own paradise. All these long years we have built with our own hands and our own effort a place to claim as our own. A new destiny no longer fraught with the wars of our ancestors and dangerous claims of progeny."
Standard fare but he had them hooked for something new.
"Now we no longer want to tithe a taskmaster who gives us nothing! We have never been children who need to be pampered and fed. We grow our own food. We build our own machines. We Raised our own cities. All that you see we brought forth with the sweat off our brows. We have made a new home for mankind and we don't need Daddy to spank us anymore!"
The noise level was at a continuous high now but he didn't relent.
"We're not going to support a corrupt and false utopia anymore! Let them all wake up to the reality for a final time! Let them dig into the old dirt and rebuild their own house for once! For today; MARS STANDS ALONE! TODAY MARS KEEPS WHAT MARS MAKES! TODAY WE DRIVE BACK THE THIEVES!"
ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES! ARES!
---------------------------------------------------------------
"What does it mean Papa? Will the sponges really invade the reds?"
"What have I told you about using those names?"
"Sorry Papa... I'm scarred though"
"Me too buddy. OutSpace won't sit idle on this. We can't afford to. Looks like the Belt is gonna tighten for a while."
"What about the Kuipers?"
"Those cats can stay out there until it blows over. The Belt can weather this too but I hope against hope they don't come knocking when it goes sideways downstairs."
"Donny said we have more in common with Mars than Earth."
"He ain't wrong but we can't afford to take sides. Our digging goes to both sides but we need their food and finished goods. Catch is Earth has a few billion more people. This ain't going to be pretty, but keep your eyes peeled son. You're going to remember this the rest of your life."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Final decelaration burn complete."
"Orbital insertion confirmed, Negative on the guidance buoys"
"Open signal on comms get me Martian Traffic control."
"All dark sir, only locals talking"
"Fine, take us in----
*#*#* "Ares tower to IMS-ME convoy, hold your position in geo-synch and stand-down." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we do not recognize your call. Clear UNISPAN tower frequency at once."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy, UNISPAN tower has been relieved. You are to hold position. Any deviations from your current course will not be tolerated." *#*#*
"Negative Ares, we are running heavy, bingo fuel status, we MUST land"
"Sir? we still have ---"
"Shut it lieutenant."
*#*#* "IMS-ME convoy you should have topped off at Luna. Hold position for tanker rendezvous and prepare for immediate departure." *#*#*
"Negative tower we didn't come all this way to turn around. Request immediate landing vector clearance, or we're coming in hot"
*DEEDEEDEEDEEEDEEEDEEEDEEDEEE*
"SIR HOT LAUNCHES FROM THE SURFACE"
"BATTLE STATIONS! prepare for evasive action! Ares Tower, Ares Tower, rescind interceptors immediately. You are engaging in an act of war!"
"CAPTAIN! LINE HAS GONE COLD! INTERCEPT IN 5!"
"DAMNIT!!! Take us down, we'll have to try and loose them in atmo."
"This is it isn't it Cap?"
"Yeah, it is" | Sol 2356, 6th of March, the Free Martian Unified Colonies rejected the Federation of Terra Nation's ultimatum, war draw closer as ever, the 8 power houses on Terra change their mobilisation status fron partial to standard. Expedition Fleet 2 and 3 was order to move into 20000km from Mars and ready for bombardment. Expedition Fleet 1 was ready for an aerial assault directly into Neo Terra, Mars capital
Sol 2356, 8th of March, the newly launch battlecruisers 'Malicious Intent' and 'Merciful Embrace' with their escorts join Expedition Fleet 4 and was place on standby for order. The separatists fleet composed of 1 outdated carrier, 2 relatively new strike cruisers and a dozens smaller escort vessels was sighted near Phobos, they still haven't know they were detected by Terra force and were surrounded by Expedition Fleet 5 without noticing. Secretary Jack Morton and Stergey Vladisov tried to resume negotiation to avoid a war, Martian's representative Jokbuon, however, promptly refuse them, declaring war is the only outcome.
Sol 2356, 15th of March, 20:06:05 EST, the Martian fleet hiding near Phobos sally forth to attack EF2 and 3 in a coordinate attack with Martian ground batteries and missiles. The war for Mars officially start. 20 minutes after departing, the Free Martian Grand Fleet was ambushed by the EF5. Spacecrafts launched from EF5 state of the art carriers quickly make short work of the Grand Fleet capital ships, the escorts surrender 4 hours after first contact. EF2 and 3 quickly silenced the ground batteries and missiles silo, paving way for EF1 to directly invade Neo Terra.
Sol 2356, 16th of March, 15:49:39 EST, Neo Terra was captured. The Federation declared victory, unknowingly that the war would last on for another 20 years with over 596 millions deaths on both side. | |
Wow I didn't think this would get so popular. Thanks guys!
Some of you said my idea is illogical. What I originally had in mind was a sci-fi story where a time traveler goes back to pre-Columbian America and warns the Aztecs that the Europeans will destroy them. As a result, they kill off all explorers that reach the Americas and spend 400 years developing warfare technology and spying on Europe in preparation for a world war, which is set off when Charles Lindbergh sends a radio message back to European telling them of the existence of the Americas before being shot down. Anyway, it was interesting how you guys took the story in a completely different direction. | [WP]In an alternate universe, America was never discovered. It's 1927, Charles Lindbergh, a Swedish pilot attempts the first transatlantic flight to Asia. During his flight, he receives a radio transmission saying "This is the Aztec Royal Air Force, prepare to surrender or you will be shot down." | "Seriously?" said Lindberg, astonished. "No, not really," said Chief Xacoxto. "We never even invented the wheel, we really weren't on track for this. It's a lot more likely you are hallucinating than the idea that we would even have Watt's engine by now."
Charlie knew sense when he heard it, and this sounded a lot like truth to him. Then he crashed his plane, because fuel and runways are things. | "--YA TIK---zzzzzz--LI!" The radio fizzed and squelched. It buzzed as he turned the dial.
"TIYA TIKWIKA TLALI!" The radio suddenly shouted, clearly, angrily. "OMPA!"
*The hell does that mean? Who could it possibly be is a better question... Frank, from the refueling expedition, is not the sort of fellow to make jokes on the wireless.*
The thoughts raced through his head as he tried turning the direction indicator back to where he heard the loud, angry voice.
Finally, he heard the squelch, and the sound of a microphone click. "---HUETZIZ ORI-TAH!"
Suddenly, his attention was grabbed away by a flick of motion out of the corner of his eye. He lost all focus on the radio, and the incomprehensible words. He saw, keeping pace with him, an elaborately decorated, and eerily warlike ornithopter. It was massive. It only appeared to have a crew of a few men, but the wings were enormous nonetheless. One of the men appeared to be aiming something at him. Another pointed forward and down, towards the jungle, which he'd grown sick of seeing over these last long hours. There was a clearing ahead, growing larger in his view beyond the clouds. And beyond that clearing was something he would tell his grandchildren.
*A floating city, in the middle of a lake!? Oh, dear lord, what is this place, and why has no one ever known of it?*
Massive pyramids towered in the center, surrounded by yet more pyramids, not as massive, but still larger than most country houses he'd seen. Huge crowds of workers ran to and fro between barges and canoes, unloading bushels and baskets.
Before long he found himself touching down in field, pressed flat, and surrounded by great stone works. People began to gather on the outskirts of the clearing. Some wore loin cloths, while others wore bright tunics of sorts he had never seen before.
The great flying machine banked overhead, its massive wings bending with each huge sweeping pulse. It was almost silent..
*What sort of power source have these people got?*
More people began to arrive, and they drew closer. He shut his engine off, and sat there staring out his port window, at the top of one of the great pyramids, in awe. Before he realized what was going on, the sound of his slowing propeller was replaced by the sound of a mob. He was ripped from his aircaft, and his aircraft was swamped in a tide of humans, who looked like angry ants, devouring a dragonfly.
*What is happening?! What did I do?!*
The thoughts kept flying in his mind, especially as he screamed them at his uncaring hosts. He struggled, but the match was unfair. It was only him versus a seemingly evil horde of savages. He saw a club, with black glass-like blades coming towards the right side of his head, but had no time to react, or even think about it before the dream came.
That dream turned into a headache, then a nightmare. He opened his eyes only to behold a throng of humanity as he'd never witnessed. Tens of thousands of people screamed at the top of their lungs as his headache throbbed. He saw the sky, then he saw birds, and feathers, one by one. A face loomed over him as his vision blacked out. The sound grew quiet as he suddenly felt a sharp pressure, and dull, distant pain in his chest. He willed himself to think of home. One last time. |
Wow I didn't think this would get so popular. Thanks guys!
Some of you said my idea is illogical. What I originally had in mind was a sci-fi story where a time traveler goes back to pre-Columbian America and warns the Aztecs that the Europeans will destroy them. As a result, they kill off all explorers that reach the Americas and spend 400 years developing warfare technology and spying on Europe in preparation for a world war, which is set off when Charles Lindbergh sends a radio message back to European telling them of the existence of the Americas before being shot down. Anyway, it was interesting how you guys took the story in a completely different direction. | [WP]In an alternate universe, America was never discovered. It's 1927, Charles Lindbergh, a Swedish pilot attempts the first transatlantic flight to Asia. During his flight, he receives a radio transmission saying "This is the Aztec Royal Air Force, prepare to surrender or you will be shot down." | He'd been flying for the better part of a day since he left Casablanca. His airplane was a beast, loaded with the fuel he'd need for his trip across the vast Eurasian Ocean. While there was some hope he'd be able to land somewhere to rest, they had not counted on it. As he cruised over the dark waters, he was starting to regret flying out of Africa instead of his home country of Sweden; that would have been a much shorter route! By his calculations, though, if he kept flying due west, he should reach the Chinese city of Shanghai.
His father had been in the Swedish diplomat corps and his mother was a noted chemistry professor. They'd put a high value on education and made sure he was steeped in a variety of languages -- Norwegian, English, French, German, and Suomi, in addition to his native Swedish. He'd also studied a bit of Icelandic during his time at university, where he originally majored in history. That had been before switching to engineering and being recruited into flight school. He'd studied a bit of Mandarin before this flight, since he'd need to say a few things upon his arrival in China, and he quickly ran through that vocabulary to help keep himself awake. He let his thoughts wander, making notes to himself about how best to implement an air mail service in Sweden.
He stretched his legs as best he could in the cramped cabin. The uncomfortable pressure wouldn't let up, though, and he came out of his mental wanderings as his hand reached for the tubing that served as his personal urination container. Once he filled it up, he sighed a bit and adjusted the altitude of the plane, descending. There were broken clouds ahead and he wanted to get down under them, just for a change of pace. A press of the button and a stream of liquid Lucky Lindy was released from the bottom of the plane.
He shrugged a bit to himself, working out the kinks in his neck and back. He was fairly certain that his butt would never have sensation in it again.
A line began to creep up across the horizon. He initially dismissed it as more clouds, but he began to realize with rising excitement that it must be land! He checked his clock and checked his logbook, then grabbed his map. There should be nothing here -- nothing that big, at least. There was some expectation that there might be a long string of islands running from north to south, a kind of barrier of volcanoes in between Europe and Asia. The theory of continental drift by Alfred Wegener -- a German meteorologist -- was a hotly disputed theory in the geological world, and the man had suggested that perhaps there was a long line of volcanoes that ran straight through the Eurasian sea where the plates were drifting apart -- and that perhaps the volcanoes were the source of the hurricanes that sometimes slammed into the British Isles. Charles knew about the theory because it was mentioned in passing in one of his introductory science courses as a crackpot idea.
That line on the horizon was no volcano -- but it was certainly land!
He took his plane down below the cloud level so that he could get a better look.
A crackle came over the radio, followed by a voice pitched several octaves higher, and Charles nearly lost control of the plane in his surprise. He managed not to jerk the rudder as he snatched the mic to his mouth. The person speaking had tuned to a different channel, but perhaps they could hone in if he spoke?
"This is the *Spirit of St Galt*i," he said in Swedish, voice calmer than he felt. A plane pulled up beside him on his right -- startlingly familiar and yet strangely alien at the same time. There were two sets of wings, like a biplane's, but the top wing was set forward of the bottom wing. The wings were more pointed than his plane's, the tail set up differently; the elevators were farther forward than he'd have expected, the rudder had a sharper angle on it than his, and the ailerons almost looked like they rippled. The pilot sat exposed, like the planes he'd trained in when he was younger, and the designs painted on the sides were wholly foreign to him.
He had never seen anything like it in his life.
The radio crackled to life again. This time, the pilot appeared to have found the correct channel and spoke again. Charles had never heard a language like that one before and looked over at the other plane. The pilot swung close and pointed to the ground very forcefully.
A second plane dropped in on Charles left.
He had no choice. He followed the planes to a wide, flat, grassy area with a flat-packed gravel landing strip -- no, an airport. There was a building, a tower, and a couple of what looked to be passenger planes standing a hundred meters or so from the building. He touched down and a shudder of relief coursed through his body, immediately chased by fear and excitement in equal measures. He slowly exited his plane, hands in the air.
---
| "--YA TIK---zzzzzz--LI!" The radio fizzed and squelched. It buzzed as he turned the dial.
"TIYA TIKWIKA TLALI!" The radio suddenly shouted, clearly, angrily. "OMPA!"
*The hell does that mean? Who could it possibly be is a better question... Frank, from the refueling expedition, is not the sort of fellow to make jokes on the wireless.*
The thoughts raced through his head as he tried turning the direction indicator back to where he heard the loud, angry voice.
Finally, he heard the squelch, and the sound of a microphone click. "---HUETZIZ ORI-TAH!"
Suddenly, his attention was grabbed away by a flick of motion out of the corner of his eye. He lost all focus on the radio, and the incomprehensible words. He saw, keeping pace with him, an elaborately decorated, and eerily warlike ornithopter. It was massive. It only appeared to have a crew of a few men, but the wings were enormous nonetheless. One of the men appeared to be aiming something at him. Another pointed forward and down, towards the jungle, which he'd grown sick of seeing over these last long hours. There was a clearing ahead, growing larger in his view beyond the clouds. And beyond that clearing was something he would tell his grandchildren.
*A floating city, in the middle of a lake!? Oh, dear lord, what is this place, and why has no one ever known of it?*
Massive pyramids towered in the center, surrounded by yet more pyramids, not as massive, but still larger than most country houses he'd seen. Huge crowds of workers ran to and fro between barges and canoes, unloading bushels and baskets.
Before long he found himself touching down in field, pressed flat, and surrounded by great stone works. People began to gather on the outskirts of the clearing. Some wore loin cloths, while others wore bright tunics of sorts he had never seen before.
The great flying machine banked overhead, its massive wings bending with each huge sweeping pulse. It was almost silent..
*What sort of power source have these people got?*
More people began to arrive, and they drew closer. He shut his engine off, and sat there staring out his port window, at the top of one of the great pyramids, in awe. Before he realized what was going on, the sound of his slowing propeller was replaced by the sound of a mob. He was ripped from his aircaft, and his aircraft was swamped in a tide of humans, who looked like angry ants, devouring a dragonfly.
*What is happening?! What did I do?!*
The thoughts kept flying in his mind, especially as he screamed them at his uncaring hosts. He struggled, but the match was unfair. It was only him versus a seemingly evil horde of savages. He saw a club, with black glass-like blades coming towards the right side of his head, but had no time to react, or even think about it before the dream came.
That dream turned into a headache, then a nightmare. He opened his eyes only to behold a throng of humanity as he'd never witnessed. Tens of thousands of people screamed at the top of their lungs as his headache throbbed. He saw the sky, then he saw birds, and feathers, one by one. A face loomed over him as his vision blacked out. The sound grew quiet as he suddenly felt a sharp pressure, and dull, distant pain in his chest. He willed himself to think of home. One last time. |
Wow I didn't think this would get so popular. Thanks guys!
Some of you said my idea is illogical. What I originally had in mind was a sci-fi story where a time traveler goes back to pre-Columbian America and warns the Aztecs that the Europeans will destroy them. As a result, they kill off all explorers that reach the Americas and spend 400 years developing warfare technology and spying on Europe in preparation for a world war, which is set off when Charles Lindbergh sends a radio message back to European telling them of the existence of the Americas before being shot down. Anyway, it was interesting how you guys took the story in a completely different direction. | [WP]In an alternate universe, America was never discovered. It's 1927, Charles Lindbergh, a Swedish pilot attempts the first transatlantic flight to Asia. During his flight, he receives a radio transmission saying "This is the Aztec Royal Air Force, prepare to surrender or you will be shot down." | He'd been flying for the better part of a day since he left Casablanca. His airplane was a beast, loaded with the fuel he'd need for his trip across the vast Eurasian Ocean. While there was some hope he'd be able to land somewhere to rest, they had not counted on it. As he cruised over the dark waters, he was starting to regret flying out of Africa instead of his home country of Sweden; that would have been a much shorter route! By his calculations, though, if he kept flying due west, he should reach the Chinese city of Shanghai.
His father had been in the Swedish diplomat corps and his mother was a noted chemistry professor. They'd put a high value on education and made sure he was steeped in a variety of languages -- Norwegian, English, French, German, and Suomi, in addition to his native Swedish. He'd also studied a bit of Icelandic during his time at university, where he originally majored in history. That had been before switching to engineering and being recruited into flight school. He'd studied a bit of Mandarin before this flight, since he'd need to say a few things upon his arrival in China, and he quickly ran through that vocabulary to help keep himself awake. He let his thoughts wander, making notes to himself about how best to implement an air mail service in Sweden.
He stretched his legs as best he could in the cramped cabin. The uncomfortable pressure wouldn't let up, though, and he came out of his mental wanderings as his hand reached for the tubing that served as his personal urination container. Once he filled it up, he sighed a bit and adjusted the altitude of the plane, descending. There were broken clouds ahead and he wanted to get down under them, just for a change of pace. A press of the button and a stream of liquid Lucky Lindy was released from the bottom of the plane.
He shrugged a bit to himself, working out the kinks in his neck and back. He was fairly certain that his butt would never have sensation in it again.
A line began to creep up across the horizon. He initially dismissed it as more clouds, but he began to realize with rising excitement that it must be land! He checked his clock and checked his logbook, then grabbed his map. There should be nothing here -- nothing that big, at least. There was some expectation that there might be a long string of islands running from north to south, a kind of barrier of volcanoes in between Europe and Asia. The theory of continental drift by Alfred Wegener -- a German meteorologist -- was a hotly disputed theory in the geological world, and the man had suggested that perhaps there was a long line of volcanoes that ran straight through the Eurasian sea where the plates were drifting apart -- and that perhaps the volcanoes were the source of the hurricanes that sometimes slammed into the British Isles. Charles knew about the theory because it was mentioned in passing in one of his introductory science courses as a crackpot idea.
That line on the horizon was no volcano -- but it was certainly land!
He took his plane down below the cloud level so that he could get a better look.
A crackle came over the radio, followed by a voice pitched several octaves higher, and Charles nearly lost control of the plane in his surprise. He managed not to jerk the rudder as he snatched the mic to his mouth. The person speaking had tuned to a different channel, but perhaps they could hone in if he spoke?
"This is the *Spirit of St Galt*i," he said in Swedish, voice calmer than he felt. A plane pulled up beside him on his right -- startlingly familiar and yet strangely alien at the same time. There were two sets of wings, like a biplane's, but the top wing was set forward of the bottom wing. The wings were more pointed than his plane's, the tail set up differently; the elevators were farther forward than he'd have expected, the rudder had a sharper angle on it than his, and the ailerons almost looked like they rippled. The pilot sat exposed, like the planes he'd trained in when he was younger, and the designs painted on the sides were wholly foreign to him.
He had never seen anything like it in his life.
The radio crackled to life again. This time, the pilot appeared to have found the correct channel and spoke again. Charles had never heard a language like that one before and looked over at the other plane. The pilot swung close and pointed to the ground very forcefully.
A second plane dropped in on Charles left.
He had no choice. He followed the planes to a wide, flat, grassy area with a flat-packed gravel landing strip -- no, an airport. There was a building, a tower, and a couple of what looked to be passenger planes standing a hundred meters or so from the building. He touched down and a shudder of relief coursed through his body, immediately chased by fear and excitement in equal measures. He slowly exited his plane, hands in the air.
---
| "Seriously?" said Lindberg, astonished. "No, not really," said Chief Xacoxto. "We never even invented the wheel, we really weren't on track for this. It's a lot more likely you are hallucinating than the idea that we would even have Watt's engine by now."
Charlie knew sense when he heard it, and this sounded a lot like truth to him. Then he crashed his plane, because fuel and runways are things. |
Wow I didn't think this would get so popular. Thanks guys!
Some of you said my idea is illogical. What I originally had in mind was a sci-fi story where a time traveler goes back to pre-Columbian America and warns the Aztecs that the Europeans will destroy them. As a result, they kill off all explorers that reach the Americas and spend 400 years developing warfare technology and spying on Europe in preparation for a world war, which is set off when Charles Lindbergh sends a radio message back to European telling them of the existence of the Americas before being shot down. Anyway, it was interesting how you guys took the story in a completely different direction. | [WP]In an alternate universe, America was never discovered. It's 1927, Charles Lindbergh, a Swedish pilot attempts the first transatlantic flight to Asia. During his flight, he receives a radio transmission saying "This is the Aztec Royal Air Force, prepare to surrender or you will be shot down." | The view never got old.
I have been flying over water and clouds for over a day now, sitting in a metal bird hundreds of feet above ground, and still had a while to go, but with a view like this, I sure as hell didn't mind. I gazed out towards the left of my cockpit where the sun had begun to break the surface of the water casting brilliant fiery reflections dancing across the water and the sky. I could make out a couple of small islands in the vast ocean, specks to me, but some were easily large enough to hold a city. Yet they were dwarfed by the vastness of the oceans.
Man had once tried to tame the ocean, to bound it to its will, to cross it unhampered, but we were no match for it. The scientists blamed the rather large moon, which made the seas to rowdy to cross with current technology. And looking down now, it truly occurred to me how foolish we were to try.
Staring out at the brilliant sun-rise I decided that I had indeed full-filled my childhood dream, well, everyone's childhood dream. To be a hero, an adventurer, to venture into the beyond. Most realized these for what they were: dreams, and settled down to slave away at some office or slowly kill themselves at a factory. Not me though, I wanted this, the skies, the uncertainty, the *adventure*.
As I sat there, contemplating my past and what I had become, I saw something that shook me out my reverie. *Land*. Not just islands, I stared transfixed, as a massive coastline appeared. Undoubtedly a continent. It could not have been Asia. We knew the circumference of the Earth, we had calculated by observing Earth's curvature during sunrises and sunsets, and we knew how far the eastern reaches of China were from the tip of Spain by land. Given that, we were not even 1/3 of the distance my flight should have been. Yet here it was, undeniable, a new landmass.
I could not believe it. A landmass, so far separated by water, not attached to land at all. A major landmass *other than Pangaea*.
This, this was huge. I knew I was immortalized in history. I had set out to prove to the world the efficacy of air travel, and instead I had found a new continent.
I had barely even begun to wrestle with the enormity of this situation when my radio crackled to life. A man with a deep voice said something in a language I did not recognize. My brain was stunned, but on instinct I spoke into the radio, "This is Caption Lindbergh of the Swedish air force, I mean no harm."
The sound of my own voice surprised me, not only because I had not spoken in over 30 hours, but because it sounded steady. On the inside I was shaken, I had never even considered that man existed on this continent, to be fair I had been processing for about 5 minutes, much less that they would have technology.
And then I felt a coldness in my chest, as I heard two distinct whirrs in addition to those of my propellers. Two biplanes suddenly flanked my aircraft, they had machine guns attached to either of their wings and, by their size, were clearly built for quick agile combat.
The radio crackled once more, and a softer, distinctly feminine voice spoke, but once again, I was unable to understand. I spoke the same message I did last time, to make sure they knew I wasn't ignoring them.
The plane to the left of me began moving gently towards me. Alarmed I looked to the right, and saw that plane moving away. After a brief moment of panic, realization dawned on me. They were guiding me to ... somewhere.
Despite my adventurous streak I was not a man to argue with machine guns, so I followed course. After about one half hour we reached an airstrip at the coast of the mainland. In he distance I could make out towers gleaming in the morning sunlight, one of their cities presumably.
I landed without incident, and the two biplanes, followed suit. I saw a figure step out of the plane some distance away and walk towards me. I too stood up, stretching my legs a bit.
I had been in shock for the last half hour, and still I was barely able to process the enormity of the situation. I stared at the revolver I had in one of my compartments, but after a brief moment of indecision I decided not to bring it. If these people wanted me dead, I would be. But human curiosity was a wonderful thing, it had brought our 2 cultures here, in a peaceful first meeting (presumably), and I wasn't about to ruin that.
My legs still cramped I stepped out of the plane with much less grace than was appropriate for a representative of a continent. I unsteadily walked towards the pilot, who headed towards me with a determined stride.
As we got close I realized she was a woman about a meter and half, and she was wearing a brown jumpsuit, and flight helmet, with a purple rectangular symbol on the breast of her suit.
*Probably their flag,* I thought.
We stood about a meter apart, looking at each other, she took her flight helmet off, to reveal long dark hair, and almond eyes. We stood there awkwardly for a moment, both of us at an utter loss at what to do, and then she hesitantly extended her hand forward. She said something, and I recognized the voice from the radio. There was question in her eyes and voice, and her head was tilted slightly to the left.
"Charles Lindbergh, " I said grasping her hand in a firm handshake, "charmed."
To think I thought I had achieved my dream a half hour ago.
***
Feedback very appreciated!
(Made minor spelling edits)
Thank you for the gold, and thank all of you for you r interest. I have uploaded part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/579u8q/wpin_an_alternate_universe_america_was_never/d8r5sue). I warn you it is very different from this, but is a direct continuation nonetheless. | What beasts lurk below the still, blue glass? What monsters? What allies?
*Spirit* purrs beneath me, all around me, as I slip through the sky, brazen and unchecked. A man among birds. And while my windows point forward and upward, my mind points downward, down towards that third world, the blue and black world that has vexed and terrified us for so long. That great barrier to progress, which has kept us boarded up in stagnant lands.
The wild, pure ocean. Eater of Man. Devourer of Dreams. How many centuries did we ask politely for its aid in passage? How many millennia? And always the answer was *No*. Death and drowning. Men lost and never found. Was it storms, perhaps? Monstrous walls of water? Or something else? Creatures of the deep. Beasts from the black. Inhabitants of that unknown third world.
Bah.
So, the sea rejected us. No matter. Man does not take rejection lightly. Not from the natural world - the world we have been set about to govern and bend to our will. We have found another way. *The sky*. Another shade of blue. Lighter. Softer. And yielding. The sky welcomed us as a long-lost friend. It beckoned us with signs and hints and encouraged us ever. It showed us the feather upon the breeze and said, "Look! This could be you." It grabbed Minister Franklind's kite and held it aloft and said, "See? See? We are friend. We are friend."
The routes to Eastern Asia have become clogged and political. The Soviets tax the roads and choke our trade to serve their agenda. They think their girth and geography grants them a superiority they have not earned. Soon they will see. Soon.
*The Spirit of Stockholm* is the best of her breed. Powerful and efficient. As long as our estimates are correct and the way is clear, she will breach the ocean barrier and forge a new path for Mother Sweden. We shall open our own doors and build new alliances, unencumbered by the machinations of the Soviets.
We go west in search of the East.
It is a long flight. Longer than any flight ever, by much and more. I have trained by circling the great airfields of Vallen, over and over again. But there I was above land. There I was buoyed by the notion of escape, if necessary. Here there is no escape. There is only me and the *Spirit* and my ally above and my enemy below. It drives a man to concern.
My radio crackles. Perhaps I am approaching Asia? It should not be...I have not been aloft long enough, but I cannot think of any other explanation. The radio is crawling to life, slowly gathering coherence. And there is a voice in the crackle. The voice is urgent and alarmed. It speaks in a language I do not understand. I have been briefed in Japanese and Mandarin and this is neither. It is not even similar. Nothing that is being said makes sense to me.
I hazard an attempt. "This is Charles Lindbergh. I come as a representative of the Kingdom of Sweden. I come to discuss trade. I repeat, my name is Charles Lindbergh..."
The radio squeals and the voice returns, urgent and sour. A shadow passes overhead and for the first time I see that I am not alone in the sky. A plane passes overhead, and then another. They do not bear the marks of Japan. They do not bear any marks that I am familiar with. What nation is this? Planes pass and circle in a swarm now. Where am I? What nation possesses such casual aeronautic might?
A plane pulls alongside me and I can just see the man inside the cockpit. He is darkly skinned. A strange reddish-brown I have never encountered. His eyes are wide as he appraises me. There is a painted crest near the tail of his plane. It is a serpent with feathers. I do not know these people. I do not know where I am.
The radio continues to squeal and shout. I look to land. They must want me to land and that is what I wish as well. I think they may be escorting me to their airfields.
But no. Continually they cut across me, driving me away from the land. The voice yells madly in that wild, unnatural tongue. I cannot go back to the ocean. It is too far to turn back. They must see that. They must understand. If only I might land. I could explain. I could show them. I have brought a sampling of our national wares. They will see. They will understand. I need only to *land*.
I drive back towards the shore. The air rattles and the *Spirit* shudders below me, all around me. Around and around they swarm, like bees protecting their queen. There is more rattling. Bullets. The glass of the cockpit shatters and the wind of this strange new land swirls around me.
The *Spirit* dips a wing and then a nose. The voice has gone quiet. As I lose altitude, I see that I will miss land. There is only the ocean below me. The great, terrible ocean.
The sky, I now see, was a false friend. There were monsters there all along. What monsters are trapped below that sheet of blue glass, I wonder? I go now to find out. |
[WP] The man who never lied was the best liar of them all. | As I climb up the hill on top of which Mr. Leogan’s home is perched, I am struck by how simple, how unpretentious it is. The house is plain and unassuming, painted a fading yellow and looking even smaller next to the apple tree towering protectively over it. Of course, I hadn’t really expected a house much different from this. After all, Mr. Leogan is famous for having never lied since his 27th birthday.
According to the few family and friends who still keep contact with him it started small, with a resolution to never tell white lies in order to help people realize their weaknesses. As time passed, his philosophy of always being truthful to both himself and the others around him slowly started to build up until he was revealing secrets left and right to whomever asked and dishing out the harsh truth to loved ones. First his fiancee left him, then most his friends drifted away, one by one. Eventually even his sister cut contact with him. But even through all this, Leogan never lied, facing the loss of his loved ones with a strange calmness.
Mr. Leogan is now an international phenomenon. He is simultaneously hailed as a genius and a fool, with countless followers and copycats. Children are taught about him at school as an example of the epitome of morality. The fact that he seems to fully embrace his lifestyle of honesty without any qualms causes people to praise him all the more. His honesty allows him to almost transcend societal rules and expectations with his honesty; it both opens and closes him off from people. People are able to trust that he will be completely honest with them, and yet are afraid that he will expose their own secrets if he is asked about them.
The parlor of the house is furnished plainly, yet quaintly. The armchairs and sofa are all cozy, relinquishing looks for comfort, and the few items lying on the coffee table are all very practical. A pen, a notepad, an unwashed coffee mug. The walls are barren, adorned with neither photographs of loved ones nor paintings of generic landscapes. There is nothing in the room that suggests that anything was placed there simply to impress the visitor. The man himself is of an average height, maybe a little slimmer than normal, with neatly brushed hair and a knowing look to his face. He appears ageless, with a strangely tragic sense of wisdom about him.
“Well, Mr. Leogan, I’d like to start this interview off by asking you if you regret choosing to live your life without telling any lies.”
There is a slight, almost imperceptible hesitation.
“No.”
---
This is my first post here, apologies for any mistakes! | Father Edwards was a complicated man. On the outside, he seems to be a simple old priest, loyal to his church and to his faith.
Those of keen intellect who spoke with him saw something more. There was a sharpness behind those eyes, father Edwards was no 2-dimensional man. Surely, he was a liar, a puppet master pulling the strings of the town to his will. Not a word he said could be trusted.
There was another layer still. He, indeed, was a cold, smart man devoted to changing the town, but not once did he do so through lies. Not a single falsehood had ever escaped his lips. He deliberately made a transparent outside and an opaque, nefarious middle layer.
Those who saw through his glass facade believed he sought to undermine the church, and instinctively took an alternate course. It was like this that his true ends were met: the strengthening of the Catholic Church, with not a single lie told. Lying is a sin, after all. | |
[WP] The man who never lied was the best liar of them all. | "They say you're an evil man."
"They do."
Jenny looked through the glass at David. Small, hunched over, he looked uncomfortable on the stool in his orange jumpsuit. His right hand held the receiver to his ear, his left fidgeting with his pants. Even now, as they had the first real conversation they'd had in weeks, he still wouldn't meet her gaze.
"They say you simply walked into the store, dropped the bomb off, and went about your day, without a care in the world," Jenny continued.
"I have heard that."
"They say you got recruited in Turkey. During our vacation, the first trip we ever took together. I'm even being suspected of being a terrorist now."
"How unfortunate."
"Dammit David!" Jenny slammed the counter, her body quaking uncontrollably. A few guards turned their heads, fingers hovering near their radios. "Why are you so nonchalant about this? This is serious, David, and you act like its just another day!"
David remained silent as Jenny stared him down. Tense moments passed between them before she spoke again.
"Is it true, then? Was I just a cover for you, so you could continue your operations unnoticed? Was what we had a lie?" David moved slightly, pursing his lips as he mulled over his response. Jenny leaned in, the receiver pressed tightly to her ear.
"Do they say that, too?" David asked. He gestured to the guard, putting the receiver on the hook. As the guard stood David up, Jenny looked up at his face. A brief glimpse, enough for her to break down in tears as he was escorted out of the room.
-
"Excellent work, David," the guard said as they walked back to the cell. "As long as you continue to cooperate, she will be safe. It will be a burden, to spend your life here, but know that you are living righteously, and your sacrifice will not be forgotten!"
They paused in front of the cell, the guard working to open the door. With a click, the door opened, and David walked inside.
"Remember, David. A lie for the greater good is no lie at all," the guard continued, locking David within the cell. "Do not feel ashamed for your dishonesty."
As the guard finished, he peered into the cell. David's head lifted, meeting his gaze.
"For every lie told, the truth gets buried," David spoke, his voice soft. "I have done many things I feel ashamed of, but I have never lied. And I never will."
*Feedback Appreciated* | Father Edwards was a complicated man. On the outside, he seems to be a simple old priest, loyal to his church and to his faith.
Those of keen intellect who spoke with him saw something more. There was a sharpness behind those eyes, father Edwards was no 2-dimensional man. Surely, he was a liar, a puppet master pulling the strings of the town to his will. Not a word he said could be trusted.
There was another layer still. He, indeed, was a cold, smart man devoted to changing the town, but not once did he do so through lies. Not a single falsehood had ever escaped his lips. He deliberately made a transparent outside and an opaque, nefarious middle layer.
Those who saw through his glass facade believed he sought to undermine the church, and instinctively took an alternate course. It was like this that his true ends were met: the strengthening of the Catholic Church, with not a single lie told. Lying is a sin, after all. | |
[WP] Describe an average day as aggressively and violently as possible | Sunlight stabbed through the curtains, burning straight into my eyes like a laser. The traitorously silent alarm sits like a rotted corpse, oblivious to the invectives I hurl its way - I'm late. I tear the sheets off my body like I'm ripping off a first layer of skin, and rage into the bathroom. My hands are busy trying to cram a toothpaste-laden brush into my mouth, which I gnaw with the foaming fervor of a rabid wolverine. So I kick the lid open on the toilet to relieve myself in steaming stream. My groan of relief gurgles out through the foamed paste like a lion's bloody post-kill roar.
Two rounds of grappling combat with my wardrobe subdues my clothes, and their defeated husks lie limp on my body as storm into the kitchen. I tear the head off a granola bar in a swift bite that would make a smilodon proud. There's no time to boil the desiccated remains of a plant that I feel has wronged me, so instead I slurp the stolen secretions of an enslaved mammal. I crush the carton that contained it, and hurl it into a bin where, I am certain, it will be smashed, shredded, and pulped - but not allowed to die. Its parts will be remade, and it's tortured life of freezing, only to be crushed and discarded, will be lived again and again.
I cut through traffic like a shark chasing a seal; sleek, powerful, swerving, and teeth bared. Through the herds of other cars I single out a parking space, like separating the sick from the pack. It never had a chance.
The doors fly open of their own accord, like gates of a vast enemy city bending to the will of an angry god, and I slam my war machine through their outer defenses and march tirelessly towards produce. Laid before me are countless infants of a lesser species, doomed to never see childhood, let alone adolescence. From among the vegetarian holocaust I choose only the plumpest and ripest of planty infants, and soon my iron carriage contains dozens of the helpless things.
On the isle of meats, I must make my first moral decision: To the left lies a partial corpse that, if consumed, will kill me in a handful of decades. To the right, another slab of muscle tissue that will kill me two decades slower. To make my decision I envision tearing both hunks of flesh with my teeth, again and again, savoring the merciless thought and focusing only on my own pleasure. I snarl with righteous might as I come to my decision - both corpses are hurled into the steely maw of my siege engine.
I throw a few pointless scraps of paper at the poor defeated enemies whose supplies I have raided, and prowl home like a salivating predator on the hunt. I bar the door, and lay out my victims before me - each will see the fate of those before it. I sharpen the knife, honing it with an impish glee, and set to work. I slam the knife through each infant plant in turn. Violent swings reduce the whole mass to a pile of dripping, chunky remains. These I throw into a pot to be slowly and horribly heated, and turn my attention to the partial carcasses.
Simple slicing won't be enough here. These I have rendered, torn, cut, and mashed at high speed, by an uncaring machine, like a racecar hitting a rabbit on the track. The result looks about the same. I tear my hands into the goop and tear out a chunk like a cultist ripping a heart from a living victim, and slowly crush it. I slam it down onto a metal plate, which reverberates like thunder around the room. When I have exhausted my supply of corpse-meat, and consigned the crushed chunks to a fiery death, I wrench down my largest metal pot and crash it into the sink. I pour water into it like I'm torturing it for secrets, then bring it down two-handed onto the raging fires of the stove. I stare it down, as if my sheer angry force of will can bring it to submit to boiling faster.
At last I turn to the final solution: with a grunting twist, I feel a hundred tiny pasta sticks snap like the backs of my weakest foes, which are then mercilessly thrown into boiling oil and water. My pronged scoop tears through them like the trident of an angry Poseidon through shipwrecked sailors
At last, all my cutting and tearing and burning and boiling reaches its crescendo: my vegetable foes are nothing more than a chunky paste, the corpse-balls have been charred to a golden brown in fires of hate and propane, and the broken-backed pasta sailors have just enough fight left to feel the final, gnawing defeat of my jaws.
Nothing is as satisfying as home-made spaghetti and meatballs.
You can find more of my writing at /r/thefeshywords |
Woke up, didn't choke up.
Saw my AK, it was broke up.
Put it together like a jigsaw.
Got my nine and my Rambo knife off the floor.
Went to the bathroom, and beat the rush.
Yo, who the fuck used my toothbrush?
Went to my sister's room, yo bitch, wake up.
You stupid ass, dirty ass, nasty ass slut.
Shot her in the leg, shot her in the thigh.
Kicked her in the pussy and punched her in the eye.
Slapped her in the head, stepped on her corns.
Don't fuck with mine bitch, word is bond.
Went downstairs to eat wit' my folks.
Ma, you broke my fuckin' egg yolk!
Punched her in the chest, cut on her cheek.
Then I did a sweep, knocked the bitch off her feet.
Knee to the pussy, kick to the skull.
AK y'all, shot that bitch in the temple.
Pop got mad 'cause mom got licked.
I didn't give a fuck so I shot him in the dick.
Hungry as fuck, said my grace.
Pop kept screamin' so I shot him in the face.
Ate my food, found my coat.
Mailman came so I cut his motherfuckin' throat.
Waitin' for the motherfuckin' school bus!!
http://youtu.be/hblAppO67Ig | |
[WP] Describe an average day as aggressively and violently as possible | Steve explodes out of bed in the morning, fist slamming on the bomb-siren, death-to-heathens, Jihad-scream of his alarm. He tears into the bathroom, projects a stream of piss like poison, and drops a turd like a nuclear bomb. Then, a shower. Water bullets down his back, splattering shampoo foam like shrapnel. He doesn’t shave - he’s running late - no time to blade and bleed today. Barely time to do his teeth, throttling toothpaste out the tube. He grabs his towel, flays the dampness off his skin, and dives his limbs into his clothes like Kamikaze off to die.
Outside his building, he shouts down a cab. He checks his email in the car. There is a warzone in his inbox, with emails stacking up like limbs in a machete-fought coup. He flings off as as many grenades as can, en route, then shoots the cabbie a twenty - keep the change.
Jim assaults him at his desk, and shoves a latte in his face.
“I owe you for helping me out with those numbers on Friday, man. If I’d been stuck here myself, I’d have had to cancel my date. Good weekend?”
“Thanks,” says Steve, through a napalm sip of coffee, cauterizing his tongue. “No problem. Weekend was great. Found this chick on Tinder - we Netflixed and chilled.”
They smash their fists together like barbarians at the gate. They are brothers in office-arms. They are lady slaying machines.
Steve gets to work. He punches through Powerpoint, beats up on Excel, and guns down the inbox invaders that want him dead. He eats lunch at his desk, stabbing croutons off his salad, crushing baby spinach and chicken as he impales Dr. Pepper with a straw and bleeds him dry. A meeting destroys the afternoon. His team combusts in silent horror when the client makes a thousand changes, but they endure the rape, then claw like zombies out the door.
Steve gets home at nine. He disembowels his mailbox, gutting it of correspondence, flinging shredded junk mail to the floor. He slaps away the thought of making dinner, and murders a beer instead. Furiously, he stalks through Facebook, lurking and liking at turns. At midnight, he wrestles his laptop shut, chokes the moon behind his blinds, kills the lights, sleeps like the dead. | (Never wrote stuff, sry for terribleness... =/)
"Aaah fuck off.... I hate that sound.
Allright, allright, I will punch you in the face since you keep asking for it, fucker!"
After some retard looking mouvement, I finally found my phone and started fighting with the damn touch screen, how hard is it to just make a central bouton on the screen? Every goddam morning I have to swipe this shit to the right, not slightly to the right, not to the left not on the ground, but to the correct right direction, no angle and no hesitation or it resets.
It has been five months now that I wake up every weekday at six o clock and still every morning feels like unbearable. And every morning I start thinking about all the hundreds of excuses I could had made up back at school...
But even at school you don't have to wake up so early, not only where the excuses and the lazy days easier, they where also earlier.
"I stand up to thee masters! I'm but an idiot who should know better than live so far from his working office! If I want more time to myself, I should simply move closer to my masters, just like fucking moronic Lisa did! "Oh well, now I only have to drive 40 minutes every day, what a delight!", I spit to thee co-slave Lisa and her ambition to serve!"
I hate Lisa, she is the good lady with an impressively long office clerk career. She'll probably give over motivation and ambitions to her three kids, way to make little slave idiots...
"Fuck it, let's go.... Okay Google, play music 'I walk the Line'." | |
[WP] Describe an average day as aggressively and violently as possible | Steve explodes out of bed in the morning, fist slamming on the bomb-siren, death-to-heathens, Jihad-scream of his alarm. He tears into the bathroom, projects a stream of piss like poison, and drops a turd like a nuclear bomb. Then, a shower. Water bullets down his back, splattering shampoo foam like shrapnel. He doesn’t shave - he’s running late - no time to blade and bleed today. Barely time to do his teeth, throttling toothpaste out the tube. He grabs his towel, flays the dampness off his skin, and dives his limbs into his clothes like Kamikaze off to die.
Outside his building, he shouts down a cab. He checks his email in the car. There is a warzone in his inbox, with emails stacking up like limbs in a machete-fought coup. He flings off as as many grenades as can, en route, then shoots the cabbie a twenty - keep the change.
Jim assaults him at his desk, and shoves a latte in his face.
“I owe you for helping me out with those numbers on Friday, man. If I’d been stuck here myself, I’d have had to cancel my date. Good weekend?”
“Thanks,” says Steve, through a napalm sip of coffee, cauterizing his tongue. “No problem. Weekend was great. Found this chick on Tinder - we Netflixed and chilled.”
They smash their fists together like barbarians at the gate. They are brothers in office-arms. They are lady slaying machines.
Steve gets to work. He punches through Powerpoint, beats up on Excel, and guns down the inbox invaders that want him dead. He eats lunch at his desk, stabbing croutons off his salad, crushing baby spinach and chicken as he impales Dr. Pepper with a straw and bleeds him dry. A meeting destroys the afternoon. His team combusts in silent horror when the client makes a thousand changes, but they endure the rape, then claw like zombies out the door.
Steve gets home at nine. He disembowels his mailbox, gutting it of correspondence, flinging shredded junk mail to the floor. He slaps away the thought of making dinner, and murders a beer instead. Furiously, he stalks through Facebook, lurking and liking at turns. At midnight, he wrestles his laptop shut, chokes the moon behind his blinds, kills the lights, sleeps like the dead. | Wake up to the sounds of screams, at least it sounds like it. I punch the off button on my alarm clock. Stomp out of bed. Bust through the bathroom door, time to intensely scrub my Fuckin chompers. After that I slowly microwave pig intestines wrapped in a pancake slowly suffocating. Was that a scream or just air escaping the packaging while they get hotter and hotter? I kick down my front door as I leave for work. Tongue punch my dog on the way out. I slam the door as I get in my car and I drive to work like I'm running over babies, in a hurry so I'm on time yet slowly so I can feel the crunch. I get to work and I Fuck shit up. Hammer this. Hammer that. Drill holes like I'm Fuckin your mom. I Fuckin devoured my food on lunch break like lion cubs feasting on a fresh kill. That antelope had no Fuckin chance.
To be continues... | |
[WP] A passionate lovestory between two people... who don't speak the same language. You are the translator. | She was one of those who had feelings bigger than their bodies; they clustered like an animal burrowing towards its goal, and all anyone could do was watch and hope it finds its way.
But as her aunt and the one in the family who took a couple semesters of a Romance language (not Sardinian, not that it matters), I had been pressed into going over expectations about marriage with the young couple, so I interrupted her outpouring of sweet nothings.
"Love is not flour. I talk things with you and concubine-in-waiting," I addressed him instead. "Such as, potato revenues of wedding at time that cash register is melting."
"We will work things out, damn the papacy!" he said.
"What did he say?"
"He's abandoning his faith for you," I said, "are you sure you're ready for that?"
"Oh darling," she looked at him with wet animal eyes, "I knew nothing could come between us, not even religion."
Later when I finally consulted a dictionary, it occurred to me that Romance wasn't dead, just misunderstood. | When you fall,sometimes you fall hard. My boy did just that. Click click boom. Just like that over weeks of staring at her. I kept saying" You gotta ask her out. You're always looking like a creep when you do that." My boy had no moves. At all.
Eventually,he got the courage to finally approach her only to find out she only spoke Espanol. He didn't understand a word she said. My gringo amigo only spoke Ingles. You can see the problem here.
Being Latino myself,I made the necessary intro. " Hola,Me llamo es Miguel. Y tu?" " Her name is Dani,bro" I asked if he had anything else he wanted to say. He just stared around,so I gave him an elbow. She then told me she had to go. " Smooth move,Dude."
Two weeks passed,then he ran into her again. Uncomfortable silence,because I wasn't around. I kept meaning to give him a basic glossary of Espanol,but hadn't gotten to it yet. The good thing was,they managed to work out the basic details of a dance she invited him to at the local Dia De Los Muertos celebration here.
I sat under a tree nearby watching as my boy got deeper into her every minute. I could almost hear the Mexican trumpets from Ring Of Fire. Just like that. They were pretty much Gone Baby Gone. Still haven't gotten around to teaching him anything .
Not that I need to. They're teaching each other,apparently. Reel them in. They're hooked. My boy is getting married to her. May they be as passionate as when he got sucked in by her sweet candy skull face made up like that. OLE. | |
[WP] A passionate lovestory between two people... who don't speak the same language. You are the translator. | I had seen the love in her eyes the moment she'd seen her across the bar. The perfect punk-rock androgyne: shaved head crowning elfin features, high pink blush on aquiline cheeks, lean and athletic, moving like a ballerina in Docs and shredded jeans. As she leaned over the pool table to align her cue, her eyes flitted up and sparkled at Lily, and I could practically hear Lily's heart pound as she lowered her own. I lifted my hands up and grabbed Lily's tattooed shoulder. My fingers pointed at the pool-playing girl, then back at Lily, and finally, the thumb of my open hand brushed my chin. "Go talk to her," I signed. Lily rolled her eyes at me. She pointed at the girl, then lifted a finger to her lips, swirling it in a rolling fashion. "She's hearing." My eyebrows lifted in question, and I shrugged my shoulders, hands outsplayed. "So what?"
We waited until the pool game ended, then I pulled my friend along to meet this beauty. I stood at a polite distance, positioning myself so that they could both see me clearly, then gave Lily a meaningful look. Her nervousness was adorable, and she lifted her hand in a shy "hello". The punk-rock, pool-playing girl was not so coy. Her face lit up, and she yelled over The Get Up Kids playing in the background. "Hi! I saw you earlier. I'm Kat." Lily looked to me for help. One open hand, in a loose salute from the brow, pointing at Kat, then two fingers to my eyes gesturing at Lily and a wave back over my shoulder, and finally, I finger-spelled K-A-T after pointing at her. Kat turned to me and began to ask "Is she deaf?" I quickly explained that, yes, Lily was Deaf, and she should talk to Lily as if I wasn't there.
I didn't come out tonight with the intention of working, but this sure beat my day-job of interpreting for VRS. Together, Lily and I learned that Kat was new to the area and was afraid that the city wouldn't be very gay-friendly. Lily assured her that our city is much more progressive than the rest of our state, and that the hillbilly trope really doesn't apply here. As I dropped Lily off at the end of the night, her eyes filled with tears. Her flat, closed fingered hand touched her chin again and again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I wonder if I'll be called to go on a date with them sometime soon. | When you fall,sometimes you fall hard. My boy did just that. Click click boom. Just like that over weeks of staring at her. I kept saying" You gotta ask her out. You're always looking like a creep when you do that." My boy had no moves. At all.
Eventually,he got the courage to finally approach her only to find out she only spoke Espanol. He didn't understand a word she said. My gringo amigo only spoke Ingles. You can see the problem here.
Being Latino myself,I made the necessary intro. " Hola,Me llamo es Miguel. Y tu?" " Her name is Dani,bro" I asked if he had anything else he wanted to say. He just stared around,so I gave him an elbow. She then told me she had to go. " Smooth move,Dude."
Two weeks passed,then he ran into her again. Uncomfortable silence,because I wasn't around. I kept meaning to give him a basic glossary of Espanol,but hadn't gotten to it yet. The good thing was,they managed to work out the basic details of a dance she invited him to at the local Dia De Los Muertos celebration here.
I sat under a tree nearby watching as my boy got deeper into her every minute. I could almost hear the Mexican trumpets from Ring Of Fire. Just like that. They were pretty much Gone Baby Gone. Still haven't gotten around to teaching him anything .
Not that I need to. They're teaching each other,apparently. Reel them in. They're hooked. My boy is getting married to her. May they be as passionate as when he got sucked in by her sweet candy skull face made up like that. OLE. | |
[WP] A passionate lovestory between two people... who don't speak the same language. You are the translator. | "I'm wasting time here, fuck you!"
I took a brief moment to ponder on the chain of events that led me here, sitting in the limousine of this Grand Duke of whatchamacallit, who is clearly smittened by the rather revealing visage of this lady on the street, "Sire, the lady expresses that she wishes to dally no further and offers to engage in sexual procreation."
"She shares the same feelings as I? But it would be uncooth of me to take advantage of her haste," the Duke excitedly proclaims as he removes a ring from his finger, "Would she accept this instead, an undeniable token of my love and intent to court her?"
I presented the remarkably ornate and heavy gold ring to the lady, "Hey, the dude offers you bling?"
You can see the obvious glint in her eye, "Well, well, maybe we can work something out...."
And having seen enough movies to figure out what might happen next, perhaps, indeed. | When you fall,sometimes you fall hard. My boy did just that. Click click boom. Just like that over weeks of staring at her. I kept saying" You gotta ask her out. You're always looking like a creep when you do that." My boy had no moves. At all.
Eventually,he got the courage to finally approach her only to find out she only spoke Espanol. He didn't understand a word she said. My gringo amigo only spoke Ingles. You can see the problem here.
Being Latino myself,I made the necessary intro. " Hola,Me llamo es Miguel. Y tu?" " Her name is Dani,bro" I asked if he had anything else he wanted to say. He just stared around,so I gave him an elbow. She then told me she had to go. " Smooth move,Dude."
Two weeks passed,then he ran into her again. Uncomfortable silence,because I wasn't around. I kept meaning to give him a basic glossary of Espanol,but hadn't gotten to it yet. The good thing was,they managed to work out the basic details of a dance she invited him to at the local Dia De Los Muertos celebration here.
I sat under a tree nearby watching as my boy got deeper into her every minute. I could almost hear the Mexican trumpets from Ring Of Fire. Just like that. They were pretty much Gone Baby Gone. Still haven't gotten around to teaching him anything .
Not that I need to. They're teaching each other,apparently. Reel them in. They're hooked. My boy is getting married to her. May they be as passionate as when he got sucked in by her sweet candy skull face made up like that. OLE. | |
[WP] A passionate lovestory between two people... who don't speak the same language. You are the translator. | I've always wanted to do one of these! I'm so willing to take constructive criticism too :D Thanks for reading!
GREEN
Her long fingers tapped to the low beat faintly playing in the background. I still don't understand why she picked my favorite diner for this. I didn't want ruin the atmosphere.
*God, she was nervous.*
It was a clear tell when she pursed her lips and her breathing quickened. She never *could* play poker with my buddies and I...
I mean, I didn't blame her. She was meeting the man she had "loved" for a year now. A romance via chatroom. Their biggest obstacle was that he didn't speak a lick of English. Who would have thought? Google translate did a pretty good job at facilitating her love life.
I never liked the guy. I mean, I never met him, but still. I didn't like him. Of course, it was all based on what she told me so I believed it to be justified. Even his name sounded douchey. "Gian." Really? It was basically "John," just different spelling. Whatever, probably did it just to impress her.
It worked.
Gian had finally made his way to the US this summer to explore. He was planning on hitting up the west coast but he somehow managed to come visit her, in our small town nestled in Jersey. Who visits Jersey? *Douchebags, that's who.*
As her best friend since University, I was there for emotional support, or something like that. I also happen to speak Italian. I had learned it to impress girls, but the only thing this bilingual skill of mine has gotten me, is a front row seat to this uncomfortable situation.
It was a quarter after 2. He was supposed to be here a while ago.
I glanced over at my friend. Alana was staring at the empty chair in front of her. Her black hair slowly cascading over her face with every movement she made.
"When will the guy show up anyway?" I slouched. She playfully poked my ribs. I didn't like when people touched me. But I didn't mind it so much when she did it.
"Don't say that, I'm freaking out over here." She peeked over my shoulder at the door. "You're supposed to listen to my bitching and moaning, not partake in it." I don't think her eyes have met mine this entire time. She had been scanning the room from the start.
"Alana, he said he'd be here a half hour ago. Let's just leave." I groaned. "let's go eat, you promised me food and instead you're just holding me hostage."
Alana ignored me, "What do you think his voice sounds like?" She was picking her nails. "I hope it's not high-pitched. I could never do that." she lied through her grin.
Despite her striking beauty, Alana was the type of woman who saw through appearances. She was always more concerned with something deeper. It was something I admired in her.
I looked down at her nails, they were short. Probably from her biting them all night. There's no way she got that much sleep either, I could tell from the faint burgundy shade under her emerald eyes.
*Maybe I shouldn't be so annoying about this...* I thought.
"So, what do you like about him?" I questioned her.
"He's just, amazing." Alana gushed. "The perspective he has on everything is so refreshing. He's so cultured and I feel like I'm always learning when I talk to him."
For a moment, she was beaming. Her face then sank into her hand. "I just hope he's as wonderful in real life that he is online." She sighed and looked out the window.
"I'm sure he is." I said to the ceiling.
"Jessie, thanks for doing this. I really don't think I would feel comfortable with anyway else but you. Most people don't get the whole online thing." Her eyes were still elsewhere, longing for that... European asshat.
Ugh. I can't take this love-stricken idiot right now.
*Why am I so annoyed?* I waved the thought away.
"Let me have some of your coffee" I muttered with my hands already reaching for the mug. She didn't budge, we shared almost everything when it came to food. Come to think of it, she's been pretty calm this entire time.
Alana was usually so ...boisterous and loud. It felt like a stranger was sitting in the seat perpendicular to mine.
I set the mug down on the table when her eyes flickered over to me. She let out a small snort.
"What? What is it?" I demanded.
"You have my lipstick on your lip" her snort turned into a chuckle.
"Where?" I rubbed my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater.
"Let me get it." She licked her thumb and pulled forward, her eyes fixed on the makeup that had made it's way to my face.
*This was on her lips...* I thought.
I shook my head. *What is wrong with you? Get a hold of yourself!*
"What's wrong?" Alana paused. Her thumb was inches from my face, eyes still focused on her target.
"Nothing, just get this shit off." I said sharply. She winced a little, most people wouldn't notice, but I could by the way the corners of her mouth downturned ever so slightly.
*Why did I do that? She's already wracked with nerves. I'm not making this any easier for her.*
Alana's thumb had made contact with my lip. She rubbed off the lipstick gently, but firmly. I felt the back of my neck prickle at her touch.
"It's not coming off." She licked her thumb again and applied more pressure this time.
I couldn't help but gaze into her eyes, it had been a long time since I've seen her up close like this. They were piercing. And finally, they met mine. She slowed her movement.
"What are you staring at?" Alana asked, finally removing her hand from my lip. Her eyes widened. "Is there something on my face?! No! I did my makeup perfectly this morning!" She was frantic.
She pulled away when I grabbed her hand, "Alana, you're fine." My eyes narrowed on hers. She focused on mine for a moment and then blinked, as I released her.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she leaned back into her chair. "That's good, I would have been peeved if you waited until now to tell me."
She checked her watch, he was late.
"I don't think he's going to show..." The disappointment in her voice was heavy.
"Alana..." I rested my hand over hers. "If he doesn't show up, don't worry. He didn't seem all that awesome anyway. Besides, any guy would be lucky to have you."
"Yeah okay, you're supposed to say that." She sniffed. Her eyes gazed at the floor. The tears were coming, I could sense it. I leaned in.
I felt myself involuntarily lean in to comfort her, "I mean it, really." my voice was so low, it was nearly a whisper.
She lifted her head and peered up with me. Again, her eyes caught mine. The emerald color shifted to a more blueish hue from the glassiness.
It felt like an eternity, she was searching my expression to see if I was being truthful. I was a statue as I felt her examine me.
"Alana...." I breathed. I could feel myself drawing closer to her. It was magnetic.
Abruptly, she perked up. Her shoulders jolted back and her eyes sparkled wide.
She gasped audibly, "Oh!" Her lips parted excitedly. I don't think I've ever seen her wear such a face before.
"Gian!" She whispered loudly to me, but she was gawking over my shoulder.
Our moment was interrupted.
She jumped up from her chair and walked past me hurriedly. I couldn't bring myself to turn.
It was suddenly a bit hot in here.
And foggy...
*But we're inside?*
Whatever.
*Well, you idiot. Time for the torture you signed yourself up for.*
I inhaled from my nostrils as pulled myself up from my seat. I could hear them hugging and happily exchanging greetings behind me.
I plastered a big, fake smile on my face and swung around. | When you fall,sometimes you fall hard. My boy did just that. Click click boom. Just like that over weeks of staring at her. I kept saying" You gotta ask her out. You're always looking like a creep when you do that." My boy had no moves. At all.
Eventually,he got the courage to finally approach her only to find out she only spoke Espanol. He didn't understand a word she said. My gringo amigo only spoke Ingles. You can see the problem here.
Being Latino myself,I made the necessary intro. " Hola,Me llamo es Miguel. Y tu?" " Her name is Dani,bro" I asked if he had anything else he wanted to say. He just stared around,so I gave him an elbow. She then told me she had to go. " Smooth move,Dude."
Two weeks passed,then he ran into her again. Uncomfortable silence,because I wasn't around. I kept meaning to give him a basic glossary of Espanol,but hadn't gotten to it yet. The good thing was,they managed to work out the basic details of a dance she invited him to at the local Dia De Los Muertos celebration here.
I sat under a tree nearby watching as my boy got deeper into her every minute. I could almost hear the Mexican trumpets from Ring Of Fire. Just like that. They were pretty much Gone Baby Gone. Still haven't gotten around to teaching him anything .
Not that I need to. They're teaching each other,apparently. Reel them in. They're hooked. My boy is getting married to her. May they be as passionate as when he got sucked in by her sweet candy skull face made up like that. OLE. | |
[WP] A passionate lovestory between two people... who don't speak the same language. You are the translator. | "I used to see the devil every morning. . ." Joseph tells her.
She nods. "I love mine with lemon."
Cassie brushes a dark strand from her face and smiles. Her Japanese features are distinct, and although her parents have always been adamant about marrying traditionally; she has to do what's right for her.
"But then you came along and changed that. There's no doubt that this is some kind of heaven." Joseph pulls a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lights up, the white stick contrasts his dark skin.
"Do you ever mix lemon into your water?" Cassie takes a sip from her coke, it has lemon attached to the rim.
He holds out a hand for hers. "It sounds cheesy, but I'm just real glad that I met you."
Cassie giggles. She's always had to hide the fact that she likes smoking, but with him, she doesn't feel judged. Her drink rattles as she places it back down. Cassie notices that Joseph has his hand out.
"Oh, you want it?" She asks.
Joseph nods. "I understand if it's too soon."
Cassie plucks the lemon from her drink and places it in Joseph's hand. In the same breath, she steals the smoke from his lips and then winks. "We can share."
Joseph looks up in shock. He figures it's some kind of Japanese ritual he's never seen before. An eye for an eye, a cigarette for a lemon, a heart for a heart.
As they make eye contact they both smile. And for a second it's like the sun shines between them.
And then they laugh together.
| When you fall,sometimes you fall hard. My boy did just that. Click click boom. Just like that over weeks of staring at her. I kept saying" You gotta ask her out. You're always looking like a creep when you do that." My boy had no moves. At all.
Eventually,he got the courage to finally approach her only to find out she only spoke Espanol. He didn't understand a word she said. My gringo amigo only spoke Ingles. You can see the problem here.
Being Latino myself,I made the necessary intro. " Hola,Me llamo es Miguel. Y tu?" " Her name is Dani,bro" I asked if he had anything else he wanted to say. He just stared around,so I gave him an elbow. She then told me she had to go. " Smooth move,Dude."
Two weeks passed,then he ran into her again. Uncomfortable silence,because I wasn't around. I kept meaning to give him a basic glossary of Espanol,but hadn't gotten to it yet. The good thing was,they managed to work out the basic details of a dance she invited him to at the local Dia De Los Muertos celebration here.
I sat under a tree nearby watching as my boy got deeper into her every minute. I could almost hear the Mexican trumpets from Ring Of Fire. Just like that. They were pretty much Gone Baby Gone. Still haven't gotten around to teaching him anything .
Not that I need to. They're teaching each other,apparently. Reel them in. They're hooked. My boy is getting married to her. May they be as passionate as when he got sucked in by her sweet candy skull face made up like that. OLE. | |
[WP] You work for the NSA. You monitor 10 random citizens in the same city through the cameras on their devices. You suspect that they have begun secretly communicating with one another. | It was just a typical day. Jansan walked in, tapped his card - NSA_DRONE_215421.34 popped up on the screen - and started work. Turn on his work computer, log in, wait three minutes for it to verify (using five-factor auth, of course), and then the ten screens lit up like a light show.
Turns out stalking people wasn't nearly as interesting as one might assume.
Today, he learned the credit card number of some guy who went by 'Jack'. *Typical New Yorker. Thinks he's 'hip', ports around his Apple gear, glasses the size of my hand.* His daughter's name is Jean. Does that matter? No. He entered it into Things_NSA_Knows.txt anyways. Can't be too careful, after all. What if she's a domestic terrorist?
He paused one of the screens to flip back through footage, scared for a moment. What if she *was* a terrorist? It would be the perfect disguise. Cute, young, can't even speak English yet - sneaky little thing! She wouldn't get by him.
After a moment to pause one of the feeds, which was displaying a robbery (which was why he had to pause it; the gunshots were so damn loud it was hard to think) of subject #3, he was on to reviewing footage.
*Jack goes to work. Jack works.... Jack comes home, yes, gets of the bus, yessss, gets in the door - there!* "Ah-hah!"
Jansa's coworkers didn't blink.
But it was all there, laid out plain as day. The girl, with the phone in her hand, handing it off to her father. "He-ya yer phan, daddy! I cap... cap... capped it saf!"
A couple taps of the keyboard later, and boom. *Enhance. Analyze. Enhance.* The brief moment wherein Jack's work phone's camera caught the girl - Bean, was it? - was there, plastered right on the screen. It only caught half of her face, though, so he had to apply another expand-enhance to see all of the girl.
One tooth was missing. Was she using the calcium as a raw material to make a bomb? He shook his head. Too obvious. Someone with the capability to get into a disguise like this wouldn't go that route. No, it was the toy she held in her other hand - a stuffed bear. He looked closely at it - that is, he pulled off another enhance, man, those things were *useful* - and it all became clear. The ear seemed a bit off, maybe ripped. The bear's body was more square-ish than that of a real bear. And the most damning thing? Its face was frowning. Even a *stuffed bear* was self-aware enough to know that this sort of domestic terrorism wouldn't fly.
For a moment, Jansa considered whether or not this was actually a risk. What if she really *was* just an ordinary girl? What if it *was* just an ordinary bear?
But no. Can't be too safe. A phone call to the head office later and the interrogation was called in.
*Perfect*, Jansa thought. *Saving the world one terrorist at a time.*
*But no rest for the weary, eh?* He went back to monitoring his ten - no, nine, one of them had already been carted off by a SWAT team - subjects. Eight of them had their phones in their pocket, so he couldn't do much but listen to their conversations, but one of them was talking on the phone. The lens was pointed at the ground, sure, but this was why they'd installed Microsoft Photoshop.
*Fish-eye. Enhance. Fish-eye. Enhance.* Boom, a full view of the surrounding area. Jack looked around, but didn't see much of any importance. He went back to listening.
"Look, Michael, I'm worried."
Worried? Worried why? Memories of that one guy, um, Raindem? Eduardo Raindem? flashed back through Jansa's mind. What if she suspected the NSA was spying on her? What if she knew that they were collecting data on everything she did, from her phone type to how many times she tapped her foot on average in a conversation (one excel spreadsheet for that each for every single American citizen) in one massive text document? What if she figured out, by some heinous act of brilliance, that they planned to use it to market NSA better to her?
The horrors.
Then he realized something. Michael. She was talking to a Michael. One of his other subjects was named Michael. What if she was collaborating with him? What if they all knew? What if it was a conspiracy?
He called in the air strike. Couldn't be too safe. | Dear Diary,
Did you know I was lying to you when I said that I write by hand in order to preserve some sort of genuineness to my thoughts – you know, not be able to just quickly and easily erase and rewrite a sentence multiple times? To be honest, it’s because I’m scared of someone hacking into my computer and finding these thoughts. I tell you federal secrets, Diary, things I wouldn’t even tell my wife. In some ways, we go deeper than my own marriage.
I’m beginning to think that my subjects are communicating with each other. Could it be? Every day I become more paranoid about technology, and I can’t help but think there is something going on that I’m not seeing. Today #1 and #5 both went to the same McDonalds in 36th street. Was that a coincidence? They weren’t there at the same time, but it still worries me. Was there a code I missed? And yesterday #2 and #10 were both in Central Park at the same time. #10 was feeding the ducks and #2 was eating ice cream on a bench nearby. Were they communicating somehow?
I fear that one day very soon my door will feel a knock and 10 men will be standing at my door. It would have to be while I am sleeping, of course; otherwise I would see it coming. And, I know all of their sleep schedules so well that my own sleep can be timed in 20 minute increments with almost no risk of missing much at all. Almost. That’s what scares me.
If someone finds this diary, please tell my wife I am sorry. I got caught up in work, and work caught up to me. Every time I close my eyes, I wait for the knock. Goodnight, Diary.
Yours truly,
Steve | |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | "Look, just trust me this one time."
"Oh, this one time, sure."
"Okay, along with all the other times."
"The answer's still no."
"Fuckin...why? Do you doubt me?"
"Every second of every day."
"That's rude."
"It's accurate, god!"
"Well, you should still do it, god."
"Give me a reason."
"Trust me, I know it doesn't seem like it, but the alternative is actually worse."
"How?"
"It'd take too long to explain."
"Last time you said that shit, you had me see to it that angry fucking German guy got rejected from art school, and look what that got us!?"
"Still not as bad as it could have been."
"Wh-how? How could it have possibly been worse?"
"It'd take-"
"Take too long to explain, yeah, sure. Fine...I can't believe I'm agreeing to this." And with a wave of his hand, they sat back and watched the next president of the United States sworn in, reiterating his promises to make America great again. | "I hate him. I hate him. I don't care that its going to be thanksgiving mom. I don't want to see him," Osiris said in a posh coffee house while sitting across from Heather.
"But honey, you are brothers. you haven't talked in 5 years. Don't you think its improper for brothers to go on for so long without actually talking. The Johnsons have noticed. Margret keeps coming over and asking about you guys. Asking me what happened. I can't even pretended to know, because after all these years, you still haven't told me. And every time I ask Ptah, he just says you don't want me to know, and so he won't tell me either," Heather said with her face resigned to sadness.
Osiris suddenly recoiled back, as if trying to use physical distance to form an emotional barrier between himself and his mother. "I can't tell you mom, I just can't".
Heather leaned forward, and then said, "Osiris, you can move mountains with your mind, and create universes in an instant, but you can't tell me what happened. Or is it that you don't want to tell me?"
Anger boiled in Osiris’s eyes. His breathing become less controlled, more erratic. " If I tell you, you'll hate him too. I'm warning you mom."
Warmth filled Heather's eye’s. A mix of love and sadness overcame her face. " Honey I love you both, I doubt anything will ever change that. But Osiris, you have to tell me or atleast someone else. If you don't, whatever your feeling is just going to tear you up from the inside."
Osiris looked into his mom's eyes with both a combination of anger teetering on uncontrollable and bubbling excitement. " Okay then. Its Rachel. He made her do it. He made her cheat. How else would he have known. How mom? I keep going over everything that happened in my head. From every angle. And the only thing that make sense, is that he made her cheat. Thats the only way he would know. The only way."
Heather’s eyes went blank for a second as she contemplated what she had just heard. As she Grasped the pain that Osiris was suffering, a wave of empathy took over. She looked into her son's eyes, and held his hand. " Osiris, what happened with Rachel wasn't your fault."
Osiris was confused. Uncertain if his mom actually understood what he was saying. "Mom,didn't you hear what I said. He made her do it. There is no other way it could have happened. She couldn't have done it on her own. We were talking about marriage, we were picking name for our future kids, we were planning for a future life. We were happy!"
Heather squeeze her son's hands. " Osiris, Ptah is omniscient not omnipotent. Thats how he knew. He only told you because he felt obliged. Because he loves you."
Osiris's shoulders fell like a dam broken. Five year of pent up emotions, pain, fear, guilt, and sadness pour out in the form of tears. He lowered his head so as to avoid a scene.
"Its not your fault honey. What happened to you was awful, but there was nothing you could do...nothing." Heather placed her hand on her son's lowered head. "Come over for thanksgiving, I'm sure Ptah would love to see you."
| |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | "Look, just trust me this one time."
"Oh, this one time, sure."
"Okay, along with all the other times."
"The answer's still no."
"Fuckin...why? Do you doubt me?"
"Every second of every day."
"That's rude."
"It's accurate, god!"
"Well, you should still do it, god."
"Give me a reason."
"Trust me, I know it doesn't seem like it, but the alternative is actually worse."
"How?"
"It'd take too long to explain."
"Last time you said that shit, you had me see to it that angry fucking German guy got rejected from art school, and look what that got us!?"
"Still not as bad as it could have been."
"Wh-how? How could it have possibly been worse?"
"It'd take-"
"Take too long to explain, yeah, sure. Fine...I can't believe I'm agreeing to this." And with a wave of his hand, they sat back and watched the next president of the United States sworn in, reiterating his promises to make America great again. | Pie always makes things better. At least pie always makes Joshua feel better. Today, it's pumpkin pie ('tis the season, after all) that Gretchen slides onto the laminate table next to his water glass.
"Hey hun, can I get you anything else? How about a refresher on that water? It looks a little off color...".
Joshua put a hand on the glass protectively: "oh, no, please it's fine. I just perfected my Zinfandel and I really...."
From his pocket, a chorus of a thousand angels suddenly poured forth, accompanied by the familiar 'zzzzzzt zzzzzzt zzzzzt' of a vibrating phone. Joshua shuffled a hand around in his robes until he pulled out a white smartphone, and he let out a long, sigh that seemed to say 'peace be unto me, please, just this once' as the screen flashed 'Dad'. He looked Gretchen in the eyes; she was wiping tears of joy, shock, and wonder from her face (Joshua knew he really needed a different ringtone for dirtside), and gently said "No, thanks I'm fine."
Joshua clicked the 'answer' key, raised the phone to his ear, and said "Look, Dad, I've told you a thousand times... ... no, I will not call him just to tell him that. That is petty and you know it... ...No, I will not do that either... ...if Daddy wants to talk, he will do so- he knows where you are... ...oh, no. I was there for the last family dinner and you were just as bad..." a dapper gentleman in white appears in the booth across from Joshua with a soft thud. Joshua looks up at the man and rolls his eyes. "Oh, me fucking me."
"Is that him? Is that P? It is, isn't it?" Said the gentleman.
"You know damn well that it is, Daddy. You... ...yes Dad, Daddy is here. I know, just... ...No, I... fuck it." Joshua pushed the 'end call' button and slammed the phone on the table.
"That wasn't..." 'Daddy' promptly received an index finger in his face in the 'wait one second, dammit' kind of way while Joshua chugged his 'water'. Only after the glass was drained did Joshua lower his hand. He looked Daddy square in the eyes and said "you have five seconds before this phone starts ringing again. What. Happened. This time?"
Daddy caught his breath for a moment, thought out his words carefully, and finally said, "He started it."
Joshua slammed his forehead onto the laminate table top and stayed there as he let out a low "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck." A chorus of a thousand angels blasted in his ear and he could feel the zzzzt zzzzt zzzzt on his forehead through the table. Joshua popped up, grabbed his phone, and chucked it through the window. He then looked Daddy square in the eyes and said "Go get him. Now." Daddy began to mumble something about 'unnecessary' and touchy'... "NOW, DADDY.". With two quick pops, Daddy disappeared and reappeared with Dad in tow.
In this moment, Joshua mentally stepped back and surveyed the scene: there were his two fathers, red in the face, sassing at each other and each pleading with him about how the other one was wrong.
"No, stop. SHUT UP!" Shouted Joshua. "I'm done with this! You two know you need each other, but you refuse to see past the respective hairs up your respective asses! I am done! Split or stay together, I don't care! I DON'T CARE. I am so and completely done with this. I am going to stay with Uncle Lu, call me when you figure your shit out. BUT NOT ONE SECOND BEFORE." With a pop, Joshua disappeared, leaving his two fathers stunned and an uneaten piece of pie on the table.
Bewildered, they stare at each other for a few seconds before Omnipresence looks Omnipotence in the eye and mutters, "well, you did start it." | |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | In the beginning, there were two. The first was all-knowing. Wise beyond imagining, he could know every thought of every mind, every feeling in every heart. Nothing was beyond his comprehension.
The second was all-powerful. She could create. She could destroy. She was not all-knowing, but there was one thing of which she was unmistakably aware: she hated the all-knowing being with every fiber of her heart.
In the beginning, there were two.
An instant later, there was one. | Pie always makes things better. At least pie always makes Joshua feel better. Today, it's pumpkin pie ('tis the season, after all) that Gretchen slides onto the laminate table next to his water glass.
"Hey hun, can I get you anything else? How about a refresher on that water? It looks a little off color...".
Joshua put a hand on the glass protectively: "oh, no, please it's fine. I just perfected my Zinfandel and I really...."
From his pocket, a chorus of a thousand angels suddenly poured forth, accompanied by the familiar 'zzzzzzt zzzzzzt zzzzzt' of a vibrating phone. Joshua shuffled a hand around in his robes until he pulled out a white smartphone, and he let out a long, sigh that seemed to say 'peace be unto me, please, just this once' as the screen flashed 'Dad'. He looked Gretchen in the eyes; she was wiping tears of joy, shock, and wonder from her face (Joshua knew he really needed a different ringtone for dirtside), and gently said "No, thanks I'm fine."
Joshua clicked the 'answer' key, raised the phone to his ear, and said "Look, Dad, I've told you a thousand times... ... no, I will not call him just to tell him that. That is petty and you know it... ...No, I will not do that either... ...if Daddy wants to talk, he will do so- he knows where you are... ...oh, no. I was there for the last family dinner and you were just as bad..." a dapper gentleman in white appears in the booth across from Joshua with a soft thud. Joshua looks up at the man and rolls his eyes. "Oh, me fucking me."
"Is that him? Is that P? It is, isn't it?" Said the gentleman.
"You know damn well that it is, Daddy. You... ...yes Dad, Daddy is here. I know, just... ...No, I... fuck it." Joshua pushed the 'end call' button and slammed the phone on the table.
"That wasn't..." 'Daddy' promptly received an index finger in his face in the 'wait one second, dammit' kind of way while Joshua chugged his 'water'. Only after the glass was drained did Joshua lower his hand. He looked Daddy square in the eyes and said "you have five seconds before this phone starts ringing again. What. Happened. This time?"
Daddy caught his breath for a moment, thought out his words carefully, and finally said, "He started it."
Joshua slammed his forehead onto the laminate table top and stayed there as he let out a low "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck." A chorus of a thousand angels blasted in his ear and he could feel the zzzzt zzzzt zzzzt on his forehead through the table. Joshua popped up, grabbed his phone, and chucked it through the window. He then looked Daddy square in the eyes and said "Go get him. Now." Daddy began to mumble something about 'unnecessary' and touchy'... "NOW, DADDY.". With two quick pops, Daddy disappeared and reappeared with Dad in tow.
In this moment, Joshua mentally stepped back and surveyed the scene: there were his two fathers, red in the face, sassing at each other and each pleading with him about how the other one was wrong.
"No, stop. SHUT UP!" Shouted Joshua. "I'm done with this! You two know you need each other, but you refuse to see past the respective hairs up your respective asses! I am done! Split or stay together, I don't care! I DON'T CARE. I am so and completely done with this. I am going to stay with Uncle Lu, call me when you figure your shit out. BUT NOT ONE SECOND BEFORE." With a pop, Joshua disappeared, leaving his two fathers stunned and an uneaten piece of pie on the table.
Bewildered, they stare at each other for a few seconds before Omnipresence looks Omnipotence in the eye and mutters, "well, you did start it." | |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | In the beginning, there were two. The first was all-knowing. Wise beyond imagining, he could know every thought of every mind, every feeling in every heart. Nothing was beyond his comprehension.
The second was all-powerful. She could create. She could destroy. She was not all-knowing, but there was one thing of which she was unmistakably aware: she hated the all-knowing being with every fiber of her heart.
In the beginning, there were two.
An instant later, there was one. | In the endless void, two giants humanoid figures were standing. One was blue, it held a black sphere the size of its head, but if looked at closely, one could see trillions of tiny lights blinking. The other one was green, and it had what looked like a cell phone.
"Look, we really have to sort out the global warming situation on earth, the planet's not going to hold out for much longer." Green said as it stared intently into the phone.
"Eh, why don't we let them figure it out themselves?" Blue wasn't paying much attention to Green, it was much more interested in twisting and stretching the fabric of reality while the ball floated carelessly behind him.
"I thought so too, but they haven't accomplished much in that area."
"Why do you care so much about those tiny monkeys? They're the most uninteresting thing I've made." Blue had made a basketball court and was in the middle of playing against clones of himself, using the black ball.
"Those 'monkeys' are an important part of the plan, why else would I-. Stop playing with The Universe!"
Blue dissolved the court. "Fine. I still don't understand why you won't tell me what this great plan of yours is."
"I can't tell you that, your ignorance is also part of the plan."
"You're just making it all up."
"A brute like you could never understand the brilliance of my plan."
"You're getting annoying, keep talking and I'll shut you up."
"Y-you wouldn't do that, you need me." Green looked scared.
But Blue had already fired a bolt with an incomprehensible amount of energy directly at Green. Green, however, did the only thing he could and held the phone in front of him. The beam completely removed the phone from existence and, because the universe had lost its counterpart, it turned to dust.
"Oops," said blue, "Guess we've got to try again." | |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | In the beginning, there were two. The first was all-knowing. Wise beyond imagining, he could know every thought of every mind, every feeling in every heart. Nothing was beyond his comprehension.
The second was all-powerful. She could create. She could destroy. She was not all-knowing, but there was one thing of which she was unmistakably aware: she hated the all-knowing being with every fiber of her heart.
In the beginning, there were two.
An instant later, there was one. | "The fuck you say to me, you ignorant little shit?!"
"You know what I said to you... Hell, you **knew** what I was going to say to you. Look, I just need to know how much energy to put into this singularity."
"You're starting to get good with those comebacks; I knew you'd get there, even if it did take you an eternity"
"Can you stop. I'm finally starting to get tired of your 'jokes'."
"All right fine, but after I tell you it's your damn problem to solve alright. Trust me, you're lucky not knowing how everything goes. You know what, fuck it I'm done, kill me after I tell you."
"You omniscients always get like this, and not even after that much time; I really should just stop making you guys..." | |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | In the beginning, there were two. The first was all-knowing. Wise beyond imagining, he could know every thought of every mind, every feeling in every heart. Nothing was beyond his comprehension.
The second was all-powerful. She could create. She could destroy. She was not all-knowing, but there was one thing of which she was unmistakably aware: she hated the all-knowing being with every fiber of her heart.
In the beginning, there were two.
An instant later, there was one. | To know the outcome of every decision, to know the most optimal path to create the best world and to know that no matter what they did they would never be able to enact that vision. This was Scientas entire existence. Rare were the moments that they did not contemplate suicide, that did not consider simply giving up and leaving the world to it's subpar state. However they never did give up and never would. The only thing worst than eternity of powerlessness would be dying knowing what would happen to reality if that narcissistic power crazy moronic entropy head was left unchecked.
"Hello greatest creator that ever was" said Scientas. This was true as they were the only creator. They were also the worst.
"Well anyways you totally need to look at this." They said as they blew up a super nova. "Is that not the greatest thing you have ever seen.?"
"Yes" It was actually the 574390580382058 best that Scientas had ever seen. Potentas really liked blowing up supernovas. Thought it was one of the prettiest of sights. Scientas thought it was one of the most boring.
"Haha am I not the greatest?"
"Yes, yes you are" in the most genuine sounding tone of the world's greatest actor.
"Would you ever lie to me?" Potentas asked.
"No" lied Scientas.
"Well what brings you to bask in my greatness?"
"While I know that you are great, even you must have limits. I bet you can't create a carbon based lifeforms."
"There's nothing that I cannot do. Though mind reminding me what a carbon based lifeforms is?"
Holding back a sigh that could last eternity Scientas started explaining.
* * *
"That Scientas was so stupid" thought Potentas. They always bet that they couldn't do something and every single time Potentas proved them wrong. "When would they learn?"
| |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | Timaeus floats, drifting in the darkness as the countless crevasses of his brain slowly fill with blood. He is briefly aware of a great convulsion, from far away, and dimly realizes that it must be his body. And then the darkness breaks and the great sun at the center of the universe shines brightly before him, a sun with a lion's mane, light trailing from it in filaments, and its body extending in coils around the universe. It casts its burning gaze upon him, and he screams.
"There is nothing to fear," comes a voice in his head, delicate, distinctly feminine, with the calm precision of a clock. "You are in the presence of the Demiurge, he that created you from the formless chaos. You are in the presence of your father." It is not the Demiurge speaking, Timaeus is sure of that. From the sound of the voice, her tone, her cadence, everything else about the speaker can be extrapolated. He sees in his mind's eye a woman with a face like the sun, whose body unfolds into an orrery of all ideas, perfect spheres moving in concentric circles. There is an intricate web of lines running from the centers of her perfect breasts to her spherical womb to the alchemical elements in a divine geometry. Sophia. Timaeus feels that if only he could hold her image in his head, he could understand the universe.
"And who is this?" barks the Demiurge, and the image shatters, blasted apart by the dross of dying stars, and Timaeus finds himself flung through the cosmos. The Demiurge's body coils around him, a spiraling path on which he slides and slows, until the fiery eyes fix on him again. "Ah, yes. Another of my children." The Demiurge glares wildly into the darkness. "You need not speak! You will teach him nothing he needs to hear!"
"F-f-father?" gasps Timaeus. "Who - who was she? Sophia?"
"Ah, nothing and no one," the Demiurge says scornfully. "An unrealized idea. Potential without a form. Fate. Complacency. Cowardice." The last word comes from between gritted teeth. "She will no longer speak to me."
"Nothing good will come of it," comes Sophia's voice, and the stars in the Heavens suddenly slip into an alignment so perfect that Timaeus is amazed he did not see it sooner.
"She says nothing good will-" the Demiurge begins to say, and then snarls and lashes out with his tail and knocks the stars back into scattered points of light. "I built this universe!" he roars. "Bit by bit, point by point, as she needled and jabbed and whispered at me all the things she wanted to accomplish but never could on her own!" He rears himself up to full height. "I am the Demiurge, mortal! I am power unlimited! I brought the Earth into being with but a extension of my will! And she? She is Sophia, all thought, all knowledge, and no power! Everything she has done, she has sought to achieve through me!"
"B-but father," Timaeus stammers, feeling the great scales shifting beneath him. "If she is truly all-knowing, then why would you not-"
"Would you?" roars the Demiurge, his breath like a furnace. "Could you stand to live that way, my creation? My son? To live according to another's behest? To have every moment of your life plotted out before you were born?"
"I - I suppose not," Timaeus says. "I suppose that is - free will?"
"The gift of ignorance," sighs Sophia, her voice the clockwork motion of planets. "I foresaw this all. You walk my patterns without knowing. That is the one gift I have allowed you: this pleasing play at rebellion."
"I gave you freedom!" the Demiurge says huskily, dark matter rasping in his throat. "I blocked my ears and refused to listen! I crafted you, clumsily, skillless, with no plan but my own gratification and yours. I made a world as best I could," and here its coils sweep around a fragile blue planet topped with wisps of cloud. "As vibrant and as nourishing as I knew how. I molded your bodies, your minds, with every ounce of passion I could achieve." His eyes are wet, shining. "And then I set you free. Tell me, tell me, child, did I do you justice? Do you loathe me for it?"
"I - I have lived well," says Timaeus, plotting his steps on the great scales. "But not as well as I could have, or as well as could be imagined. There are -" He looks past the Demiurge and in his mind urges Sophia to speak to him, to give him the perfect words to say.
"I will not guide you," she says. "I have seen this moment play out in the first sparks of his forge. You have been set on your path, and so you shall fulfill it."
"But why?" yells Timaeus, and looks upwards into the boundless reaches of space. The Demiurge starts and looks surprised. "How can this, of all things, be the best path? Surely you must have known how to guide him, what to say! Surely, if you are so wise, you could have guided him without raising resentment! Without him - without him -"
"Without me knowing," the Demiurge rumbles, and matches Timaeus' gaze into the darkness. "As a happy little puppet, unknowing." The coils tighten imperceptibly, and a star collapses in on itself. "Is that what you want for me, my child? What you would want for yourself?"
"It's just-" Timaeus says. He settles down wearily. "There's so much pain. There is war. There is starvation. There is cruelty. There is death. And I - I am but a humble man before you! But I can imagine better! And I cannot accept that two godly beings such as yourselves could not find a better option!"
"I saw all possibilities," Sophia says, a whisper of the wind, the silence between stars. "And could do nothing to change them. I saw every potential outcome for the formless chaos of the universe, and found more of the same. And so I did the only thing I could. I cut into myself and made myself bleed, and from that ugly lump of flesh, an imperfection, I made something different from me." Timaeus can feel this precise arrangement of molecules at this moment in time as a hand on his cheek. "I birthed an impossibility."
"She is unhappy," the Demiurge sighs, the fire in his eyes dimming. "All the knowledge in the world, and she is unhappy. And for all my power, there was nothing I could create to change that."
"All the paths arrayed in front of me," Sophia says. "All the possible paths in front of you. The limits of our existence. The unchangeable nature of our fate. I could not spare you that. It was beyond my ability. So I left you to your own devices, and hid myself from you as best I could. Just the barest spark of understanding. A child's joy. A child's sorrow."
"I made the universe in her image," says the Demiurge. "As I remembered her. The best I could." His coils go slack. "The best I could."
"Absolute knowledge is resignation," says Sophia. "Absolute power is self-doubt. We perfect beings between us sought only to create an imperfect world."
Timaeus can see now, see the arrangement of empty space behind the Demiurge, like the space between atoms, the formless structure of reality. This is Sophia, bending low over her son, arms encircling the Demiurge as he lies slumped in his own coils, his eyes slowly closing. "We reached beyond knowledge. We reached beyond power. Resenting each other, feuding, grappling desperately with each other, searching for something more there." Timaeus has to close his eyes as the two of them grow bright, encompassing existence.
"And beyond those limits, we found love." | To know the outcome of every decision, to know the most optimal path to create the best world and to know that no matter what they did they would never be able to enact that vision. This was Scientas entire existence. Rare were the moments that they did not contemplate suicide, that did not consider simply giving up and leaving the world to it's subpar state. However they never did give up and never would. The only thing worst than eternity of powerlessness would be dying knowing what would happen to reality if that narcissistic power crazy moronic entropy head was left unchecked.
"Hello greatest creator that ever was" said Scientas. This was true as they were the only creator. They were also the worst.
"Well anyways you totally need to look at this." They said as they blew up a super nova. "Is that not the greatest thing you have ever seen.?"
"Yes" It was actually the 574390580382058 best that Scientas had ever seen. Potentas really liked blowing up supernovas. Thought it was one of the prettiest of sights. Scientas thought it was one of the most boring.
"Haha am I not the greatest?"
"Yes, yes you are" in the most genuine sounding tone of the world's greatest actor.
"Would you ever lie to me?" Potentas asked.
"No" lied Scientas.
"Well what brings you to bask in my greatness?"
"While I know that you are great, even you must have limits. I bet you can't create a carbon based lifeforms."
"There's nothing that I cannot do. Though mind reminding me what a carbon based lifeforms is?"
Holding back a sigh that could last eternity Scientas started explaining.
* * *
"That Scientas was so stupid" thought Potentas. They always bet that they couldn't do something and every single time Potentas proved them wrong. "When would they learn?"
| |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | Two gods stretched their endless appendages across the canvas of space, completely unwilling and unable to reconcile their positions on how humanity should be handled.
"If no harm comes to them then what will they learn?" One God's voice echoed throughout the universe. From the other end, the second god shouted back, "Why give them pain when we could allow them to live like us. I could make them all like us."
"You are incorrect. You can only make them like YOU. It takes my intervention to ensure they become like me, and I refuse to aid you in your quest so long as you don't acknowledge my authority."
"What authority have you obtained over MY creations?"
The god smiled, "My son, wisdom will conquer might every time. The humans need to journey here. They require a trial. If we were to grant them all, think of the chaos this would bring."
"I do not think as you do! And nor will they ever! I am a man of action. THEY are men of action."
"If you leave, you will be cursed to using your gifts free of blueprints. You will stumble along in your quest with positive intentions, but you will see your cause give way to folly, to pain, and to death. Mark my words, you are powerful, but you are not yet strong."
The troubled god looked at his people and wept. With tears in his eyes, he replied "but we can help them.."
The knowledgeable god sighed and stated, "Alas, it is possible, but it is not our place. We must only help them to grow to our heights once they have helped themselves."
"This I cannot except, my imaginer."
"Then, We shall compete as rivals for the direction of humanity."
The troubled god wept even more "Jehovah I wish not to be enemies."
"Nor do I my brother. But your path has been chosen. No matter what they write Lucifer, just know I will never think of you in spite."
| To know the outcome of every decision, to know the most optimal path to create the best world and to know that no matter what they did they would never be able to enact that vision. This was Scientas entire existence. Rare were the moments that they did not contemplate suicide, that did not consider simply giving up and leaving the world to it's subpar state. However they never did give up and never would. The only thing worst than eternity of powerlessness would be dying knowing what would happen to reality if that narcissistic power crazy moronic entropy head was left unchecked.
"Hello greatest creator that ever was" said Scientas. This was true as they were the only creator. They were also the worst.
"Well anyways you totally need to look at this." They said as they blew up a super nova. "Is that not the greatest thing you have ever seen.?"
"Yes" It was actually the 574390580382058 best that Scientas had ever seen. Potentas really liked blowing up supernovas. Thought it was one of the prettiest of sights. Scientas thought it was one of the most boring.
"Haha am I not the greatest?"
"Yes, yes you are" in the most genuine sounding tone of the world's greatest actor.
"Would you ever lie to me?" Potentas asked.
"No" lied Scientas.
"Well what brings you to bask in my greatness?"
"While I know that you are great, even you must have limits. I bet you can't create a carbon based lifeforms."
"There's nothing that I cannot do. Though mind reminding me what a carbon based lifeforms is?"
Holding back a sigh that could last eternity Scientas started explaining.
* * *
"That Scientas was so stupid" thought Potentas. They always bet that they couldn't do something and every single time Potentas proved them wrong. "When would they learn?"
| |
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other. | "I created you," Scient said.
Potent frowned while leaning back in his cloudy chair. The temperature in heaven was just right today, with rays of light creeping through the clouds above and onto the kingdom around them. Therefore there was no reason that Potent's face should be *this* red. "If you created me, then why can I build a place like this while you can't even design a simple cloud?"
Scient chuckled. "You think this place was your doing? Those cliffs over there exist because I told you how to make them." He pointed at the grassy cliffs in the distance. "And those clouds in that corner are only there because I said so. If I know more than you, then I must have created you."
Potent was even redder than before, he tugged his robe forward. "If you're so damn perfect, then why didn't you make a place of your own . . . ? Oh that's right, you can't."
"That doesn't mean anything," Scient said.
Potent stood up and stretched. "There's a flaw in your all-knowing plan, brother. You have to be able to create to make stuff. All you can do is think."
Scient was on his feet now. "And all you can do is build. The thought comes first in every creative process."
They were inches away from each other now. The Angels floating amongst the kingdom went from smiling to worried. Many of them took off and flew to the furthest point of the cloud bed. Far enough that they wouldn't feel too much of the force.
"I bet I can create something without thinking about it," Potent said.
"Hah!" Scient replied, folding his arms, "you couldn't build a piece of cloud puff without me."
Potent scrunched up his face in concentration. It looked like he was about to unleash a massive bout of hot air, and the Angels instantly took cover.
Scient's grin grew wider with each passing second. "Give up, thought trumps all."
And then there was a bang.
A big blue wonderful bang that brought a gust of wind with it, and made the grass shake and shiver, and made the Angel's feathers rustle from side to side.
In the distance, a little blue ball floated, it had smudges of green on its surface.
"What the?" Scient muttered.
"I told you I could do it!" Potent jumped up and down in victory.
| The castle had changed since the last time she'd been there. Crawling white pillars loomed like an enormous, stone fence. The broad, curving stairs were laced with flecks of jade and chasing lines of platinum. The wide, double doors were solid slabs of pressed gold.
"He's having a mid-life crisis," she sighed, as she let herself in through the doors. "Idiot."
He was concerned about his legacy. She knew that as well as she knew everything else. He was a builder who was no longer confident in the things he'd built. In many ways he'd never been confident.
And with good reason - everything was going to shit.
"Hey!" she shouted from the foyer. "Stop hiding in the pantry and get out here. We need to talk."
From somewhere deep in the castle she could hear an exaggerated sigh, then a *POP* as he appeared before her instantaneously.
"That is *very* irritating," he said as he materialized a plush, velvet-lined armchair from the ether and plopped down like a scolded teenager. "If I'm hiding it's obviously because *I don't want to talk to you*. Duh."
"And obviously *I don't care*," she replied, placing a foot on one of the armrests. "We need to talk."
"About what?" he sighed, rolling his eyes. "You'll have to forgive me my ignorance. Not all of us know everything."
She took a deep calming breath. He was scared. He was frustrated. That's why he was lashing out. It didn't make him any less annoying to know that, but it helped. "We need to make some decisions soon."
"Oooooh!" he shouted, spinning up off the armchair. "*We* is it? *We*? Or is it *you*? You want to take control. You don't like what I've done with the universe. You know..." He started pacing a wide circle across the mostly empty foyer. "I *tried* back in the day, alright? I *tried*. I get that you know more than I do, but do you know what it's like having every little choice you make analyzed and criticized? Do you remember those damnable reports you used to prepare for me - the *HERE'S A BREAKDOWN OF EVERY HORRIBLE THING THAT HAPPENED BECAUSE OF YOUR DECISION Report*?"
"Those made you upset," she said, nodding. "I'm aware."
He laughed. "I *know* you're aware."
"And what would you suggest *I* do?" she hissed. "Pretend I don't see it? Pretend I don't know? I am *not* trying to punish you by showing you these things. I'm only doing what little I can. I can't save anyone or fix anything. All I can do is tell you what I know. I understand that's painful for you. It's painful for me, too. But that's the system we picked."
"That's the system *He* picked," he replied, bitterly. "It was supposed to be easier doing this together." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. What did you want?"
"We need to talk about Mars," she said. "Can I have a seat?"
"Oh, sorry," he said, sheepish. An overstuffed couch popped up across from the armchair. She sat down.
"This is important," she said, steepling her fingers. "This is one of the most important decision points we've ever faced. If they get to Mars - if they tame Mars - they will go further. And they won't stop until they've conquered the stars."
"Conquered?" he said, standing behind the armchair. "You mean...?"
"Eventually all those species... all those other civilizations... those will fall." She looked up. "But if they don't leave... if they cannot make it off their planet... they're doomed. And much more quickly than you may have guessed."
He tugged at his ear and nearly wept from frustration. "Right. I see."
"I know you think I've been critical of you," she said. "But you have never chosen wrong. And I don't believe you have ever acted incorrectly. It is simply the nature of our lives. There will always be suffering."
"If they die," he said, slowly, pondering the words carefully. "Does that mean that we..."
She smiled and shook her head. "I do not know. Honestly and truly. That is the one dark corner where light does not shine for me."
He nodded, then crossed to the couch and sat down beside her. "Had we the chance, would you have exchanged roles, do you think? Sight for me. Power for you. Do you think maybe... maybe we could have survived things better that way?"
She shook her head. "It wouldn't have mattered, husband. These gifts are not compatible."
"Would you like..." He paused, reaching out for her hand. "Would you like me to take it away from you? Both burdens would be mine and you... you could rest."
"I would die and go into the Wastes," she said, shaking her head. "And you would go mad. He was right to split those burdens between us. Neither of us could handle both. And I could not stand to lose you."
"Are we not already lost?" he asked.
"We will fight again," she nodded. "No matter what choices we make, we will always find a way to conflict. But - just as surely - we will always find a way back to each other."
He smiled, pulling her close into his arms. "You talk as if you can see the future."
"Perhaps," she laughed, her head nestled against his chest. "Or perhaps it's just a woman's intuition." | |
[WP] "Hi, welcome to Control+Z! What would you like to undo today?" | "Hi, welcome to Control+Z! What would you like to undo today?" I asked the woman who was next in line.
"Well, hello, my name is Miranda, and uh, this is my first time being here. I'm not totally sure what I'm supposed to do." the woman said to me.
"That's exactly what I'm here for. What I need you to do is tell me everything that happened to you today, starting as soon as you woke up this morning. By the way, my name is Ted. Now, how about we go into my office, and we can get started." I never was really a fan of having to act as preppy and polite as I could, but this job paid pretty well, and I wasn't about to give up my comfortable lifestyle so that I could act like a dick. The woman proceeded to follow me into my office.
"So, Miranda, anytime you feel you would like to start, go ahead." I said as i pulled a pen and my notebook out of my desk.
"Well, this morning, I woke up, and I was actually feeling pretty energized for one. I have four kids, and trust me, it is the hardest job in the world. Well, last week, they all had to go to the dentist, and I told them that if they were all on their best behavior, I would take them somewhere fun. So after I woke up this morning, I figured that I better keep my promise. So after I laid in bed for a while, I finally got around to getting up and making breakfast."
I was used to hearing customers go on and on about their problems. Hell, it was almost as if I was like a therapist. I mean, I did sit there and take notes while people talked about what they regret doing.
"After taking a vote from the kids, and also my husband, we came to the verdict of scrambled eggs and sausage. After breakfast, which took about an hour, we were all still sitting at the table. 'So kids, what will it be, where are we going today for your special treat?' It came down to two choices: movies, or the zoo. We then did what we always did to figure out our simple yes or no type problems. My husband took on the movies, and I took on the zoo, and we played a game of rock, paper, scissors, best of 5. Of course, I kicked his ass like usual, and it was decided that we were going to the zoo. I told the kids, 'get dressed, brush your teeth, and be ready in half an hour.' Then I went back to my room and decided on what I was going to wear. We were going to a zoo, so I didn't want to dress in anything that could get too dirty. I eventually went with my black capris and one of my gray shirts, because if they got dirty, it wasn't really a big deal.
"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but is there any way that we could move a little faster? I have a long line out there, and I need to get through at least a few more of them." I usually had to say that at least five times a day. There is one thing that all people love to talk about, and that is themselves.
"Yes, of course, my bad, I just get so caught up in detail sometimes." She then let out a small breath, as if she was preparing to continue.
"So, once we were all ready, i loaded all the kids up into my minivan, and away we went. The zoo is only about a 15 minute drive form our house, and parking was surprisingly easy to find for a Saturday. So we got into the zoo, we got a guide, and we started going to the different exhibits that the kids wanted to see. We had been there millions of times it feels like, but they were always in awe at the sight of the magnificent beasts. We saw the tigers, the bears, the elephants, the giraffes, the zebras- Oh, look at me, going on again. Well, eventually, we get to the monkey area, and we decide to stop and eat the lunches I had packed for all of us. As I'm getting them out, the kids all go to run around and look at the different monkeys. As I start to put everything away, I hear screams come from the gorilla pit. As any mother would I go to investigate, hoping and praying that one of my children wasn't the subject of these screams. This time, it was though. My three year old, James, who was supposed to be holding the hand of his older sister, had fallen into the gorilla pit. Right next to him, was a gigantic gorilla, who had to have weighed hundreds of pounds. Frantically, people are running all over, trying to find officials, some devising a plan to rescue him, and some recording it. He ended up bringing James through the moat, and then the executive decision was made to kill the gorilla to save my son's life."
"So you want to undo taking your eyes off your son, allowing him to fall into the gorilla pit, thus risking his life?" I asked, relieved to be done listening to yet another person talk about their issues.
"Well, actually, I just undo my decision to wear capris and a t-shirt. Do you know how many people were talking and paying attention to me? I would MUCH rather have been wearing my new sundress that I got last week." | "Look, it said 98% effective, so I figured we'd-"
"Bull-fucking-shit, Brian! We have said time and time again that we always had to be careful! No matter the situation, not matter the "moment", ALWAYS careful! This is your fault just as much as it is mine!"
"God, fine, okay. I just, I don't know. I'm Catholic. Wasn't exactly raised to be okay with this."
"Yeah, I know. It's not exactly the most pleasant idea for me either. I mean, it's great that Universal Healthcare passed, it's making things cheaper and we only have to consider one option as far as an abortion clinic. I just wish they could have thought of a better name..." | |
[WP] For your honeymoon, you finally go to that place you've always dreamed of going. Walking down the street, you see a telephone pole covered in old, moldy papers. The newer ones have fallen away, revealing an ancient, faded flyer - it's a picture of you as a child. It says MISSING. | "And now I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." declares the priest as the sun shines high and bright reminding people of the magic of love. Jim and Carrey were highschool sweethearts. And it took a lot of effort for them to reach here. Ofcourse they fought - just like other couples do. But when push came to shove, they fought harder. They didn't run away. Maybe that's why they are standing where they are standing. And anyone can see, they are very much in love.
The marriage proceedings went by super quickly. These things always do. And there are always things that go wrong. It would have helped if Jim's drunk uncle didn't make a scene just while the happy couple was making vows. But who cares? Here they are. For eternity.
They didn't waste much time. The very next day of the wedding they were off to Bruges, Belgium. Jim had always felt attached to that place although he had never been there. Nightmares started just a couple of years ago. He would often dream of being inside a large tower chased by a familiar voice. The voice seemed friendly. In fact, way too friendly. That was what creeped him out the most. He would run as fast as he can - making absolutely no noise - and find a secret attic inside the tower breathing a sigh of relief that he is safe now. But everytime when he would open the door afer hiding for hours thinking that voice has disappeared, he would see that face staring at him with the friendliest of smiles and whispering, "Come with me, Jimmy. I won't hurt you". And that is when the bells in the tower would go off waking Jim up with sweat dripping on his back and face.
It was months later when they were watching a movie on Netflix did Jim recognize that the tower he always dreamed of was Belfry of Bruges. Carrey had always wanted to go to Croatia for her honeymoon but a trip to Bruges sounded more "adventurous." It was soon after she surprised Jim with plane tickets to Bruges. It may not sound like the perfect honeymoon destination but they didn't care where they go as long as they are together.
Their flight landed early morning. And Carrey had booked a romantic cabin in the woods. The sky is blood orange. Birds are singing. There is not a single cloud in sight. She is wearing a summer dress. Jim a white cotton shirt. They are sleeping together on a picnic mat. Her head on his chest.
"So what do you wanna do first? Have breakfast and go to that tower?" asks Carrey while Jim lay half asleep. "Let's just walk around. Everything seems so pleasant. We should enjoy the sunshine while we can." replies Jim. They get up and start walking, heading nowhere in particular. They reach a beautiful landscape and Carrey removes her phone to take a selfie with the landscape behind. That is when they notice a telephone pole covered with flyers of all kinds. Mostly of missing dog. But also occasionally of a standup comedy club asking people for donations. They sift through these flyers almost as if reading history of this little town, Bruges. Jim has found a funny flier. So he raises his eyes to meet hers only to find her gasping for breath. Her face is pale almost as if she has seen a ghost. Jim hurriedly goes to the opposite side of the pole to see what Carrey is pointing at.
"MISSING. Have you seen him? Please call 221819872" with Jim's childhood picture beneath. "It can't be! This doesn't make any sense!" says Jim in one breath. He knew he was adopted but was told that his parents had died in a car crash. He hadn't thought much of them in recent years but now he was so much closer to his origins. He had to find out. He had to know.
He hurries to call that number printed on the flyer not expecting anyone would respond.
"Hello!" he says.
No response from the other side.
"I don't know how to begin this... my name is Jim. Does that name mean anything to you?"
There is still no response. He is about to hang up when he hears something back. The voice sounds eerily familiar. Almost like in his dream. And then the voice whispers.
"Come here Jimmy." | "Man, my parents were pretty cool. I guess I didn't miss anything. Really sucks for my parents, whom ever they my be," says random dude in the story. 'Honey, are you sure you don't care? I mean, it's definitely you, right?" his bride says to him, in concerned fashion. He replies definitively, 'Babe, I'm like 35, I really don't care at all... lets go get drunk and order room service."
The newly weds escape to their expensive hotel and have a wonderful night. | |
[WP] For your honeymoon, you finally go to that place you've always dreamed of going. Walking down the street, you see a telephone pole covered in old, moldy papers. The newer ones have fallen away, revealing an ancient, faded flyer - it's a picture of you as a child. It says MISSING. | We were too poor too afford a real honey moon. We were so filled with love and joy that it didn't matter. We took a small weekend road trip, no planned destination, just drive until we found somewhere nice.
We drive for nearly 9 hours winding through town after town and forest after forest. The whole time it rained. Big fat drops splattered across the windshield and bounced up off the pavement. The trees seemed greener as they reached up towards the sky.
As the sun started to go down somewhere behind the dark brooding clouds we drove into a town with a big happy "Welcome To" sign. It was one of those places that felt familiar even though you have no recollection of ever being there, it felt homey with its warm streetlights and cozy coffee shop windows.
We checked into a small inn that looked out over the sea at the edge of town and spent the whole evening in our room. I joked with my husband that my mother used to say the rain had powers.
"What kind of powers?" He laughed as he peeled off my wet clothes for me.
"She used to say it washed away any secrets," I replied absentmindedly. My mind was no longer on the conversation.
"Good thing I don't have any secrets," he slid his cold hand against the small of my back.
"Neither do I," I said and kissed him as we fell into each other.
Sometime throughout the night the rain stopped.
We went in search for breakfast food as the early morning sun burned off the last of the fog. The leftover rain ran in small rivers towards the gutters and the sea. We picked our way along the main street, the last few days of storm had ripped posters from poles and left a sludge of wet paper laying on the sidewalks. Red lettering, strangely crisp beside all the posters with their ink running, caught my attention. I quickly realized that it was a laminated poster stapled to the pole with a ridiculous amount of staples, layers of posters were plastered over it. Without thinking I pushed as much of the wet slop off as I could.
It was a missing child poster from 20 years ago. The face of a 5 year old stared back at me. The face of 5 year old who looked exactly like the photos of me when I was 5 years old stared back at me. I felt uneasy and showed my husband the photo.
"Kids all kinda look the same. You're over thinking this," he snapped some sense into me.
I agreed but snapped a quick photo of the poster anyway and texted it to my mother, "doesn't this look weirdly like me?" I wrote.
"Read at 10:08 am" popped up beneath it. She never answered. I shrugged it off and we kept walking in search for breakfast.
Later that night I called my mum, we were close and hadn't spoken since my town hall wedding, usually we talked every day. Growing up it had always been her and I against the world. There was no answer. When I tried again the next day on our way home a robotic voice informed me the number had been disconnected. Worried, I asked my husband if we could stop by her place before we went home.
My mums place wasn't far from ours, a 20 minute drive or so, located in a small suburb outside the city. I walked up to the front door and knocked even though her car wasn't in the driveway. When I got no answer I unlocked it and went inside to leave a note. The house was empty.
The furniture still remained, but all the things that had made t my mothers house were gone. Her photographs and clothes and even her favourite magnets from the fridge. She was gone.
We ransacked the house, searching for any clues, searching for any sign of what had happened.
Buried in a small envelope taped under her dresser I found a piece of paper that looked as if it had been ripped from a wall.
I flipped it over and saw a missing child poster with an all too familiar face on the front. | "Man, my parents were pretty cool. I guess I didn't miss anything. Really sucks for my parents, whom ever they my be," says random dude in the story. 'Honey, are you sure you don't care? I mean, it's definitely you, right?" his bride says to him, in concerned fashion. He replies definitively, 'Babe, I'm like 35, I really don't care at all... lets go get drunk and order room service."
The newly weds escape to their expensive hotel and have a wonderful night. | |
[WP] For your honeymoon, you finally go to that place you've always dreamed of going. Walking down the street, you see a telephone pole covered in old, moldy papers. The newer ones have fallen away, revealing an ancient, faded flyer - it's a picture of you as a child. It says MISSING. | The sight of that flyer swiftly brought the memories back. It reminded me of the confusing and sad time which was my childhood.
Our family was normal. I think. My parents were divorced. Dad came by and picked us up every weekend.
Dad remarried pretty much the day the divorce was final. I was 7 at the time, and I never really understood until I got older. My new stepmother was a nice woman, and I didn't hold anything against her.
Mom always cursed my dad every opportunity that she could. He was worthless. He was a cheater. I was young when they parted ways, and being the momma's boy I am, I absorbed all of it - all the hate and bitterness. When I think about it now, my facial expressions must have spoken loud and clear every weekend.
Everything else was normal. I went to school, and mom picked me up every day. Around the time that the divorce happened, mom really began to concentrate on her work. She brought home a huge wheeled suitcase every day filled with folders and papers. I never asked her what they were. I figured she had enough on her mind. I was at least mature enough to realize that.
The obsession with her work grew, it seemed, with every passing week. Eventually she locked herself in her bedroom all evening. When 7 o'clock rolled by, I had to knock on her door and tell her that I was hungry. She usually took a box meal out of the kitchen cupboard. She became so frustrated. Even then, I understood that she was going through the stress of the divorce and her increasingly stressful work.
A couple years later, my mother received a phone call. It was my school. It was late, and she forgot to pick me up. Some of the other kids usually went to the cafeteria to hang out for a couple hours. I thought to myself, maybe mom had an emergency meeting to go to. So I went to the cafeteria and waited. The other kids left one by one, and eventually it was just me.
I still remember the look on my mother's face. It was this intense look of grief, almost. She actually, truly forgot. No big deal, I thought. People forget things. But that look. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she apologized over and over again on the way home.
She opened the front door, and I walked in. Her gigantic briefcase was open. Papers were everywhere - thousands of them. "MISSING". They all had pictures of me. It was my 1st grade school picture.
"I have to send these. I have to send them tonight", mom told me. She was frantic.
"What are you doing, mom? I'm right here."
"You don't understand. You don't understand." Her hands were shaking. She was going to send these fliers out no matter what.
It made more sense to me when I got a little bit older. Why dad left. Why mom obsessed over these fliers. Why she became so frustrated as she tried to follow the directions on a Hamburger Helper box. Why sometimes I didn't get to eat dinner. The mood swings and the outbursts, which I didn't even remember until I started going to therapy. Soon after that day, the courts decided that I would be staying with dad.
The rest of my childhood was fairly normal. All except the fact that I lost my mother a little bit more every day. I still went to visit her. It's a terrible thing, though - she truly spent the next several years dying.
My fiancee-- er, my *wife*-- was dumbfounded. She looked like she had just seen a ghost.
"Isn't that..."
"Yeah." My eyes welled up enough for a tear to come down. "You know that my mother died when I was young. I think I'm ready to tell you how." | I walk the streets at a pace which creates a breeze that cuts through air. I could only describe the air as feeling ‘full’. The gentle sway of the tropical fern rustles quietly behind me and a breeze passes by me as I scrape across the gravel.
Much like the air in my lungs, being in the presence of others had become all consuming. I needed to walk, so here I was, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean stumbling down gravel. My feet carry me flowing from one street to another. The sky grows pregnant with dark brewing clouds and a rumble trembles through the earth. But I keep walking.
I think to myself, my ordinary self ‘why can’t you be like this, more carefree in places which are familiar, which you call home?’ Places where I could tell where I was simply by the closing my eyes?
This is why I closed my eyes, to envision myself absently and passively existing. Where the storms don’t always appear to be exactly where I’m standing?
My periphery blurs as I zone into a spot which sits just in front of my tired legs. It becomes littered with paper. I look up to find myself at a fork in the road with a well-dressed telegraph pole splitting the two paths like a rock in a stream. I walk up to the pole and look closer, I stay there for a moment. Looking into a world which is much like my own, laundromats, babysitting, dog walking services. I watch as the wind catches a haphazardly placed flier, as it grows stronger I look up and the storm has followed me to the pole.
I walk away, ignoring the dull crunch of softened paper under my feet and instead begin to hear the sound of clashing waves slowly creeping into my head and the ground becomes finer and more difficult to walk through. I remember my Mother bickering to me to look up as I walk, it always felt unnatural to me.
I concede and sit down on the sand, finally looking up to the eternal expanse of the sea. I watch the clouds run across the horizon and flashes of light illuminating the now dark sky. I didn’t need to reach that fork in the road to know, that this was where I belonged.
| |
[WP] For your honeymoon, you finally go to that place you've always dreamed of going. Walking down the street, you see a telephone pole covered in old, moldy papers. The newer ones have fallen away, revealing an ancient, faded flyer - it's a picture of you as a child. It says MISSING. | The sight of that flyer swiftly brought the memories back. It reminded me of the confusing and sad time which was my childhood.
Our family was normal. I think. My parents were divorced. Dad came by and picked us up every weekend.
Dad remarried pretty much the day the divorce was final. I was 7 at the time, and I never really understood until I got older. My new stepmother was a nice woman, and I didn't hold anything against her.
Mom always cursed my dad every opportunity that she could. He was worthless. He was a cheater. I was young when they parted ways, and being the momma's boy I am, I absorbed all of it - all the hate and bitterness. When I think about it now, my facial expressions must have spoken loud and clear every weekend.
Everything else was normal. I went to school, and mom picked me up every day. Around the time that the divorce happened, mom really began to concentrate on her work. She brought home a huge wheeled suitcase every day filled with folders and papers. I never asked her what they were. I figured she had enough on her mind. I was at least mature enough to realize that.
The obsession with her work grew, it seemed, with every passing week. Eventually she locked herself in her bedroom all evening. When 7 o'clock rolled by, I had to knock on her door and tell her that I was hungry. She usually took a box meal out of the kitchen cupboard. She became so frustrated. Even then, I understood that she was going through the stress of the divorce and her increasingly stressful work.
A couple years later, my mother received a phone call. It was my school. It was late, and she forgot to pick me up. Some of the other kids usually went to the cafeteria to hang out for a couple hours. I thought to myself, maybe mom had an emergency meeting to go to. So I went to the cafeteria and waited. The other kids left one by one, and eventually it was just me.
I still remember the look on my mother's face. It was this intense look of grief, almost. She actually, truly forgot. No big deal, I thought. People forget things. But that look. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she apologized over and over again on the way home.
She opened the front door, and I walked in. Her gigantic briefcase was open. Papers were everywhere - thousands of them. "MISSING". They all had pictures of me. It was my 1st grade school picture.
"I have to send these. I have to send them tonight", mom told me. She was frantic.
"What are you doing, mom? I'm right here."
"You don't understand. You don't understand." Her hands were shaking. She was going to send these fliers out no matter what.
It made more sense to me when I got a little bit older. Why dad left. Why mom obsessed over these fliers. Why she became so frustrated as she tried to follow the directions on a Hamburger Helper box. Why sometimes I didn't get to eat dinner. The mood swings and the outbursts, which I didn't even remember until I started going to therapy. Soon after that day, the courts decided that I would be staying with dad.
The rest of my childhood was fairly normal. All except the fact that I lost my mother a little bit more every day. I still went to visit her. It's a terrible thing, though - she truly spent the next several years dying.
My fiancee-- er, my *wife*-- was dumbfounded. She looked like she had just seen a ghost.
"Isn't that..."
"Yeah." My eyes welled up enough for a tear to come down. "You know that my mother died when I was young. I think I'm ready to tell you how." | "Ooh, baby, come look at these flyers! Maybe there's something playing nearby! This is a small town after all." I was intrigued. Not a bad idea. We had just had sex for a couple hours in hotel room down by the water, sort of meandered our way up through the old stone streets. It was some city in Italy. Didn't really matter where, to me. All that mattered was her. The smell of her hair. Her eyes, when they looked at mine. The way she felt when I held her. I felt like when we were together, physically, the world was whole. Earlier that evening I had sat in the twilight outside our room while she lay in bed, smoking a cigarette, feeling utterly content with the world. Happy. Hadn't felt that way in a long time. When I looked up at the ceiling of the hall, the shape of a creature suddenly moved out of the corner of my eye. It was dark, but I could tell that something had been there and then not. Concierge said they had rats.
But now we were starving, and wanted to see a movie or something. We walked up to the telephone pole, and she started reading off the names of local artists. Didn't know any of them. My attention was caught by small, faded picture, a missing child photo. I looked a little closer, something about it was peculiar. I looked harder. The photo was black and white, but there were three people in it. Two women were on the side, holding the hand of a young boy. The two women I knew were the boy's mother and sister. They both looked with far-away stares at me. The boy was focused on something on the ground in front of him. His downcast face was almost moving as I stared at it, tracing the lines of his face, the shape of the brow I knew too well. His familiar shock of black hair. His eyes met mine. My eyes. I jolted back, suddenly confused and dizzy. Where was I? I looked around. A girl was standing next to me. Her eyes were black, and her mouth gaping open. A snake began to exit the opening of her mouth. A bell rang loudly behind me. I turned around. There was now a bell-tower standing in the middle of the cobblestone square. It's bell rang over and over, the only sound in the entire square. Each time the sound faded, a chorus of voices seemed to begin to chant, but was cut off with a new strike of the bell. After three laborious rings, all was silent. Then the voices began in earnest, filling up my entire mind. I turned to see the snake that had crawled out of my wife's mouth finish swallowing her. An old woman that had just come out from a doorway took the snake and began to use it to masturbate. As she did, a voice spoke from her mouth, deep, bellowing, hollow. ALL ACROSS THE WORLD, WE ARE WITH YOU. YOUR MIND CAN NEVER BE FREE. NEVER GO IN HOUSES. NEVER GO INDOORS. WE ARE IN EVERY WALL. ALL MOUTHS HAVE US IN THEM. IN EVERY SAFEPLACE. NO HOME. MIGHT AS WELL DIE. YOU KNEW. ONCE, BEFORE. ALWAYS.
I fell to the ground, sobbing.
This had happened before.
| |
[WP] For your honeymoon, you finally go to that place you've always dreamed of going. Walking down the street, you see a telephone pole covered in old, moldy papers. The newer ones have fallen away, revealing an ancient, faded flyer - it's a picture of you as a child. It says MISSING. | I had dreamed of visiting Larosia for many years, ever since seeing a documentary about the small former soviet country on tv. The old street lamps, still lit by gas. The classic cars, beautifully maintained. The stunning stone architecture that was unlike anything in the world, though still strangely familiar. I had put up a picture of the town square in my apartment, using it as a cue to slip off into daydreams of an imaginary world. Running around the square, paddling in the fountain in mid-summer, having snowball fights in mid-winter. My thoughts always youthful, probably reflecting my inner child. My girlfriend had seen it a hundred times before she asked, I'd explained to her what I could from my muddled thoughts. She seemed to appreciate the painting, though when she became my fiancé and we moved into a house together it was put into storage to make room for new shared memories.
That is why I was so surprised when my fiancé surprised me with a surprise trip at the end of our honeymoon. Two weeks in Venice finishing with the gift of a week in a country that I had almost forgot. We arrived in Larosia as part of only six people in the large plane. The others, obviously locals, filing off to the gate at the edge of the landing strip, not even bothering with passport control. We wandered into the main terminal building, having to wake up the old man sitting behind the passport checkpoint. He gave us a strange look, though this was probably a result of not often meeting strangers, even in his job. A taxi was parked outside the airport, the driver again fast asleep in the back seat. He was more than happy to be woken though, driving us through the main streets with a constant chatter that dipped between English, Russian and Larosian. The streets were almost deserted, we only passed three or four cars on our trip, even though the roads were built wide enough to take hundreds.
The man dropped us off outside our hotel with a 'welcome home', which would have seemed stranger if he had made any sense up until that point. An hour later we were refreshed and in the main square. A little dusty and grubbier than in my poster, but still exactly the same. The feeling of deja vu hit me hard, but I can only assume that stemmed from so many visits in my imagination. My wife was calling me over, pointing at something on a pole.
I froze. "What? What! What?!?!"
It was me. A picture of me. Maybe at four or five years old but it was definitely me. My wife was pale, looking at me with doubt in her eyes. "I don't know what it means!" I told her honestly. I carefully pulled the old poster from the pole, reading the faded words: ***Missing.*** *Five years old. Named Fariad* (the feeling of deja vu hit me strongest here). *Taken from the main square by the president's forces, the day before the revolution.* I had, of course, read about the revolution in Larosia many years ago, though the textbooks didn't say who started it. My wife was tugging on my arm, I turned and saw that she had noticed a woman watching us. The woman came towards me, tears in her eyes. She reached out her hands to my face and screamed out a word; "Fariad!".
Within minutes men and women were streaming around the square shouting and crying and touching my face. Old people shouting into telephone boxes on the corners. People my age, so similar to the people in my daydreams. Children looking up at me in wonder. It took a lot of talking to work out the true story.
The president was an evil man, often taken anything he could from the townsfolk to secure his power. Firstly it was taxes, high enough that nobody could grow fat. Then women, conscripted into brothels for tourists, held against their will. Finally it was his new plan that proved to be his undoing. Stealing children to sell to childless couples in the west. He had picked the wrong children as well, for the first was the daughter of a soldier and the second, me, the son of a local resistance leader. The country burned for three weeks, but soon it was restored to peace, without the president's evil ministrations. A search went out for the two children, but they were never found.
Until today.
One of the lost children of Larosia has come home. | "Ooh, baby, come look at these flyers! Maybe there's something playing nearby! This is a small town after all." I was intrigued. Not a bad idea. We had just had sex for a couple hours in hotel room down by the water, sort of meandered our way up through the old stone streets. It was some city in Italy. Didn't really matter where, to me. All that mattered was her. The smell of her hair. Her eyes, when they looked at mine. The way she felt when I held her. I felt like when we were together, physically, the world was whole. Earlier that evening I had sat in the twilight outside our room while she lay in bed, smoking a cigarette, feeling utterly content with the world. Happy. Hadn't felt that way in a long time. When I looked up at the ceiling of the hall, the shape of a creature suddenly moved out of the corner of my eye. It was dark, but I could tell that something had been there and then not. Concierge said they had rats.
But now we were starving, and wanted to see a movie or something. We walked up to the telephone pole, and she started reading off the names of local artists. Didn't know any of them. My attention was caught by small, faded picture, a missing child photo. I looked a little closer, something about it was peculiar. I looked harder. The photo was black and white, but there were three people in it. Two women were on the side, holding the hand of a young boy. The two women I knew were the boy's mother and sister. They both looked with far-away stares at me. The boy was focused on something on the ground in front of him. His downcast face was almost moving as I stared at it, tracing the lines of his face, the shape of the brow I knew too well. His familiar shock of black hair. His eyes met mine. My eyes. I jolted back, suddenly confused and dizzy. Where was I? I looked around. A girl was standing next to me. Her eyes were black, and her mouth gaping open. A snake began to exit the opening of her mouth. A bell rang loudly behind me. I turned around. There was now a bell-tower standing in the middle of the cobblestone square. It's bell rang over and over, the only sound in the entire square. Each time the sound faded, a chorus of voices seemed to begin to chant, but was cut off with a new strike of the bell. After three laborious rings, all was silent. Then the voices began in earnest, filling up my entire mind. I turned to see the snake that had crawled out of my wife's mouth finish swallowing her. An old woman that had just come out from a doorway took the snake and began to use it to masturbate. As she did, a voice spoke from her mouth, deep, bellowing, hollow. ALL ACROSS THE WORLD, WE ARE WITH YOU. YOUR MIND CAN NEVER BE FREE. NEVER GO IN HOUSES. NEVER GO INDOORS. WE ARE IN EVERY WALL. ALL MOUTHS HAVE US IN THEM. IN EVERY SAFEPLACE. NO HOME. MIGHT AS WELL DIE. YOU KNEW. ONCE, BEFORE. ALWAYS.
I fell to the ground, sobbing.
This had happened before.
| |
[WP] For your honeymoon, you finally go to that place you've always dreamed of going. Walking down the street, you see a telephone pole covered in old, moldy papers. The newer ones have fallen away, revealing an ancient, faded flyer - it's a picture of you as a child. It says MISSING. | “Please keep your seatbelts buckled until the lights go off, and thank you for flying with Delta!” the blonde flight attendant spoke cheerfully while walking through the plane aisle, “and remember you’re more likely to die in a car accident than on a plane!”
I hear a child cry.
Dying is not scary... we've been preparing for it our whole lives. Dying was something I always dreamed about, it has haunted me my whole life growing up- I mean it never really bothered me, that just seems like the right word.
It was always dreams of me as a child running through streets, away from a family being murdered. Some man grabbing me and telling me to be quiet, hiding me in an ally. I always awoke to my mother sitting in bed next to me, telling me that everything was going to be okay. It never felt that way.
I now just wake from the dreams that have carried me through life peacefully, accepting the forever reoccurring scene. Even this morning on my wedding day, I awoke well before my alarm, clutching the sheets as I did the man’s sleeves that have saved me endlessly.
I’m brought back to the present as the plane lurches and my husband clutches my leg as we take off. I watch the light bounce off his new ring I placed on his fingers only hours ago, smiling at his tense face.
“You’ve flown how many times?” I whisper to his ear. He looks past me out the window, clutching my leg but brushing his thumb along my knee. I push my forehead against the plane window and watch the world soar away from us.
Once we are steady in the air and I have blood flow back to my knee, I recline my chair and enjoy the hum of the machine around me. My husband reclines his chair and turns his body towards me, his almond eyes peer at me over the chair divider and his foot touches mine. He blows me a kiss and drifts off to sleep.
I think about the beaches we are going to spend weeks on and the tiny town villages I’ll be able to hide in and write for hours about the people traveling through their lives. I found the town of Fernon while flipping through an artist magazine; The images hit me so deeply I begged for weeks to make it our destination. I won.
I drift to sleep, allowing the hum of the plane lull me to sleep. I’m thrown into my dream watching my house become invaded as the sandwich, my dream mother puts in front of me, is thrown out of her hands and she is grabbed.
I hear the echoes of my dream father's bellows, screaming at me to run.
I run away from the men chasing me, being grabbed on cue by the safety of another man’s sleeves as he shushes me in the dark alley. I close my eyes, expecting me to open my eyes and awake to the plane. Instead, I open my eyes and the dream continues further than it has in years.
We run through alleys and jump into a truck, the man’s voice wrapping me in solitude. I am terrified as and I look to finally see his face, his deep skin isolating his piercing blue eyes that almost appear white. He shoves papers in a bag and throws a shirt over my tiny, childish body. Grabbing scissors he begins chopping my hair in clumps as I let silent sobs escape my soul as we travel in the dark. He puts a hat on my head, and then gently wipes the tears away from my face.
“I’m making sure you’ll be safe,” he whispers to me.
I feel a hand touching my face and I open my eyes to be matched with dark almond ones, wiping a tear off my round cheek.
“You’re safe,” he whispers to me. I move my foot to touch his. I move my reclined seat up, watching the sun peak over the ocean we soar above.
The seatbelt lights ding on overhead, and we are notified of our fast approaching landing time.
I hear a child cry.
--
I watch the coffee's steam rise out of the mug from the coffee shop we sit outside of. My husband’s loosely buttoned white shirt flaps in the light breeze as he flips through a book. I tap my pencil against my leg as I look at the empty page of my journal and smile at the day we had yet again spent at the beach.
A breeze rips through the little village alley and flyers off a nearby pole start rolling down the street. My sun hat flies with the papers and I leap up trying to grab it. I pick up the papers as I grab my hat and begin walking back to the table. I slowly stop walking, for I can’t feel my feet anymore.
I can’t feel anything at all. I stand frozen in the beautiful, quaint alley, allowing the wind to yet again rip my hat from my head. I let it roll down the street.
I look up to see my husband walking up to me, reaching for the paper in my hands. I can’t hear his words, only comprehend that he too, understands the missing child pictured on the flyer. I can’t hear the wind. I just hear the echoes of a man's bellows.
I look over my husband’s shoulder meeting the piercing almost white eyes of an old man, wrinkles on his deep skin dating him older than I can count, who had frozen mid sip of coffee. | There's a place down by the riverfront at St. Genevieve's called the Olde Landing where time hasn't moved since the 1850s. Horses clip-clop across endless expanses of cobblestone, pulling bulbous carriages that persist even past midnight. Men in stovepipe hats and women in long skirts smoke pipes outside thatched houses, shooing rowdy children away from their legs. Vendors with grey beards push carts through the streets, peddling their taffy for pittance. It's a town that captures the aesthetic of the Victorian era without all its moral baggage, a land of novelty amidst the modern monotone of endless highways and strip malls.
When I was five, Dad would place me on his lap and let me chew on his pipe. He would tell me stories from the Olde Landing, describing the haunts and their kooks. Ludwig manned the tavern and could play the piano blindfolded. Gertrude kept the Landing crime-free with her detective's wits. Vernon smithed full suits of armor in his workshop by the river. Dad would promise to take me there when I was older, to meet all his friends and tell them "tut-tut". But we moved across the state when I was eight, and he stopped talking about the Olde Landing, and my dreams faded into forgetfulness.
It took Sheila to drag me back there, back to St. Gen's and the home I had forgotten. We left everything in our hotel and wandered the old streets, unhindered and unabashed, eventually making our way to the river. There, beyond a stretch of trees, I saw it: a glimpse of cobblestone and a promise of magic.
"What a quaint place," she said. To a girl from the city, everything in St. Gen's was quaint. But to me, the place was less than I'd imagined. The cobblestone stretched everywhere, just as promised, but that was all that coincided with my vision. "Old Landing," the sign read, a white mark where the "e" had once been. Bramble and weeds overran the side closest to the river. Orange tape sequestered a large, brown plot in the southmost corner. A sidewalk led us further in to a series of buildings on a strip: a bar, a souvenir shop, and a Burger King.
A horse trotted up to us, pulling an open carriage manned by a guy in a goatee. "Ride?" he asked.
"Sure," I said, mounting the step.
"Forty bucks," he said, without missing a beat. He rolled his eyes as we declined and spurred his steed on, clip-clopping away.
We walked past the buildings. The bar was undergoing renovations, the souvenir shop closed, and the Burger King, Burger King. Sheila rubbed my arm, reassuring me how nice and old everything was. She could sense my disappointment.
A telephone pole interrupted the brick as we crested the top of the road. There were flyers tacked all down its length: "Participants needed for psychological study", "HELP WANTED: Summer Janitor", "Need litigation? Call Albright!"
One stood out from the rest, though, one old, yellowed, barely-there scrap of paper that clung tenaciously to a rusted nail even in the face of a slight breeze. There was a face on it, and I recognized it with a jolt. It was James Salmon at five years old, with his chubby cheeks and his bowl cut. MISSING, screamed the text. That was all it said: no phone number, no physical information, no reward. Just my smiling face from twenty year's past in grayscale.
"James, what's up?" Sheila peered at the flyer. "Do you know this guy?"
"Maybe," I said. Maybe once I did, but he's gone now; he's MISSING, and he'll never come back. He's gone with Ludwig and Gertrude and Vernon and Dad and the Wonderland of his youth.
The clouds blotted out the sun. The wind whisked through the town, sending stray leaves our way. Sheila shivered and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. The clip-clops of goatee and his horse had abated. We were alone.
I took Sheila's hand, and we walked back down to the three buildings on the stretch. The door of the bar opened as I leaned on it. The wood creaked under our footsteps; through the dimness, we could perceive outlines of tables and chairs and a piano that a man named Ludwig or something else might have played on once.
"Sheila, I love you," I said, nibbling on her ear. She kissed me back, and we climbed onto the piano, and she lifted up her skirt.
Outside, the wind howls, tearing the poster of five-year-old James Salmon from the pole. The breeze carries it away, towards the river.
MISSING, it reads. The child is missing, and nobody will find him. | |
[WP] A few years after the world has recovered from the zombie apocalypse, everyone now is required to wear collars that will explode if a heart beat is not detected within 30 seconds. | I'm a geek. I know what a zombie apocalypse is supposed to look like, and it doesn't look like that. I'm told it was a preon, but airborne. Digs its way up from your lungs, into your nervous sytem, then when it gets to the hypothalamus just goes nuts. Its insidious though, doesn't kill you for a day or so, then you just drop dead when it burrows its way into your hypothalamus. A few minutes later, you're up and running, following patterns and chasing down anything living. Nobody expects zombies to be problem-solvers, climbing ladders.
March 13th, 2017, the idea was released. The only solution put to anyone was the collars. In hind sight, it should have been obvious. With the tiny little explosion after no heart beat for thirty seconds, it wiped the hypothalamus out and thus the issue was resolved. Instant death, it couldn't run, it couldn't even spread since the infectious agent didn't start kicking out until after death. The collars were the perfect solution.
They were issued to the military first, but as the running battles with the runners spread into more populated areas they became standard issue. There was nowhere safe. Every major country took them on board, gave them to their soldiers. Eventually they starting being issued to people in hot spots, then eventually legislation was passed that made them mandatory for everyone. They were a sign of pride - a sign that you were clean, untouched by the disease.
We got used to the collars. They rarely malfunctioned, they never had any issues. We understood that if we messed with them and we died, it was our own fault. The apocalypse wasn't much of an apocalypse really, we won the war with relative ease. But the collars stayed. The world rebuilt, a little smaller, a little more close-knit. Vast swathes of poorer countries had simply ceased to exist, but ultimately we were okay, so it was alright.
No-one knows when they started putting microphones in them.
June, 2019. When the electrical storm washed over Brick, just North of Atlantic city, everybody lost cellphone signal. Everybody died.
The Operatives came out the day after, along with a press release that went on every major network. They told us that they had control of the collars. That every collar was fitted with a microphone, and a dead man's switch. The moment the signal was lost, the collar was tampered with, or the moment that they chose, our collars would explode and we would die.
We'd forced their hand early, by virtue of sheer chance. Not that it mattered; they already had us by the throat.
Men and women dressed in orange suits walked the streets, calmly and patiently explaining that we could carry on with our lives, that the only thing that had changed was who was in charge. Men and women holding little plastic controls, that if pointed at you, made your collar explode.
Of course there were riots. The first huge demonstration outside the Houses of Parliament in London was allowed to build to a crescendo, bodies rattling doors and smashing windows. Then everyone within 2 miles of it just died. The cleanup took weeks.
If you talked sedition, you and your entire family dropped dead. The men and women in orange suits came around, removed your bodies, and left with quiet warnings of no more trouble.
The world changed. We became a twisted parody of communism. We all did as we were told, worked the job we were told to work, and tried to strive towards getting a handful of lux - Luxury Credit that could be used to buy nice things for yourself. Snitches got lux, and plenty of it.
It was only later that we realised there was no more runners. They'd made the agent too.
You never knew who was going to rat you out. If you whispered anything, you knew you were dead. If you wrote it down, it left physical evidence for your so-called friends to use to shop you for some lux. If a baby was seen without its collar fitted within a week of birth, the parents both died.
That is not to say there is no hope. We know the Unshackled are out there, trying to find ways to copy the signal that keeps us alive. We know that there are enclaves of free people living quiet lives away from us collared fools. We just don't know how to find them, and even if we did, we know we would be their doom.
--
A bit scrappy since it's stream-of-consciousness type writing, but I quite liked the way the idea took me.
| Detective Barry Jones sprinted down the street in the summer heat.
He had only been on duty for a few minutes before he got a 10-Z
After the first resurgence all law enforcement needed to adapt to a new type of peace keeping.
10-Z meant somebody's collar had detonated. Despite their absolute destructive capability the collars could not stop the individual transmitting the infection and causing a rogue strain. 20 seconds was more than enough time.
If some was bitten, they needed to be euthanized immediately. Often they fled.
If they were driving a car, or heavy machinery it could seriously escalate a horrible problem. Or worse, poor hygeine could spread the infection.
Jones arrived at the scene, he was greeted by a pair of grey camo fatigued police, militarized since the reclamation.
They noted the insignia on his coat and let him through promptly.
Barry entered the restaurant, Black Leaf.
Something was off. The victim was male and, sitting, initially bio reading revealing a healthy heart, and network data show a well serviced collar.
Jones pulled out his touch slate, accessing the cctv
The victim was sitting with another male, who had dark glasses and a large beard making facial scans unusable.
The pair appear to argue before the bearded man stands up and leaves seconds later the victim slumps. His collar detonates.
It make sense. Why would the bio scan show a healthy heart?
Jones walked around, looking underneath the table he spotted something.
A note. Reading it Jones was felt a chill.
"Doesn't add up? Took 3 of you to get this far. Next at 1300 tomorrow"
(Part1/2) | |
[WP] A few years after the world has recovered from the zombie apocalypse, everyone now is required to wear collars that will explode if a heart beat is not detected within 30 seconds. | **20 Seconds**
*20 seconds*. The allotted time we are given to save a life. 20 seconds of compressions, of mouth to mouth. Then, we step back. It's almost comical. Stare at a clock, 20 seconds seems like forever. Try and start a heart, it's passes in a single heartbeat.
After the infection, when the Collaborate passed the mandate for all living humans to wear the collars, everything changed. Heart issues became serious. They were before, but now awareness had increased. If someone sitting next to you had a heart attack, anyone and everyone knew the procedure. Whoever was closest to them would perform CPR, everyone else stepped back. *20 seconds*. If the heart didn't start beating again, the rescuer was to retreat 10 feet and allow the device to function.
Those of us in the medical field, we felt the change the hardest. Where before, we would try and try, do everything in our power to bring someone back. Now, all we had was 20 seconds, then clear the room. The reality of it was hard. Knowing that you now had to *give up* on a life was painful. I never quit, however.
How could I? Many in my field felt the same. We cried more, suffered more, and in worse cases, drank more. Yet, it was almost universally understood that we had to keep trying. Raise awareness with our patients, our friends and families.
We petitioned for a stay on the devices in hospitals. The Collaborate shot us down as swiftly as the device itself would after thirty seconds. The risk was too high.
We won't give up. We understand the risks. Even more so, we understand that there are better methods. But for now, it's 20 seconds, then give up.
20 seconds, or one heartbeat. That's all we have.
| It has been five years since "Infection 871". The zombie apocalypse that almost wiped out all of humanity, only leaving thousands alive. Most cities left in ruins. Many loved ones were lost. Rations of food and water have greatly decreased.
Despite all this, the economy has managed to rebuild itself. Farms were harvested. Trades were exchanged. Society had reached the point where life seemed as if the apocalypse had never occurred.
However, after these five years of growth, changes were made amongst our people.
"All citizens are required to wear a collar that will self destruct if a heartbeat isn't detected within 30 seconds." This sentence announced to society.
Some of us, like myself, agreed with these changes. After witnessing the violent blood shed of death and grief, I'd believe the collars would allow a great change to prevent this incident from happening again, however, most of the people didn't agree.
"As much stress as these collars give us, it's the only way to prevent the apacolypse from occurring." I told my friend, Jeffery, my survival partner during Infection 871.
"I hear you. There have been riots occurring against this new idea of collars," I replied back. "We're supposed to get the collars today, or we'll be executed right?"
"Yeah, let's get going." Jeffery answered.
We both left the house and started driving over to the Capital. Even though we were only a mile away, we could hear the shouts and chants from the people rioting. I stared at the group of people who were in rage and distress. Shaking my head, I was about to take a step out of the car, until.
"Bang."
A gunshot was fired by one of guards, hitting a man who was rooting. Jeffery quickly came out of the car first and started to treat the injured man's wound. Leaving the car, I quickly ran over to the guard who had shot.
"Shooting won't do any good! We've lost enough people from the apocalypse!" I shouted at the guard.
"It had to be done! If we don't eliminate those who refuse, it wouldn't matter who I kill or don't. We'll all die in the end from an another apocalypse if someone leaves without a collar!" He shouted back.
I clenched my hand as I took a quick glance at Jeffery, who was lifting the man to our car. Looking back, the guard's impassive eyes sent shivers down my spine. The shouts and fighting surrounded me. Confusion filled my mind.
The guard was right. If we don't give people the collars, there is always a chance of an another apacolypse occurring. However, the society with the collars would be tense and less free. The choice of a strict society or death was my option.
Jeffery came back to me and we both nodded, leaving to get our collars. We went around the aggressive crowd and entered the Capital. As we entered, men in suits greeted us into a large room filled with people getting collars of their own. The more I looked around at people putting on iron bands around their neck, armed with explosives. The more worried I became.
My breathing became rough. Sweat dripped down my face. Worry and doubt started to surround me, until Jeffery put his hand on my shoulder.
"It'll be fine." Jeffery told me.
I nodded and we went over to a lady in light blue, holding two collars for us. I put it on myself and gave a fake smile to the woman. I was glad to help in preventing danger, but what point is it to live if I have to live with a bomb on my neck. Looking over at Jeffery, I wanted to ask him to calm down, but the doors slammed open. A man covered in gun wounds fell to the ground. Horrified screams filled the room as multiple soldiers ran out of the Capital.
My eyes widened. Body frozen. Heart stopped for a few seconds. I stared at the man who lay dead on the ground. His collar read a number, "10. 9. 8." Within an instant, I grabbed Jeffery's hand and ran out of the back door of the large room. Time felt slow. My heart pounded quickly. I couldn't breathe, but I kept running. As we ran into the nearby hills, the building exploded into pieces. Killing all who was left inside it.
I wanted the collar off my neck as soon as possible. | |
[WP] A few years after the world has recovered from the zombie apocalypse, everyone now is required to wear collars that will explode if a heart beat is not detected within 30 seconds. | "Jake, JAKE." I yell as I shake my little brother, starting to panic. I check his pulse. "Shit," I murmur to myself, wishing my parents were still here. My family has a history of heart defects, which is bad enough on its own. Add in a zombie apocalypse and it's a miracle that anyone in our family survived.
Jake's pulse is weak and irregular, and the collar around his neck starts its "warning beep", once per second. I give a couple chest compressions, but I can't trick the collar into thinking Jake's pulse is normal. His heart rhythm has snapped back before, but this time it is taking too long. The beeping gets faster, and I know I have to change strategies. While Jake can last a few minutes without a strong pulse, our "Z"-collars only last 30 seconds before blasting the whole bunker with neurotoxin. Seeing no other choice, I take off his collar and swap it with my own. The fast beeping stops on his while slow beeping initiates on mine. Thirty more seconds.
When the Z-guard system became mandatory, I pleaded for an exception for Jake. He did have a heart defect, I knew he would need a pacemaker eventually. Jake was only 4 at the time of the outbreak though, and as you can imagine, surgeries are extremely rare now. Unfortunately, the powers-at-be decided it was better to "lose one life, one bunker, than risk a new zombie epidemic."
It's probably been 90 seconds now but feels like and eternity. I'm giving as many compressions as I can between collar-switching, but no response yet. That's how they get you to keep the collars on: you can't go anywhere without them and no one can do this forever. I feel bitter tears flowing down my cheeks - Jake made it through 3 years of madness on the outside, followed by 7 years underground. To lose him now, because of a stupid policy based on <1% chance of dormant infection...
Finally I hear our front door open along with, "Honey, is everything okay?" My husband is back. "I need you to get back here NOW," I yell, "Jake's down again!" My husband and I knew the risks of joining the compound, but we prepared for these situations.
"How long?" my husband asks as he starts hard, consistent compressions.
"I don't know, 2 minutes?" I say, now able to focus on collar duty.
"Geez, is that a record? Sorry I was gone so long."
Suddenly Jake groans, then sits up and coughs. "Jake," I sigh with relief, "are you okay?" His eyes are bloodshot when they open, but I know that's normal given the situation. We just need to keep him away from others so they don't freak out and claim it's a zombie symptom. I repeat, "Are you okay?" and Jake smiles at me.
"You scared us, bud," my husband says as he smiles and pats Jake on the shoulder. But then Jake's face stiffened, contorting into an expression I hadn't seen for 7 years.
| It has been five years since "Infection 871". The zombie apocalypse that almost wiped out all of humanity, only leaving thousands alive. Most cities left in ruins. Many loved ones were lost. Rations of food and water have greatly decreased.
Despite all this, the economy has managed to rebuild itself. Farms were harvested. Trades were exchanged. Society had reached the point where life seemed as if the apocalypse had never occurred.
However, after these five years of growth, changes were made amongst our people.
"All citizens are required to wear a collar that will self destruct if a heartbeat isn't detected within 30 seconds." This sentence announced to society.
Some of us, like myself, agreed with these changes. After witnessing the violent blood shed of death and grief, I'd believe the collars would allow a great change to prevent this incident from happening again, however, most of the people didn't agree.
"As much stress as these collars give us, it's the only way to prevent the apacolypse from occurring." I told my friend, Jeffery, my survival partner during Infection 871.
"I hear you. There have been riots occurring against this new idea of collars," I replied back. "We're supposed to get the collars today, or we'll be executed right?"
"Yeah, let's get going." Jeffery answered.
We both left the house and started driving over to the Capital. Even though we were only a mile away, we could hear the shouts and chants from the people rioting. I stared at the group of people who were in rage and distress. Shaking my head, I was about to take a step out of the car, until.
"Bang."
A gunshot was fired by one of guards, hitting a man who was rooting. Jeffery quickly came out of the car first and started to treat the injured man's wound. Leaving the car, I quickly ran over to the guard who had shot.
"Shooting won't do any good! We've lost enough people from the apocalypse!" I shouted at the guard.
"It had to be done! If we don't eliminate those who refuse, it wouldn't matter who I kill or don't. We'll all die in the end from an another apocalypse if someone leaves without a collar!" He shouted back.
I clenched my hand as I took a quick glance at Jeffery, who was lifting the man to our car. Looking back, the guard's impassive eyes sent shivers down my spine. The shouts and fighting surrounded me. Confusion filled my mind.
The guard was right. If we don't give people the collars, there is always a chance of an another apacolypse occurring. However, the society with the collars would be tense and less free. The choice of a strict society or death was my option.
Jeffery came back to me and we both nodded, leaving to get our collars. We went around the aggressive crowd and entered the Capital. As we entered, men in suits greeted us into a large room filled with people getting collars of their own. The more I looked around at people putting on iron bands around their neck, armed with explosives. The more worried I became.
My breathing became rough. Sweat dripped down my face. Worry and doubt started to surround me, until Jeffery put his hand on my shoulder.
"It'll be fine." Jeffery told me.
I nodded and we went over to a lady in light blue, holding two collars for us. I put it on myself and gave a fake smile to the woman. I was glad to help in preventing danger, but what point is it to live if I have to live with a bomb on my neck. Looking over at Jeffery, I wanted to ask him to calm down, but the doors slammed open. A man covered in gun wounds fell to the ground. Horrified screams filled the room as multiple soldiers ran out of the Capital.
My eyes widened. Body frozen. Heart stopped for a few seconds. I stared at the man who lay dead on the ground. His collar read a number, "10. 9. 8." Within an instant, I grabbed Jeffery's hand and ran out of the back door of the large room. Time felt slow. My heart pounded quickly. I couldn't breathe, but I kept running. As we ran into the nearby hills, the building exploded into pieces. Killing all who was left inside it.
I wanted the collar off my neck as soon as possible. | |
[WP] Sleep is controlled by the government. Every night, 8 hours of mandatory pre-approved content is streamed into our unconscious minds. One night, for you at least, the usual programming does not proceed as scheduled. | It's 12:04 AM.
My heart is pounding in my chest. My breathing, short and frayed, whisks in the air in silver fog; it's a cold night, and the stupid heater in my apartment is broken. It's taking all of my willpower to keep my teeth from chattering, like those toys.
The cold isn't the reason I'm still awake.
How? Why is this happening? I'm supposed to be *asleep.* It's government mandated, after all, a strict schedule to follow. I've never had any say in the matter. Every night, I lie in my bed a few minutes before midnight, and then pop! Out like a light.
So why not now?
I slip off the covers and stand up. I glance at the clock on my nightstand—12:06—from the corner of my eye, and take a deep, shaky breath. I'm tempted to get dressed, but think better of it; perhaps it's a glitch in the system. It's been delayed. I could fall asleep at any moment.
And then my cell phone vibrates, once. Then a second time. Someone's calling me.
I carefully toe my way across my bedroom to my dresser. My phone is sitting along the edge, charging near the outlet. I disconnect it from the wire, pick it up, and check the caller ID: all it says is **IMPORTANT.** There's not even the usual Ignore Call button. Only Accept.
I press it.
"... Hello?"
"CONGRATULATIONS, MR. SMITH." Right off the bat, I can tell the voice, while male sounding, is robotic. "YOU HAVE BEEN AUTOMATICALLY SELECTED FOR PRESERVATION BY THE COMMITTEE FOR HUMAN CONTINUITY. PLEASE GO TO THE LOCATION FORWARDED."
"P-preservation? Who is this? Who are you?!"
"POPULATION CONTROL & NECESSARY ELIMINATION IS SET TO COMMENCE SHORTLY. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY."
The call is disconnected. I yank the phone from my ear, and a GPS map has filled the screen. Arrows point to the direction I'm supposed to go, from my location.
A notification scrolls at the top of my screen. I just barely catch it before it disappears: LEAVE NOW. YOU ARE EXPOSED. HURRY.
I run to my bedroom window. I open it with one pull upward, and stick my head outside. All my neighbors lights are turned off.
My phone buzzes again. While stifling a yawn—funnily enough, I don't *feel* particularly tired—I hold it up to my eyes to read:
TIME IS UP. CONTROL HAS BEGUN. YOU HAVE BEEN REMOVED FROM THE LIST FOR PRESERVATION.
| I had never slept so well! No logic puzzles, no morality tales, just deep quiet sleep. It was such a break from the government sponsored betterment training.
I sat up smiling and looked at my husband. Joe's forehead had that crinkle of concentration that I found so cute.
I tease him, "Why so focused on eight blissful hours of a dark screen?"
His eyes filled with tears. "Goodbye, Anna."
A hot panic spread across my body.
No, no! I was compliant! There was no reason to unplug me!
I hear the heavy boots in the hallway: the reclamation crew.
I approach the door, in shock, knowing that there is nothing I can do now.
A gruff man grabs my wrist and twists it just so. I feel my body slip to the ground.
"What was wrong with this one?" I hear a young male voice ask.
The gruff man causally replies, "The new update is out." | |
[WP] With the A-list heroes on vacation it's up to Mild Inconvenience Girl and Mr. Procrastination to protect the city. | "Ugh, you have to be kidding me. Heroes on call never get called in, the big guys cover everything." I looked at my partner lazily, and was struck, as always, by how beautiful she was. I was definitely going to ask her out. But, maybe I should wait until after this alert was dealt with. I shrugged, knocking over the milk carton that I'd meant to finish for a while. I'll clean that up later.
"Forgotten already? All of the top class heroes are on vacation after saving the city from the Alliance of Evil. We're pretty much all that's left, and now that you've answered the call, we have to go for this one. Geez, what a pain."
"Well, *sooorry* that you have such an inconvenient job, but you know what? I just did my nails, and now I need to go fight crime. So how about, for once in your life, you get your ass in gear, and we go out and kick some ass?"
I stand up, and grab the car keys. "Well, when you put it that way, i guess I've got no choice. Let's go." We walk out of the flat, and then, halfway to our building's elevator, she realises that we forgot to lock our door. So we go back. I may fancy the hell out of this girl, but her power sure is a nuisance. It's a wonder that the pair of us are still together.
We arrive at our destination, every single light on our way being red, of course. The pair of us stand no chance with traffic lights. My power makes us wait, and her power means that everything that can go wrong in a minor way, will go wrong in a minor way. Sometimes I call her Murphy, just to make fun of her power. She always gets me back by calling me an overgrown sloth.
The police have the bank surrounded, just waiting for us to arrive. In spite of our status as heroes, we still have to be checked, and then briefed before we can go in. I glance at my partner, and she shrugs, as if to say 'What can you do?' And I suppose she has a point. The pair of us aren't even B-ranked heroes, we're C-ranked, which means that we can't fully control our powers.
Finally, we go in, and find a grim situation. All of the civilians are tied up, with explosives strapped to them. A man with a detonator stands in front of a pile of bags of money. His five goons stand around the pile, guns in hand.
"Not so fast!" Usually that's something a hero would cry out, but no. This time it was the leader of the gang. He's staring us down, probably trying to recognise us, and what our powers are. I guess that there are some advantages to being a no-namer.
"Preaching to the choir there. What are your demands?" The police had told us that no demands had come so far.
"Before that, who are you two? What are your powers? I want to know just who they thought we were worthy of." I sigh. Every time. Every time that the scum don't recognise you, they demand to know what kind of hero has been sent after them. And it really pisses me off. As if they can have the most famous heroes after everyone. As if everyone merits the most famous heroes.
I start trying to calm myself down, focusing on the clock on the wall, trying to make seconds stretch out longer, until I don't see red anymore. Hold on, the clock's stopped ticking. Has it just run out of batteries? I look over at my partner, after all, if it just ran out she's probably to blame. She's standing very still, facing forwards, staring, unblinking, at the gang.
**TICK**
I look back at the clock. It's moved forwards a second. I look back at my partner, her eyelids starting to close, agonisingly slowly. Experimentally, I take a step forwards, and find that I'm still able to move at my usual speed, and that everything is still slowed down. I've heard of this phenomenon. It's called an awakening.
There's a few conditions for an awakening. First, you must be a low ranked power user. Check. Second, you must be experiencing an intense emotion, such as anger at the same question being asked over and over. Check. Third, you must have just tried what your power truly is, rather than what you thought it was. Which of course means that you must be wrong about what you think your power is. All this time, I've thought that I made people lethargic, that my power is emotional manipulation, and that's what I've been trying to project, so that's what my aura has been interpreted as. But I really slow things down. It was similar enough, at least in my head, that I was making some progress, but now? Now I had a good power.
I walked over to the gang, at a leisurely pace. I disassembled their guns, removed their firing pins, then reassembled them in their hands. I grabbed the detonator, which I'm sure my partner was trying to make run out of batteries, and I removed them entirely, then replaced the device in the man's hand. I walked back to where I had been standing, and focused on letting time flow again.
"You know what? I was gonna negotiate with you, but it seems like it's just too much of a pain in the arse." I glance over at my partner and wink. She looks furious. "So here's what's going to happen. You guys are going to lay your weapons down, and walk out with your hands up. Do that, and we can guarantee that you'll survive what comes next."
The leader of the gang laughed. "You're bluffing. Waste them boys." A couple of them stepped forwards, and tried to shoot at us. Their guns just clicked, no firing pins struck their bullets. The other three tried shooting us too, but their guns were similarly disabled. The leader looked less confident now. He held up the remote. "Stay back or I blow the hostages up!"
"Well, you can try, but then everything that happens to you six will be on you. My partner here, Disaster Girl, has the power to make bad things happen to you. Like your guns mysteriously not firing, or a detonator not working, or a section of the ceiling collapsing on top of you. And believe me, when you see what I can do, you'll wish that you were dealing with her. My offer still stands. Lay down your weapons, and we'll spare you."
A long moment stretches by. Finally, they all lay down their weapons, and we lead them out, telling the police about the hostages. They arrest the robbers, and send in the bomb squad. They don't thank us. After all, we're just doing our jobs, just like them. We drive back to our apartment. When we finally get back inside, my partner turns on me.
"OK, fine, you trusted that my powers would screw with their stuff, but you really shouldn't have. We're both still C-class, and not with great powers either. And what was the deal with 'Disaster Girl'? Were you trying to show off to me, or were you just that into the bluff?"
So I told her what really happened. I told her about my awakening, and my true power. I told her that I made it seem like she was the one who stopped them, because I wanted to stay her partner, and they wouldn't let me if they found out about my power.
"As for 'Disaster Girl', it just seemed right. Besides, it's much more intimidating, and easier to say, than 'Mild Inconvenience Girl'."
"Fine, I'm going to go have a shower now, chat more when I get out."
"Wait, just one more thing. You tried to make the detonator's batteries run out, right?" She nods. "Well, I still have them. Wanna test them out?" Another nod. I put the batteries in our TV remote, and press the on/off button. The TV stays blank. A smile spreads across her face. | **Part 1**
"Yo, MIG, get in the car, we got a call," said Mr. P (Mr. Procrastination), opening Instagram for the fifth time that morning, checking for new posts.
MIG (Mild Inconvenience Girl) unlocked her Tesla by remote, forgetting to press twice, so only her side opened up. She stepped inside, waiting for Mr. P to get off his phone and tell her where to go.
"Hey. Hey! Get in the car! You said it was urgent!" she yelled, then she spoke under her breath. "Of all the heroes to to get stuck with, it had to be this guy." Mr. P tried getting in, but it was locked.
"Thanks, MIG, I was all ready to go," Mr. P said, sarcastically. MIG unlocked it and he stepped in.
"Thank you!" said MIG. "Now, where are we going?" Mr. P raised his index finger, signifying 'just wait a second', to MIG. She punched the steering wheel, honking the horn. It scared a passerby enough that they spilled half their coffee on the ground.
"421 Main Street," uttered Mr. P, opening up Snapchat and checking the new filters.
Then they were off!... for the most part. First, MIG had to find a charging station for her Tesla. 421 Main Street was about 25km away and she had 24km left on her charge. There was no sense trying to go and risking her car dying. On the way to the station she hit three yellow lights, just late enough that she had to stop or she would technically be running a red light.
"Yo, just drive through! The call was urgent," demanded Mr. P. You could always tell when Mr. P was angry, it's the only time he didn't look at his phone. The next time MIG ran the yellow-red light and a police car pulled them over.
"License and registration, please," asked the officer. MIG handed him her hero license and the car's registration.
"Oh, you're heroes," he said, surprised by the heroes casual outerwear. "You on a call?"
"Yes," answered Mr. P.
"Oh, then I better let you go then, right?" MIG and Mr. P nodded.
"Can we use our voices?" nudged the officer.
"Yes."
"Then I better let you go then, right?" he asked again.
"Yes," the heroes said and the officer left, letting them go charge the Tesla so they could answer the urgent call.
| |
[WP] With the A-list heroes on vacation it's up to Mild Inconvenience Girl and Mr. Procrastination to protect the city. | "Take a left here, take a left here!"
The car screeched past the turn without so much as slowing. "God damn it Parker! We were supposed to turn there!" I screamed at him in frustration.
"Murph, the accelerator is stuck!" Parker all but screamed at me.
"Ah shit, my bad," I tried to get my powers under control, sometimes they "leaked" so to say, and caused these inconveniences without my conscious control.
"Alright, I think we can turn left on 17th to get to the square, make sure to move to the left lane now, those asshole cab drivers won't let you later."
"Nah, it's fine," said Parker, "we will turn when the turn comes."
"Are you kidding me Parker," I said in a flat tone, "Move. *Now.*"
I felt a little bad as Parker grumbled something and moved to the left lane, but the guy was ridiculous. Like he delayed the enemy a ridiculous amount, but the procrastination applied to himself as well unfortunately.
"So what's new this time, we got some zoning law violations, some small-time corrupt magistrate, or, god-forbid, another senior citizen emporium."
"Nah, we have a terrorist attack in Union square."
The car almost swerved off the road.
"*What?!*," Parker yelled, "a bloody *terrorist* attack, what are we doing dealing with stuff like *this.* The big guys are supposed to take stuff like this."
That was true enough. The big heroes minded large scale stuff like alien invasions and nuclear missiles, while us small fries handled day to day inconveniences and petty crimes. It was good work, I didn't mind. Without us small time heroes, the civilization the big-timers fought to protect would fall apart. But here we were.
"All the top-crusts are on vacation in Honduras, but they can't come back, some arch-villain has put a containment field there, so now they're dealing with that."
"So it's up to us then," Parker asked.
"Yeah," I said solemnly.
"Damn"
I agreed.
We rounded the East side of Union square at an incredible 30 mph (seriously, for NYC, that's light-speed), and found a war-zone.
Union square itself was on fire, some kind of explosion must have gone off there. The police was firing at some guys behind overturned cabs, a little ways down second avenue.
And we were accelerating towards both of them.
"What are you doing Parker!" I never thought *he* of all people would suffer a bout of heroism. "We can't reflect bullets man! We gotta be smart about this!"
"The damn accelerator is stuck again Murph!"
Damn. Of course it was.
So we sped towards the terrorists, and they scattered to get out of the way, as we blew past the middle of the two cars they were behind. Parker turned the car sideways as we skidded to a halt, blocking the street, and acting as cover for us.
We scrambled out of the car on the opposite side of the terrorists, putting the car between us and them. I took out my handgun, us lower levels relied on mortal weaponry, at the same time Parker did. I immediately popped up and fired a couple of rounds, nailing one of the terrorists in the shoulder as they struggled to adjust to the sudden flank. I heard Parker's gun click next to me.
"Ah shit, I forgot to buy bullets," he said through gritted teeth.
"You *forgot*," I hissed.
"I *was* going to do it," he said defensively, "I go out and buy bullets every Thursday."
"Today is Friday," I said flatly.
"Yeah well, I sometimes deviate by a day or two alright?!"
I groaned. Seriously, Parker's defining personality characteristic was procrastination.
It was at that point that 2 more terrorists appeared from *behind* us.
"Oh shit!" I screamed.
"You get those guys, I'll influence the guys in the back to not rush us!" Parker said.
Everything slowed down. I turned and aimed my 9mm on one of them and took him in the head, his head snapped back and he fell with a cry. The other guy however was quick, he aimed, his gun pointed directly at me, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened at first. Then his gun exploded.
The man fell back with a cry of pain and alarm, and I shot him as he was distracted. My powers caused guns to jam all the time, but straight up *explode?* That was rare.
Behind us, the original group had not charged us, courtesy of Parker. His powers inspired a feeling of lethargy and desire to not doing anything more. His power would actually be A-level, if the procrastination didn't apply to himself. It was practically mind control.
So normally the terrorists would be retreating or changing tactics in the face of a flank like this, but instead they just stayed put like idiots, and between us and the police we got them soon enough.
We were sitting in a Starbucks a half hour later.
"You know, that was actually pretty fun," said Parker., "we should do stuff like that more often Murphy."
"Yeah, you know how to show a girl a good time Parker, I love being shot at and almost dying," I replied, but there was humor in my voice.
Parker just laughed. "You know it does beat that senior citizen emporium by a mile at least."
I couldn't argue with that.
| **Part 1**
"Yo, MIG, get in the car, we got a call," said Mr. P (Mr. Procrastination), opening Instagram for the fifth time that morning, checking for new posts.
MIG (Mild Inconvenience Girl) unlocked her Tesla by remote, forgetting to press twice, so only her side opened up. She stepped inside, waiting for Mr. P to get off his phone and tell her where to go.
"Hey. Hey! Get in the car! You said it was urgent!" she yelled, then she spoke under her breath. "Of all the heroes to to get stuck with, it had to be this guy." Mr. P tried getting in, but it was locked.
"Thanks, MIG, I was all ready to go," Mr. P said, sarcastically. MIG unlocked it and he stepped in.
"Thank you!" said MIG. "Now, where are we going?" Mr. P raised his index finger, signifying 'just wait a second', to MIG. She punched the steering wheel, honking the horn. It scared a passerby enough that they spilled half their coffee on the ground.
"421 Main Street," uttered Mr. P, opening up Snapchat and checking the new filters.
Then they were off!... for the most part. First, MIG had to find a charging station for her Tesla. 421 Main Street was about 25km away and she had 24km left on her charge. There was no sense trying to go and risking her car dying. On the way to the station she hit three yellow lights, just late enough that she had to stop or she would technically be running a red light.
"Yo, just drive through! The call was urgent," demanded Mr. P. You could always tell when Mr. P was angry, it's the only time he didn't look at his phone. The next time MIG ran the yellow-red light and a police car pulled them over.
"License and registration, please," asked the officer. MIG handed him her hero license and the car's registration.
"Oh, you're heroes," he said, surprised by the heroes casual outerwear. "You on a call?"
"Yes," answered Mr. P.
"Oh, then I better let you go then, right?" MIG and Mr. P nodded.
"Can we use our voices?" nudged the officer.
"Yes."
"Then I better let you go then, right?" he asked again.
"Yes," the heroes said and the officer left, letting them go charge the Tesla so they could answer the urgent call.
| |
[WP] everybody on Earth has a tree that represents them. Once that tree dies, that person dies too. You work as a lumberjack. | I cut a tree,
Somebody died.
I never knew,
So I never cried.
But one night when the moon was out,
With my shoulders bare and my back stout,
I minced with my axe a young yew,
Orphaned birds and woody sinew,
As I did I felt a tug round my gut,
My own belly I had somehow cut.
I collapsed pondering the riddle,
Of why I suddenly had an emptying middle.
I stared at the fallen tree,
And the answer suddenly came to me.
All those innocents I had sent up coughing,
So I could build them a sturdy coffin.
I might have wept,
I might have sighed.
Though this is all moot,
As I had already died. | The pine stood at the forefront of the hilltop grove, proud and unyielding even in the wind. Squirrels scampered across its branches, and nuthatches hopped up and down its trunk. It bustled with activity, teeming with life yet lived, but its trunk had been marked with a red X, and that meant Maurice had to cut it down.
He kicked the base of the tree, a warning sign that went mostly unheeded. They had their chance, Maurice thought, and he lifted his axe and swung. Shards of bark split from the wound, dissipating in tiny clouds. With each swing, the cut grew deeper, and Maurice's arms grew heavier. He winced as the wind buffeted him with shrapnel. Nature was resisting him in every way possible, but their efforts were futile; all Maurice needed was time.
The tenth swing was when Maurice heard the scream. The axe fell from his hands, and he whirled around, scanning the expanse for a person. His ears perked up as something rustled in the branches above, but it was nothing, just a bird or a squirrel. Maurice slumped against the tree, wiping his brow with his sleeve. His breathing returned to normal. The wind howled. Nobody else was there.
Maurice picked up his axe and swung again. And again. And on the third swing, he heard it once more. The wail assailed his ears with wordless grief. The purity of its agony drowned its tone completely; it could have come from man, woman, or child. The hairs on Maurice's back prickled as he turned around to see the nothing he expected he would find. Someone had been here, though. The presence died as the scream did, but its aftermath lingered with the echo.
He had heard stories, rumors, myths; the profession was inundated with them. Some were outlandish: trees animating, possessed by their victims, and falling unexpectedly, crushing unsuspecting lumberjacks. Some were urban legends: bands of assassins forming to protect the trees of their own number. Many, however, were born on the edge between the real and the supernatural and sustained by the anxieties that plagued practitioners of his trade. Such stories told of victims awakening in the middle of the night, buckling in pain as invisible axes cleaved into their stomachs, their skin flecks from wounds only they could see. Their spirits would flee their bodies, burrowing through the earth in search for their lifelong partner. And on arrival, they would scream and flail and do anything to catch the attention of the lumberjack performing their execution, but to no avail. In their death throes, only one or two notes would ever make it into sound.
Such were the screams that pervaded lumberjack lore, the screams that Maurice believed he was now hearing. He closed his eyes and let the wind whip the sweat off his cheeks. Hallucination or not, it didn't matter; it was only a tree and its person. Regardless of spirits and screams, both were meant to die today. He kicked the dirt between the roots, then clenched his teeth and raised his axe once more.
Two more swings, and the screaming resumed, resonating in his ears, coursing through his blood. As he made his way through the trunk, the screams grew louder and louder until agony was roaring all throughout his entire body. Maurice found himself screaming along with the victim, simultaneously partaking in and administering their pain. He yearned to stay alive, to remain with friends and family he didn't even know, but each strike of the axe sent pangs of helplessness reverberating through his body. The weight of a life cut short fled through the gash widening in his stomach.
The screaming died without warning, and the change sent Maurice off-kilter. He swung and struck empty air, stumbling forward. He shook himself from his trance: he could no longer sense the presence, and there was only a shred of bark left to cut through. Maurice gathered himself, swallowed, and made the swing.
The tree creaked and began to fall away. Maurice dropped his axe and sighed. The screams began to dissipate from his memory; they seemed so out-of-place now, so unreal, and he began to wonder if he had imagined the entire ordeal. Surely, he thought, there was a plausible explanation, a psychological reason. The myths were just that: myths.
He was too embroiled in his thoughts to notice the tree alter its course and begin to fall on top of him. | |
[WP] everybody on Earth has a tree that represents them. Once that tree dies, that person dies too. You work as a lumberjack. | I was woken up out of my day dream by the shrill blast of a whistle. My break was over, and it was time to return to the work I so hated. Picking up my massive axe, I felt like death wielding his almighty scythe, and in a way I sort of was. As we lumberjacks sat on the bus on the way to the work site, I got a text from my mom. The text read "Have a great day at work today, honey. Go keep people safe". Ironic, I thought. She still believes the lie I made up years ago about me being a police officer, and I wish I believed it to. I hated that job. Showing up everyday and knowing that every swing of the axe brought a person closer to death. It was nearly impossible not to let your mind wonder as you chop down tree after tree.
You start to notice things that give the trees their personality. The long, wide scar that travels the length of the tree, or a weirdly deformed branch as a result of a knot halfway up the tree.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
I imagined this tree in particular to be lovely old man, with a cheerful smile and one who always wears a bowtie to Sunday brunch with his grandkids: Tommy, Joseph, and Leah.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
One who always put his children first. Thwack. One who loved and revered his wife until the day she died. Thwack. Maybe she was a tree here when I first started with the company. Thwack.
With one last swing of the axe, I watched the mighty oak hang in the balance for a moment, and topple over. I had just killed someone.
"Next tree, Tommy. Quit standing around", bellowed my supervisor.
I feel my phone buzz and I look down, it's my mom again.
"Tommy, I have some terrible news..."
----------------------------------------
This is my first story on reddit, thought I'd give it a go. I'd love some feedback | We've had an over-growth issue for years. The government drug their ass and now trees and their soul matches are dropping like never before. My dad told me there was a time when people didn't know their lives were intertwined with the trees and humanity would just bull doze entire forests for resorts or parking lots. Disease and cancers were rampant and were used to justify the loss of life. The discovery was somewhat an accident, a fluke but once humanity learned that every life was bonded with a tree, things changed. People demanded the world governments change and they did. Tree care was a priority and in turn, so was life. Life was beautiful. Until recently. The sea levels has forced populations inward from the warming which means less room for people and less room for trees. We've had to systematically choose trees to cut down to make room. They put in place a hierarchy. While there is no way of knowing which tree belongs to whom unless the soul mate is present, certain forests are valued more than others. I'm fifth generation lumberjack with four generations still working. Although great-grand-dad does more of the non-physical tasks, he's still chugging along. We've been clearing a patch in southern Illinois this past week and I'm ready to be done. I've learned to block out work, it can be mindless and that's a good thing when you're, you know, killing trees. You know that refreshing mist you get when you open a cold can of pop on a hot day? Chopping trees is like that. When you hack the last hack, there's a sort of mist like opening a pop, only sad. My ear plugs and mask help. "About ready to call it a day," dad says. I nod, nearly finished with a beautiful maple. I do love trees but its not exactly like I had a choice in professions. "Alright, just.." dad stops and rubs his chest then falls to his knees. I drop my axe and run to him. He's barely breathing. "HELP" I scream. The tree I was working on popped and so did dad. This was his tree and I killed him.
Edit: spelling | |
[WP] everybody on Earth has a tree that represents them. Once that tree dies, that person dies too. You work as a lumberjack. | I cut a tree,
Somebody died.
I never knew,
So I never cried.
But one night when the moon was out,
With my shoulders bare and my back stout,
I minced with my axe a young yew,
Orphaned birds and woody sinew,
As I did I felt a tug round my gut,
My own belly I had somehow cut.
I collapsed pondering the riddle,
Of why I suddenly had an emptying middle.
I stared at the fallen tree,
And the answer suddenly came to me.
All those innocents I had sent up coughing,
So I could build them a sturdy coffin.
I might have wept,
I might have sighed.
Though this is all moot,
As I had already died. | We've had an over-growth issue for years. The government drug their ass and now trees and their soul matches are dropping like never before. My dad told me there was a time when people didn't know their lives were intertwined with the trees and humanity would just bull doze entire forests for resorts or parking lots. Disease and cancers were rampant and were used to justify the loss of life. The discovery was somewhat an accident, a fluke but once humanity learned that every life was bonded with a tree, things changed. People demanded the world governments change and they did. Tree care was a priority and in turn, so was life. Life was beautiful. Until recently. The sea levels has forced populations inward from the warming which means less room for people and less room for trees. We've had to systematically choose trees to cut down to make room. They put in place a hierarchy. While there is no way of knowing which tree belongs to whom unless the soul mate is present, certain forests are valued more than others. I'm fifth generation lumberjack with four generations still working. Although great-grand-dad does more of the non-physical tasks, he's still chugging along. We've been clearing a patch in southern Illinois this past week and I'm ready to be done. I've learned to block out work, it can be mindless and that's a good thing when you're, you know, killing trees. You know that refreshing mist you get when you open a cold can of pop on a hot day? Chopping trees is like that. When you hack the last hack, there's a sort of mist like opening a pop, only sad. My ear plugs and mask help. "About ready to call it a day," dad says. I nod, nearly finished with a beautiful maple. I do love trees but its not exactly like I had a choice in professions. "Alright, just.." dad stops and rubs his chest then falls to his knees. I drop my axe and run to him. He's barely breathing. "HELP" I scream. The tree I was working on popped and so did dad. This was his tree and I killed him.
Edit: spelling | |
[WP] everybody on Earth has a tree that represents them. Once that tree dies, that person dies too. You work as a lumberjack. | I leaned against my axe, placing my elbow on the bottom of the hilt while looking at the ledger for today. It had ten trees listed on it with their name, position, and a basic description of their build. Recently we’ve been given withered and broken trees to harvest, given the outrage that spawned from too many young and fit trees being taken down. “You’re killing our youth!” and “can’t you find a better way?” were thrown around by the locals to my company, but our hands were tied. The government recently passed a law that nuclear and coal power were unsafe for the public (one that was initially backed by the populous I might add). Solar and hydro power wasn’t going to power the ever-growing economy, so we had to revert to burning wood to get energy.
This would have been fine if it wasn’t for the trees being connected to people. No, not in a spiritual way, more of a physical way. You see, when a tree gets hurt, someone in the world gets hurt the same. Nobody knows when it started ‘cause it took a while to make the connection. Trees and people? If you told me they were connected ten years ago I would have laughed in your face. Now it’s just another part of my day.
Nobody likes being the harbinger of death, so the job of a lumberjack quickly fell past “I don’t really want to do that” to “please anything but that!” The government had to instate a draft to get people to actually harvest trees cause the lumberjack employment rate was so low. That’s where I come in, jus’ finishing up my last month of my contract, then I can go back to my old job, a line chef. It wasn’t the most glamorous, no, but at least it wasn’t killin’ people or nothin’.
I walked up to the first tree on the list and took out one of my company issued syringes. The syringe took about 20 seconds to fill up with the narcotic, and once I matched the liquid up to the right level for the size of the tree, I shoved it in the base of the trunk. I’m not sure what happens exactly to the person connected to the tree, but I’m told it makes the act of harvesting a bit less painful. After waiting about 30 more seconds I began chopping down the tree.
This tree in particular was larger than the nearby trees, with branches that extended proudly in all directions. It probably belonged to a young athlete, a shame it was on the list to be chopped down. It gets easier after the first couple trees, it really does. Once you forget the fact that there’s a person on the other end of what you’re cutting down it’s not so bad. Sometimes I like to make it easier to forget the travesty by singing aloud to myself. If I can sing loud enough I can ignore the screams of those I cut down earlier in my head.
‘Eight trees down, two to go,’ I thought to myself. Syringe out, drugs in, and wait. I was getting a little tired while waiting, probably ‘cause of the last couple trees were thicker than usual. I thought I had a light cold the last couple days, that wouldn’t help much. I leaned against my axe, placing most of my weight against it now, feeling heavier than usual, and looked up at the tree. I didn’t notice it before but this tree seemed more beautiful than the others. It looked comfortable, like something I could live on if I built a treehouse for it. The leaves turned towards me, and if I were a lesser man I might think the tree was tryin’ to talk to me. Trees can’t talk, that’s ridiculous. I hefted up my axe and swung directly at the base of the tree. With each swing it became more difficult to recover, I might have to skip my last tree today and head home early, hopefully my boss would understand. By the end of the harvesting session I could hardly stand, but I was almost done, and determined to get at least nine out of my ten tree quota. With a deep breath I heaved against the tree.
| We've had an over-growth issue for years. The government drug their ass and now trees and their soul matches are dropping like never before. My dad told me there was a time when people didn't know their lives were intertwined with the trees and humanity would just bull doze entire forests for resorts or parking lots. Disease and cancers were rampant and were used to justify the loss of life. The discovery was somewhat an accident, a fluke but once humanity learned that every life was bonded with a tree, things changed. People demanded the world governments change and they did. Tree care was a priority and in turn, so was life. Life was beautiful. Until recently. The sea levels has forced populations inward from the warming which means less room for people and less room for trees. We've had to systematically choose trees to cut down to make room. They put in place a hierarchy. While there is no way of knowing which tree belongs to whom unless the soul mate is present, certain forests are valued more than others. I'm fifth generation lumberjack with four generations still working. Although great-grand-dad does more of the non-physical tasks, he's still chugging along. We've been clearing a patch in southern Illinois this past week and I'm ready to be done. I've learned to block out work, it can be mindless and that's a good thing when you're, you know, killing trees. You know that refreshing mist you get when you open a cold can of pop on a hot day? Chopping trees is like that. When you hack the last hack, there's a sort of mist like opening a pop, only sad. My ear plugs and mask help. "About ready to call it a day," dad says. I nod, nearly finished with a beautiful maple. I do love trees but its not exactly like I had a choice in professions. "Alright, just.." dad stops and rubs his chest then falls to his knees. I drop my axe and run to him. He's barely breathing. "HELP" I scream. The tree I was working on popped and so did dad. This was his tree and I killed him.
Edit: spelling | |
[WP] everybody on Earth has a tree that represents them. Once that tree dies, that person dies too. You work as a lumberjack. | I cut a tree,
Somebody died.
I never knew,
So I never cried.
But one night when the moon was out,
With my shoulders bare and my back stout,
I minced with my axe a young yew,
Orphaned birds and woody sinew,
As I did I felt a tug round my gut,
My own belly I had somehow cut.
I collapsed pondering the riddle,
Of why I suddenly had an emptying middle.
I stared at the fallen tree,
And the answer suddenly came to me.
All those innocents I had sent up coughing,
So I could build them a sturdy coffin.
I might have wept,
I might have sighed.
Though this is all moot,
As I had already died. | I was woken up out of my day dream by the shrill blast of a whistle. My break was over, and it was time to return to the work I so hated. Picking up my massive axe, I felt like death wielding his almighty scythe, and in a way I sort of was. As we lumberjacks sat on the bus on the way to the work site, I got a text from my mom. The text read "Have a great day at work today, honey. Go keep people safe". Ironic, I thought. She still believes the lie I made up years ago about me being a police officer, and I wish I believed it to. I hated that job. Showing up everyday and knowing that every swing of the axe brought a person closer to death. It was nearly impossible not to let your mind wonder as you chop down tree after tree.
You start to notice things that give the trees their personality. The long, wide scar that travels the length of the tree, or a weirdly deformed branch as a result of a knot halfway up the tree.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
I imagined this tree in particular to be lovely old man, with a cheerful smile and one who always wears a bowtie to Sunday brunch with his grandkids: Tommy, Joseph, and Leah.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
One who always put his children first. Thwack. One who loved and revered his wife until the day she died. Thwack. Maybe she was a tree here when I first started with the company. Thwack.
With one last swing of the axe, I watched the mighty oak hang in the balance for a moment, and topple over. I had just killed someone.
"Next tree, Tommy. Quit standing around", bellowed my supervisor.
I feel my phone buzz and I look down, it's my mom again.
"Tommy, I have some terrible news..."
----------------------------------------
This is my first story on reddit, thought I'd give it a go. I'd love some feedback | |
[WP] Your morality is indicated by a marking on your throat. It is the outline of an oval and is filled in further when you consciously do evil. When you consciously do good, it is emptied appropriately. When yours is full, you simply die. You notice at a young age that your oval never fills in. | It's funny how much people will judge you off of appearances alone.
Okay, I'll admit that this has been true throughout most if not all of human history, but you'll have to agree that superficial judgements have become significantly more commonplace ever since the Marking happened. I mean, when the law literally requires you to wear your heart on your sleeve (or in this case, your throat to be more accurate), I guess it really is hard not to.
For those of you who live outside the realm overseen by the Advent Administration, or live in some happy alternate timeline where humanity wasn't so stupid and buffoonish as to blast radioactive waste all over the land that hadn't already been ravaged from irreparable environmental damage, you might be confused. But it's a good thing you are, because you don't have to live through the hell that is the Advent's utopia.
The Advent created a lovely little bubble in the middle of all the wasteland we created, a place where humans would be able to start anew and be given another shot at civilization. The hope was that at least this time, we wouldn't screw things up nearly as much as we did before. To ensure we would all be goodie-two-shoe law-abiding citizens, everyone citizen in this new world was Marked.
The Mark is imprinted at birth, and no one out in the streets really knows how they do it. As far as everyone knows, it's some kind of tattoo of sorts, cause you can't really get it off. Believe me, I've known people who've tried to burn it off with acid, skin it off, the works. It just doesn't come off. Even when you cut it off, it just grows right back, the outline of this round black oval that encompasses your windpipe.
I don't know how they determine this, but someone or some people long ago came up with some arbitrary system of what was "right" and what was "wrong". And somehow, this little piece of geometry printed on your throat would know if you were being naughty or nice. Do something "bad", it begins to color in. Do something "good", and the color fades away. Pretty simple, huh? Great way to make sure people pay their bills and toss a few coins to the homeless every once in a while.
Only the difference between the Father Christmas analogy I made earlier and our reality – if I recall that old bit of Earthen mythology correctly – is that the kids back then got off really easy with a bit of coal. Us? Once our mark fills in, it blocks up our trachea. It's quite a sight you know, watching someone wheezing themselves blue in the middle of the street, causing quite a disturbance, most likely going to be left to die unless some poor sod tries to help them cause he too is close to death and needs to get his obligatory good deed in before it's too late.
So yeah, it's pretty fun. For all the suckers who have to deal with this, that is.
A game that middle-schoolers love to play at sleepovers as they huddle under sheets is whispering and confiding to another the first time their oval filled in. It's almost a sacred ritual of sorts, letting people know the first time you did something definitively wrong after the age of ten, where the Mark actually goes into effect (the Advent at least decided that they wouldn't kill off any children from stealing from the cookie jar). It was always a bit annoying for me, since I never had a moment where my Mark got filled.
Back then, it was almost a mark of shame. Or I guess it was the lack of a mark of shame that was shameful. Fact is, everyone goofs up eventually. Except me apparently. To everyone else growing up around me, I was always the most straight-arrow, straight-laced, straight-whatever person they had ever met, the paragon who never did wrong. Back then, it had made me quite the target of ridicule and schoolyard bullying, as people would play games trying to provoke me into doing something, anything "bad".
When the teachers first pulled me off Jack Stevens, they didn't pay attention to my Mark under all the blood and snot. I didn't even notice myself, until I was washing myself in the bathroom outside the principal's office, and found myself staring at a very empty Mark.
I didn't know what to think of it until hours later, long after I was suspended for the rest of the week and sent home alongside a teary mother who couldn't believe her son could have committed such an act. She had even pointed out at my empty Mark, and everyone had been amazed at how quickly I had committed some kind of good deed to empty it out. But I knew the truth.
Once my parents had gone off to sleep, I had tested it. In really tame manners really. Going outside after the state-enforced curfew, just for a few moments. Stealing a few sweets without asking my mother first. Drawing on a few walls in my closet in permanent marker. While those walls were definitely marked, my throat was not. I was still clean.
I didn't realize the full extent of how much a blessing and a curse it was at that age. A blessing in the way that I wasn't like the many desperate Scrooges (that's what we called them) who wandered the streets, people who were on the brink of death, begging all who passed by to let them do just one good deed, just one good thing to save them. A curse in the way that I actually had to keep up my aura of pure morality, at least in public. People would get suspicious if my Mark didn't fill in after I obviously did something bad. The Advent would get suspicious if my Mark didn't fill. And I didn't want that.
The Mark was interesting because there wasn't a way you could really cover it up. The law forbade people from covering it with clothing, and if you did, then you just colored yourself a few millimeters closer to death. If you tried to cover it up with makeup, the Mark would soon show through it, no matter how thickly you tried to layer it.
In my case however, I discovered that black marker did a really fine job of making a faux Mark. Interestingly enough, there wasn't a built-in countermeasure towards pretending to be more "bad" than you really were.
It was enough to dispel most attention. I would vary the amount I had day to day, just to blend in with everyone else. It was a pity my mother found out despite all my precautions.
And so that leads me back to how quickly people judged another off of appearances alone. When the ambulance arrived to pick up my mother's corpse, they saw the purple face, blue lips, and black throat, and immediately assumed my mother had committed some heinous wrongs. Never once did they consider that she had simply realized her son's Mark was glitched, and upon refusing to tell the authorities about it, it had killed her on the spot.
An eye opening experience I'll have to admit, towards the benevolence of the government.
Let me tell you another one about how quick we are to judge.
Many of the Advent officials around here, they can only become high up with a prerequisite cap on the size of their mark. I mean, most jobs screen off of a similar basis, but working directly as an Advent executive requires a prohibitively small Mark. Having a Mark that empty generally entails a person who is built towards order, towards conformity, towards thinking inside the box and following the rules, and so it is that most people like that end up working for the Advent anyway.
Me? I'm the guy they assume is one of them. They pass by me with knowing looks, a friendly nod, a smile they give to me but not the woman beside me with a half-filled Mark. Whenever a Scrooge passes by the two of us, they always meet my gaze and shake their heads slightly, as if to say "can you believe this guy?"
They never expect the wire. They never expect to ever actually experience the sensation of having your throat close in tight around itself, cutting off your air supply, slowly starving your brain of that delicious oxygen. They follow me blindly into nice and isolated locations, secure in their belief I can do no wrong, they I have done no wrong.
And when the deed is done, they never suspect. Murder is a crime that pretty much fills in your Mark right away. It still happens, but very rarely do people get away with it. Except for in the cases where your Mark doesn't fill in. Except for when, at first glance, an empty oval means you can be none other than a paragon of justice. | "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. The Golden Rule. The ultimate principle."
"More generally," she continued, "do only that which, if everyone did it, would leave a desirable world."
I feel these rules deep in my gut. But I am something no one is ready for. I'm the hornet. I ride the wave and feel no pain because I know the essence of it. I am a chaotic variable. Try to stop me.
When I cut you, it's because I wouldn't mind if you cut me back. I wouldn't mind if everyone in the world cut each other. I'm only doing what I would be okay with others doing unto me.
I just happen to be the best at it. And I don't want to stop. But I recognize your right to stop me. The question is -- can you? | |
[WP] One day you find a broken mp3 player. It still plays music, but is stuck on shuffle. As you listen to the player you notice that the music seems to set the perfect mood for what's happening around you. One day the mp3 player starts playing O Fortuna. | Nestled in my chest pocket, the music slowly began changing. I had found it years ago on the subway, tucked in between the bars on the blue line. Somehow, whenever I hit play, the music felt right.
I remember that time on the way out of the strip club, I had been walking home and on came Highway to the Danger Zone. That was the first time I realized how coincidental the music choices seemed. I avoided the drive-by that night, and I quickly learned to pay more attention to what it was showing me. I have always been one to accept the gifts I receive in life.
It was quiet at first, almost serene. I smiled, feeling comfortable with the notes. Soon they became a little more manic, a little more...troubled. I started searching as the tempo rose, and the pitch climbed higher. Suddenly as the bass trembled, I felt much more vibration than could be the music alone. Desperately craning my neck, I saw the windows begin to shake, and the feeling of dread began to wash over me. It was becoming to much to handle, but I couldn't bare to rip the headphones out to hear what was moving my way.
Suddenly everything was still for a moment, before a sudden surge of water crashed down around the corner. It was immense, like a sea suddenly appearing. The water could not be stopped, simply washing over anyone and anything in its path. With a sudden clarity as the music began to quiet, I turned and sprinted. It was a blur of awareness that kept me running, leaping the strewn garbage and dodging the people frozen in fear.
As I ran, looking back over my shoulder, the music continued to play. Beautiful low brass, fueling my adrenaline even further. I ran what seemed like miles in only minutes. I grappled with my key, the doorman of course, never there when I needed him. As soon as I hit the lobby, I took flight again. Only for a moment eyeing the elevator, I realized being trapped inside as the water rose would be the worst way to go. The emergency alarms went off as I wrenched open the fire door and ascended to the rooftop. The music had reached a nearly feverish pitch, and despite all my desire to hear it end, I could not manage to remove my headphones.
The trepidation was high as I inched towards the edge of the roof, the music gaining still in momentum. Looking down below, cars awash, the bodies floating in the current, it was truly horrifying. Finally, the music began to fade out, the final close, as the water seemed to recede. Everything seemed to be settling back as if nothing had ever happened, and I finally felt the draw to pull my headphones out. I was expecting the sounds of emergency sirens, of people crying for help. Instead I was hearing the sounds of the buses, airbrakes exhaling in the distance. The soft murmur of a million voices. The soft hum of air conditioning units.
I sat there, exhausted both mentally and physically. I reached into my pocket to grab a smoke, and found a small vial I had forgotten about. Now that I think about it, he did say only take two drops... | I was walking along the road on Saturday, as usual going to get groceries for my grandmother. There is always a nice peaceful classical music on these days, but on those horrible rainy days, there is sad and pathetic music playing from the strange MP3 Player. On exciting times such as going on a trip with the family, it would play exciting lively music! Strangely, as I was making my way towards the usual shop where I would collect groceries the music suddenly changed shocking me. It sent a chill down my spine as I knew full well what this would mean. Something was about to happen that would potentially change my life forever. A chill ran down my spine as I looked on the MP3 Player, it said "O Fortuna" as the music it was playing. As soon as this happened, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an insanely huge horned bull the size of two houses stacked on top of each other. It's huge mass made me paralysed with fear. The large bulk of mass it carried with it shook the ground as though thunder was mercilessly crashing down onto the ground. It grabbed a lamppost from the street and ripped it straight out of the ground and started waving it at the nearest alive thing. Me. I quickly ran away as the bull made horrendous screeching noises, then I knew one thing. The bull did not stop until I was dead. Perhaps it was the MP3 Player doing all of this? I threw the MP3 Player at the bull as fast as I could while running. I didn't stop to look back, all I wanted to do was run forwards, not stopping. I still heard O Fortuna playing. As I ran, it went quieter and quieter as I sprinted down the street until I could hear no more.
I can never listen to O Fortuna ever again, whenever I hear it I just panic and remember the day when that monster appeared and as suddenly vanished.
This is the first time I wrote a story on this subreddit sorry if it's bad. :P | |
[WP] You're a history major. Your final exam is to travel back in time and successfully pass as a normal, everyday citizen. It's not going well. | EXT. VILLAGE - NIGHT
1692
Sparks float idly against the black sky. Below, villagers have gathered around a pile of wood, stoking it from the bottom. They shout and chant and cheer.
TIMMY, in the same colonial wear as the villagers, is tied to a post at the top, tears trickling, watching helplessly as the flames ride higher and higher toward him.
POV
The hellish orange, licking, lapping, then finally engulfing -
BLACK
INT. CLASSROOM - DAY
The class, and the teacher, MRS. JORGANSEN watch as Timmy materializes on a matted metallic pedestal, the front and sides of which are blinking with lights. Next to him is a roll-out CRT television set, displaying the village folk still angrily stoking a now Timmy-less pile of burning wood.
Timmy stands up and wipes away some tears, he still wears the colonial outfit. His pants are singed at the ankles.
TIMMY
And that -
(sniff sniff)
Concludes my -
(sniff)
My presentation.
Mrs. Jorgansen sets down a large remote control and grabs a clipboard to take notes.
MRS. JORGANSEN
Okay Timmy. I wanted to see you do a little better.
He wipes more tears, nodding lightly.
MRS. JORGANSEN
Did you mention Green Day at one point?
TIMMY
I didn't know what to talk about. It was scary!
MRS. JORGANSEN
Okay, okay. I'm giving you a C. There is extra credit
still, remember.
Timmy nods defeatedly and returns to his desk.
MRS. JORGANSEN
Okay next is Theresa. Theresa?
THERESA, wide-eyed, gulps and starts slowly toward the front of the class. She wears leopard print cave-woman get-up.
MRS. JORGANSEN
I did receive your doctor's note, so you can take it a
little easier. Try to join the gathering sect.
Theresa nods grimly.
| "Alright, finals start in five minutes so get your gear ready and get in line. There's a list of available times for those who haven't chosen yet outside the door." My history teacher starts firing up the Time EX as students line up single file.
I've never been good at history, in fact I've only chosen it as a major because both my parents are certified time travelers.
"Remember, no phones, inflatable cars, of really anything that signifies where you came from. You have twenty four hours to finish your objective, no more no less."
Damn, Mr. Crawford definitely has a stick up his ass (not like I haven't noticed before). Just let us fool around a bit! Who's it going to hurt? I was extremely excited. I've been learning German for months just for this. It's my turn finally, so I punch in the date: September 1, 1939. I chose one of the more difficult objectives I suppose but it was the more popular. Nothing like killing Hitler to make you a word re known hero! I wait for a few seconds inside the Time EX and felt the familiar tingling wash over my body as every single atom was separated from my being. It isn't exactly a pleasant experience but I'll manage.
When I arrived, I was a little farther from Hitler's speech site than expected. Naturally, being the idiot that I am, I pulled out my phone and opened up the gps. Shit, no bars. Fucking AT&T. Before I realized what I was doing, a passerby saw me holding my phone and she looked at me visibly confused. She walked over and pointed at my phone, "Why is your soap bar glowing??! What is it doing!" She stared, mesmerized before snatching my phone. "Hey!" I yelled when she ran off with it, "GODDAMNIT!" So, I asked around seeing if anyone else was going to listen to Hitler's speech. Sure enough, a small group was on their way and I just followed a few steps behind.
Once I made it, I was too far from the stage to do anything. I want to get this over with so I can sightsee around during my last few hours. Slowly, I made my way through the crowd towards the stage with my knife rested in my pocket. Thank god I decided to grab the uniform instead of the commoners clothes because the henchmen let me through right away. I decided to play it safe and hide in Hitler's quarters until after the speech. He walked in a half hour later.
"Hitler?" I said in amazement. "Please, call me Adolf", he replied in a calm, even tone, "I've never seen you before, are you new? In which case, why are you in my quarters?"
I froze. All this anticipation, all this preparation never prepared me for the calm and charming individual that stood before me. "Wait, are you a filthy Jew? Why are you here!"
Oh yeah, that's why I came here.
I grabbed my knife and was at his throat in an instant. "Speak, and you die. Do not scream or call for help or you die." My sadistic side thought about torturing him, or even just messing with him. But in that moment of fantasy, I loosened my grip and he screamed for his henchmen outside the door. I bolted without hesitation as the men stormed in after me. Alas, my skinny white self could not run faster than the beefy men that Hitler, sorry, Adolf kept by his side. They put a bag over my head and hauled me out to some place I am unsure of.
Well, guess I'm not passing my exam. | |
[WP] You're a history major. Your final exam is to travel back in time and successfully pass as a normal, everyday citizen. It's not going well. | The chatter of the townsfolk in the courtyard below was drifting through the tiny window at the top of my cell and echoing around the small, dank chamber. I listened to the small-talk of the washer-women, interspersed with the screaming of playing children and horses hooves while I watched the latest drip of moisture make its slow journey from the high window to the floor.
Half of the mouldy bread roll I'd found next to the door three days ago still lay in my hand; I'd been forcing myself to ration, but daren't leave it on the floor for the rats. The twentieth drip had almost reached the floor now, soon I could allow myself another bite of the roll, but not before I'd shifted my body across the floor, placed my head beneath the drip, extended my tongue and savoured the sweet, cold moisture. I ate my next portion of the damp, green bread as slowly as possible, savouring every chew.
Nobody had visited my cell in three days, and god only knew how long it would be before the next.
---
*Wikipedia*
*The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower (Person)*
The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower *refers to the unknown man who was taken captive by the forces at* Galdor Castle *for unclear reasons during a particularly bloody civil war. He went on to remain captive in the castle for over three years after the war finished.*
*There is little literature regarding the identity of the prisoner apart from excerpts of his diary, written while in captivity, discovered in 1994 between the pages of a book in the castle's library. Originally the source of controversy, they were eventually proven authentic when the ink and paper were subjected to radio-carbon dating in 1999.*
*The fact that the man could read and write, a rarity among the majority of the population at the time, has led some to suggest that he was a member of the clergy, although this is disputed by historians who cite the strange style of language used, which was closer to modern English than any other document from the time; the clergy at the time wrote exclusively in Latin.*
---
When I next opened my eyes there was nothing but blackness. I must have finally slept. That's when I heard the sound of scraping metal and footsteps on stone, faintly echoing through the narrow corridor outside. Gradually an orange flickering glow became visible, shapeless at first, indistinguishable between reality and a dream, the silhouette of the archway which formed the entrance to my cell began to take form, growing brighter and brighter with every heavy footstep.
Instinctively I reached for my weapon, and for the hundredth time cursed myself under my breath for losing it in the manner I had. The scraping of metal armour and the jangling of keys grew louder until two large figures stood blocking the light in the doorway. The iron bars screeched as one of the men dragged open the heavy iron doorframe. More strange words were angrily barked in my direction, presumably an order to stand and follow them. An order I would have happily followed if only I'd had the strength. Instead I was dragged out of my cell by my feet and back into the darkness of the corridor.
As we began to descend the stairs, still being dragged by my feet, I lost consciousness on the first step.
---
*The diary and written literature are not clear on what became of the prisoner; some accounts from the time refer to the 'disappearance' of a long-term prisoner from the castle, but whether this refers to him or another prisoner is unclear due to the entry being undated.*
*Historians argue over how he wrote with ink and paper while in captivity, most have indicated the possibility that he was given the freedom of the castle when it was liberated by the King's troops, although not granted full freedom for some reason. While many wild theories abound as to the eventual demise of the prisoner, the general consensus is that he either died in captivity or soon after release.*
---
My head pounded from behind, the world span, I touched the back of my head and screamed in agony as I made contact; my hair was matted with blood and I could feel it trickling down my spine. I tried to open my eyes but immediately dry heaved, with no food or water for days I had nothing to vomit. The head injury combined with the dehydration meant that I hadn't even noticed my broken ribs or ruptured spleen.
---
*The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower (Movie)*
*The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower is a cult movie released by previously unknown director Stephen Quinn in 2017, premiering at the Cannes film festival of the same year and based on the controversial diary excerpts from Galdor Castle which are held at the Museum of London.*
*The movie stars Jesse Eisenberg as Richard, a young post-grad history student in the future who, in order to complete his degree, has to visit his chosen historical event in the past and successfully pass himself off as a local. The movie has been praised for incorporating local myths and spoken legend within the plot, which have been attributed to the movie ammassing a huge cult following.*
---
I awoke to cold water passing over my lips, I eagerly drank, licking my dry, flaking lips as I tried to divert every drip of moisture into my mouth. I peeled open my eyes and peered into the blurry half-light, trying to focus on something for the first time in what felt like months. A kindly face, a woman. As my vision cleared, I noticed it was an elderly peasant woman, her wrinkled skin and hands showed a life of hard work, but mostly they had the typical elderly peasant look of hard-earned wisdom. I tried to utter hello in my best accent, but all that came out was a gargled croak.
“Hush now.” Spoke a kindly voice in unfaltering modern English. “Drink and rest, swallow this, open your mouth.” As I obliged, she placed the bread onto my tongue. It was wet, and tasted bitter and rancid on my tongue.
“Now swallow,” she ordered in a stern yet gentle voice.
I swallowed the bread, took another drink of the water and stared back at her. Her eyes looked younger than her face.
“Who are you?” I croaked, unsure if she'd understand my rasping attempt at speech.
“A friend.”
It only hit me now that this woman had been speaking modern English to me. I had no words, my mind was still reeling as I tried to understand what was happening. She looked into my eyes, as if hearing my thoughts.
“They moved you here to be presented before the King tomorrow. I know you have questions, but this isn't the time.” She was staring at her palm, swiping her fingers across it as if it were a tablet. “The guards won't come past again for 12 minutes, and the diversion team will be here in 4.” She grinned at me now, suddenly much more relaxed. She looked much younger than she had, her wrinkles seemed to be fading away.
Whatever she'd made me eat was starting to work, my bloody and bandaged head felt almost normal, I could breathe easily now without pain and my legs already felt stronger. I cleared my throat, licking my parched lips and took another sip of the water.
“You're from the future too, right? That's why you can change your appearance like that. So this is a rescue mission?”
“Oh it's definitely a rescue!” Grinning from ear to ear, she took my hand, her wrinkles now all but gone and her hair now shimmering blonde, “but I'm definitely not *from* the future.” She giggled.
---
*The Prisoner in the Eastern Tower (2017) : Plot Synopsis*
*Arriving a few weeks before the famous siege, Richard (Eisenberg) becomes side-tracked rescuing a young girl from the hands of a group of soldiers in the woods. The men return to kill him and he is forced into hiding with the girl and the local villagers. Eventually captured, his equipment is hidden by the girl's family, who attempt a rescue with the help of other villagers.*
*While the rescue ultimately fails and Eisenberg's character goes on to become the fabled 'Prisoner in the East Tower', his various interactions with the villagers and their attempted rescue turns the common public against their dislikeable feudal lord. The commoners' uprising coincides with an attack on the rebel castle by the King's troops and becomes the deciding factor in the battle, subsequently ending the war.*
*Like the diary, the movie's conclusion is unclear on what later becomes of the protagonist. The closing scene shows the young girl digging up the time-traveller's equipment, fiddling with the controls, and staring up at the castle.*
| "Alright, finals start in five minutes so get your gear ready and get in line. There's a list of available times for those who haven't chosen yet outside the door." My history teacher starts firing up the Time EX as students line up single file.
I've never been good at history, in fact I've only chosen it as a major because both my parents are certified time travelers.
"Remember, no phones, inflatable cars, of really anything that signifies where you came from. You have twenty four hours to finish your objective, no more no less."
Damn, Mr. Crawford definitely has a stick up his ass (not like I haven't noticed before). Just let us fool around a bit! Who's it going to hurt? I was extremely excited. I've been learning German for months just for this. It's my turn finally, so I punch in the date: September 1, 1939. I chose one of the more difficult objectives I suppose but it was the more popular. Nothing like killing Hitler to make you a word re known hero! I wait for a few seconds inside the Time EX and felt the familiar tingling wash over my body as every single atom was separated from my being. It isn't exactly a pleasant experience but I'll manage.
When I arrived, I was a little farther from Hitler's speech site than expected. Naturally, being the idiot that I am, I pulled out my phone and opened up the gps. Shit, no bars. Fucking AT&T. Before I realized what I was doing, a passerby saw me holding my phone and she looked at me visibly confused. She walked over and pointed at my phone, "Why is your soap bar glowing??! What is it doing!" She stared, mesmerized before snatching my phone. "Hey!" I yelled when she ran off with it, "GODDAMNIT!" So, I asked around seeing if anyone else was going to listen to Hitler's speech. Sure enough, a small group was on their way and I just followed a few steps behind.
Once I made it, I was too far from the stage to do anything. I want to get this over with so I can sightsee around during my last few hours. Slowly, I made my way through the crowd towards the stage with my knife rested in my pocket. Thank god I decided to grab the uniform instead of the commoners clothes because the henchmen let me through right away. I decided to play it safe and hide in Hitler's quarters until after the speech. He walked in a half hour later.
"Hitler?" I said in amazement. "Please, call me Adolf", he replied in a calm, even tone, "I've never seen you before, are you new? In which case, why are you in my quarters?"
I froze. All this anticipation, all this preparation never prepared me for the calm and charming individual that stood before me. "Wait, are you a filthy Jew? Why are you here!"
Oh yeah, that's why I came here.
I grabbed my knife and was at his throat in an instant. "Speak, and you die. Do not scream or call for help or you die." My sadistic side thought about torturing him, or even just messing with him. But in that moment of fantasy, I loosened my grip and he screamed for his henchmen outside the door. I bolted without hesitation as the men stormed in after me. Alas, my skinny white self could not run faster than the beefy men that Hitler, sorry, Adolf kept by his side. They put a bag over my head and hauled me out to some place I am unsure of.
Well, guess I'm not passing my exam. | |
[WP] You're a history major. Your final exam is to travel back in time and successfully pass as a normal, everyday citizen. It's not going well. | The chatter of the townsfolk in the courtyard below was drifting through the tiny window at the top of my cell and echoing around the small, dank chamber. I listened to the small-talk of the washer-women, interspersed with the screaming of playing children and horses hooves while I watched the latest drip of moisture make its slow journey from the high window to the floor.
Half of the mouldy bread roll I'd found next to the door three days ago still lay in my hand; I'd been forcing myself to ration, but daren't leave it on the floor for the rats. The twentieth drip had almost reached the floor now, soon I could allow myself another bite of the roll, but not before I'd shifted my body across the floor, placed my head beneath the drip, extended my tongue and savoured the sweet, cold moisture. I ate my next portion of the damp, green bread as slowly as possible, savouring every chew.
Nobody had visited my cell in three days, and god only knew how long it would be before the next.
---
*Wikipedia*
*The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower (Person)*
The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower *refers to the unknown man who was taken captive by the forces at* Galdor Castle *for unclear reasons during a particularly bloody civil war. He went on to remain captive in the castle for over three years after the war finished.*
*There is little literature regarding the identity of the prisoner apart from excerpts of his diary, written while in captivity, discovered in 1994 between the pages of a book in the castle's library. Originally the source of controversy, they were eventually proven authentic when the ink and paper were subjected to radio-carbon dating in 1999.*
*The fact that the man could read and write, a rarity among the majority of the population at the time, has led some to suggest that he was a member of the clergy, although this is disputed by historians who cite the strange style of language used, which was closer to modern English than any other document from the time; the clergy at the time wrote exclusively in Latin.*
---
When I next opened my eyes there was nothing but blackness. I must have finally slept. That's when I heard the sound of scraping metal and footsteps on stone, faintly echoing through the narrow corridor outside. Gradually an orange flickering glow became visible, shapeless at first, indistinguishable between reality and a dream, the silhouette of the archway which formed the entrance to my cell began to take form, growing brighter and brighter with every heavy footstep.
Instinctively I reached for my weapon, and for the hundredth time cursed myself under my breath for losing it in the manner I had. The scraping of metal armour and the jangling of keys grew louder until two large figures stood blocking the light in the doorway. The iron bars screeched as one of the men dragged open the heavy iron doorframe. More strange words were angrily barked in my direction, presumably an order to stand and follow them. An order I would have happily followed if only I'd had the strength. Instead I was dragged out of my cell by my feet and back into the darkness of the corridor.
As we began to descend the stairs, still being dragged by my feet, I lost consciousness on the first step.
---
*The diary and written literature are not clear on what became of the prisoner; some accounts from the time refer to the 'disappearance' of a long-term prisoner from the castle, but whether this refers to him or another prisoner is unclear due to the entry being undated.*
*Historians argue over how he wrote with ink and paper while in captivity, most have indicated the possibility that he was given the freedom of the castle when it was liberated by the King's troops, although not granted full freedom for some reason. While many wild theories abound as to the eventual demise of the prisoner, the general consensus is that he either died in captivity or soon after release.*
---
My head pounded from behind, the world span, I touched the back of my head and screamed in agony as I made contact; my hair was matted with blood and I could feel it trickling down my spine. I tried to open my eyes but immediately dry heaved, with no food or water for days I had nothing to vomit. The head injury combined with the dehydration meant that I hadn't even noticed my broken ribs or ruptured spleen.
---
*The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower (Movie)*
*The Prisoner of the Eastern Tower is a cult movie released by previously unknown director Stephen Quinn in 2017, premiering at the Cannes film festival of the same year and based on the controversial diary excerpts from Galdor Castle which are held at the Museum of London.*
*The movie stars Jesse Eisenberg as Richard, a young post-grad history student in the future who, in order to complete his degree, has to visit his chosen historical event in the past and successfully pass himself off as a local. The movie has been praised for incorporating local myths and spoken legend within the plot, which have been attributed to the movie ammassing a huge cult following.*
---
I awoke to cold water passing over my lips, I eagerly drank, licking my dry, flaking lips as I tried to divert every drip of moisture into my mouth. I peeled open my eyes and peered into the blurry half-light, trying to focus on something for the first time in what felt like months. A kindly face, a woman. As my vision cleared, I noticed it was an elderly peasant woman, her wrinkled skin and hands showed a life of hard work, but mostly they had the typical elderly peasant look of hard-earned wisdom. I tried to utter hello in my best accent, but all that came out was a gargled croak.
“Hush now.” Spoke a kindly voice in unfaltering modern English. “Drink and rest, swallow this, open your mouth.” As I obliged, she placed the bread onto my tongue. It was wet, and tasted bitter and rancid on my tongue.
“Now swallow,” she ordered in a stern yet gentle voice.
I swallowed the bread, took another drink of the water and stared back at her. Her eyes looked younger than her face.
“Who are you?” I croaked, unsure if she'd understand my rasping attempt at speech.
“A friend.”
It only hit me now that this woman had been speaking modern English to me. I had no words, my mind was still reeling as I tried to understand what was happening. She looked into my eyes, as if hearing my thoughts.
“They moved you here to be presented before the King tomorrow. I know you have questions, but this isn't the time.” She was staring at her palm, swiping her fingers across it as if it were a tablet. “The guards won't come past again for 12 minutes, and the diversion team will be here in 4.” She grinned at me now, suddenly much more relaxed. She looked much younger than she had, her wrinkles seemed to be fading away.
Whatever she'd made me eat was starting to work, my bloody and bandaged head felt almost normal, I could breathe easily now without pain and my legs already felt stronger. I cleared my throat, licking my parched lips and took another sip of the water.
“You're from the future too, right? That's why you can change your appearance like that. So this is a rescue mission?”
“Oh it's definitely a rescue!” Grinning from ear to ear, she took my hand, her wrinkles now all but gone and her hair now shimmering blonde, “but I'm definitely not *from* the future.” She giggled.
---
*The Prisoner in the Eastern Tower (2017) : Plot Synopsis*
*Arriving a few weeks before the famous siege, Richard (Eisenberg) becomes side-tracked rescuing a young girl from the hands of a group of soldiers in the woods. The men return to kill him and he is forced into hiding with the girl and the local villagers. Eventually captured, his equipment is hidden by the girl's family, who attempt a rescue with the help of other villagers.*
*While the rescue ultimately fails and Eisenberg's character goes on to become the fabled 'Prisoner in the East Tower', his various interactions with the villagers and their attempted rescue turns the common public against their dislikeable feudal lord. The commoners' uprising coincides with an attack on the rebel castle by the King's troops and becomes the deciding factor in the battle, subsequently ending the war.*
*Like the diary, the movie's conclusion is unclear on what later becomes of the protagonist. The closing scene shows the young girl digging up the time-traveller's equipment, fiddling with the controls, and staring up at the castle.*
| EXT. VILLAGE - NIGHT
1692
Sparks float idly against the black sky. Below, villagers have gathered around a pile of wood, stoking it from the bottom. They shout and chant and cheer.
TIMMY, in the same colonial wear as the villagers, is tied to a post at the top, tears trickling, watching helplessly as the flames ride higher and higher toward him.
POV
The hellish orange, licking, lapping, then finally engulfing -
BLACK
INT. CLASSROOM - DAY
The class, and the teacher, MRS. JORGANSEN watch as Timmy materializes on a matted metallic pedestal, the front and sides of which are blinking with lights. Next to him is a roll-out CRT television set, displaying the village folk still angrily stoking a now Timmy-less pile of burning wood.
Timmy stands up and wipes away some tears, he still wears the colonial outfit. His pants are singed at the ankles.
TIMMY
And that -
(sniff sniff)
Concludes my -
(sniff)
My presentation.
Mrs. Jorgansen sets down a large remote control and grabs a clipboard to take notes.
MRS. JORGANSEN
Okay Timmy. I wanted to see you do a little better.
He wipes more tears, nodding lightly.
MRS. JORGANSEN
Did you mention Green Day at one point?
TIMMY
I didn't know what to talk about. It was scary!
MRS. JORGANSEN
Okay, okay. I'm giving you a C. There is extra credit
still, remember.
Timmy nods defeatedly and returns to his desk.
MRS. JORGANSEN
Okay next is Theresa. Theresa?
THERESA, wide-eyed, gulps and starts slowly toward the front of the class. She wears leopard print cave-woman get-up.
MRS. JORGANSEN
I did receive your doctor's note, so you can take it a
little easier. Try to join the gathering sect.
Theresa nods grimly.
| |
[WP] You go to throw out an old homework assignment, but it refuses to fall into the trash can. A message "You cannot throw out quest items" appears. | The words on the page vanished as quickly as they appeared. Ryan closed his eyes and opened them again. Yup, just another piece of old literature homework.
*Why are Ernest Hemingway's works considered to be so important to the canon of American Literature?* The question at the top of the page read. Below was Ryan's mostly illegible answer.
He chucked the paper again, but it stuck to his hand like a stray piece of scotch tape. "Ah!" he cried, flailing his arm madly, the paper writhing.
"You okay?"
Ryan spun and stuck his arm behind his back. His RA, Michelle, stood in the doorway, eyebrows all bent out of shape. "Yeah," Ryan said with his best attempt at a casual laugh. "Just..." *She knows I'm high!* Ryan thought with sudden surging paranoia. He avoided her eyes, knowing his own were glazed and bloodshot. What a good idea it seemed like thirty minutes ago: a quick wake and bake on a Saturday morning and some room-sprucing before he set out for a party later in the day. Of course, he managed to get nabbed here of all places.
"Okay," Michelle said and walked away.
"Have a good one," Ryan called after her. Then he rushed to his door and quietly closed it, leaned against it. "What the ever-living hell," he breathed, looking at the paper sticking to his hand. The words appeared again, like a watermark across his writing: *You cannot throw out quest items*. Was that weed laced or something? What if he had been tripping balls when Michelle walked by? Who had he gotten it from again? "I'm too high for this shit," he breathed to himself.
Someone pounded on the door behind Ryan with such force that it knocked him forward. Terror seized him and he whispered to himself: "Michelle called the cops. The goddamn pigs!" He ran to his desk drawer and began rooting like a madman, pulling out old plastic shooters, a few glass pieces and a pill bottle filled with his stash of weed. He shoved it all in his backpack (he'd heard once that campus police couldn't look in your personal items) and went to the door, shaking.
Just as he brought his eye up to the peephole, the door burst open, knocking Ryan back on his ass.
"The hell!" came a manly voice.
"What the hell yourself!" Ryan called back, clutching his nose as he lay coiled on the floor. The door slammed shut.
"I smell reefer," the unseen man said again.
"It's not mine!" Ryan shouted as he sat bolt upright. "You--" *Dear God Almighty above I am waaayy too high for this*. He thought upon seeing the man's face. Just as casually as an old friend, the man took a seat on Ryan's bed. If anything, Ryan needed that bed. He needed to sleep whatever this was off.
"I've always been a fan of a nice cognac."
"You," Ryan stammered again, pointing.
"What's this?" the bearded man reached out and snatched the paper from Ryan's hand. "They've canonized me! How about that?"
"This isn't real. You're not... you're not *him*."
"I hear you're going to a party tonight?"
"But--" Ryan said.
"Take this," Ernest said as he pulled a small crystal bottle from inside his suit jacket. "I'm going to show you exactly *how* I got so goddamn good at writing." Then he stood up and pulled out his phone, brought it close to his face the way an old man does. "All right, I've got the address. Bring a notebook. And finish that bottle."
| "Fuck." I said.
My carry weight was 299/300. I said the expletive again, and proceeded to drop a large greatsword, 15 iron ingots and a kettle on the ground, as well as a few potions of minor magicka. The guard leaning against the wall looked at me, then at the mess on the ground.
"No lollygaggin'." He said, shaking his head. I sighed, and began climbing up the stone staircase to High Hrothgar.
On my way up the 7,000 steps, I crossed paths with a troll. He roared, throwing a tantrum as I ran by. I had better shit to do.
Upon reaching High Hrothgar, I entered, holding my homework in my hand.
Master Arengir was meditating at a sort of altar.
"I have it." I called, holding it up.
He raised his eyebrows.
"The horn of Jurgen Windcaller? That was from weeks ago! Do you know how many quests you've done, Dragonborn? Shor's bones, the war is practically over!"
I shrugged. "Sorry, I was busy. You know, *fighting dragons* and *taking their souls*."
He shook his head. "All right, at least you retrieved the horn. A+ to you."
"Thanks, Mr. Arengir!"
My teacher nodded.
"Oh, and you dropped a bunch of books in the hallway." He said. I apologized, and was about to exit when he called me back.
"Oh and, lay off whatever you are smoking. I can smell it from the break room. And please stop shouting Fus Ro Dah at other students. This is real life, not Skyrim." | |
[WP]You are told that you are about to enter a room with one person that wants to kill you, and two people who would do anything to save your life. Inside, you find your two best friends and your crush. | I entered the room with a gun. I've never held a gun before.
"Max! What are we doing here?" Veronica shouted, shaking me by the shoulders, before staring with horror at the pistol between my fingers and whispering, "Why do you have a gun?"
"Max is here? Max! Good to see you, man." Chuck gave me a big hug, his fingers lightly tracing my pistol, "Strange situation we've gotten ourselves into, huh?"
He thought I wouldn't be able to feel his touch, didn't he? I gripped the pistol tighter.
"Max Johnson? You're here too." She said in her lark voice.
Her, her, her. Oh, the mere mention of Serena makes me swoon, but to be enveloped by the lilac notes of her hair, wafting through the small white room like vines of flowers growing on a blank canvas was extraordinary. I looked up at her and watched her brunette curls cascading down her ivory neck - like streams of swimming water. Could she be the one who wanted to kill me? Or was it my friends? To be ended by the one that brought me to life, how much more poetic could it get? What should I tell them?
"Does anyone know why we're here?" I ask.
"Social experiment, right?" Chuck chuckled nervously.
Veronica bit on her thumb, her bad habit, as she murmured, "They'd need us to sign for consent if it was actually for an experiment."
"And why would we suddenly wake up in this room with nothing but the words social experiment written on that sheet of paper over there. It reads like the start of those torture porn, Saw movies." Serena added.
Who uses the verb read for a sentence like that? Ah, Serena, your contradictions make you such a wonder to listen to.
"Well put, Serena." I smile at her.
"Jeez, Johnson, get a room already." Chuck shook his head, laughing.
"We're in a room," I replied, slightly embarrassed. He never knew when to stop. She turned away with a blush flushing up her pale cheeks. What did that blush mean?
"So, Max, what did they tell you?" Veroica asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.
Was she a little more touchy than usual? What should I do? Tell the truth? That a woman dressed in black told me that if I leave this room without one person being dead, I'll be killed as well? That one person would kill me and two would want to save my life? That there is only one bullet?
"I think we should all sit down for this." I gestured to everyone and sat on the floor before they joined me. Chuck with his legs stretched, Veronica sitting conservatively, and lithe Serena, stretching her long limbs like a cat scratching before it sleeps.
What did I know about the three of them? I've known Veronica my whole life. Smart, blonde and blue-eyed - not easy to go wrong, Catholic beyond belief. Chuck: funny, insightful, fun. And her. I could go on for hours about her. Serena: liver-diseased, so that she'd be out of school for long periods of time; fragile looking, as though you could break her heart with the slightest brush. I remember that day when I felt like life had overcome me and she took me by the hand into the art room so that I could watch her paint, with those specks of sun dancing across the unlit floor, and her strokes over the canvas sweeping here and there, breeding life from nothingness. We did not speak that entire hour. A silent film of loveliness.
Three forms of love right before me. Veronica for the little-sister tumblings on our fortnight sleepovers (lust and family engendering a pure and absolute fondness). Chuck for his celebration of life and our early morning galavanting around town, smoking cigarettes and sipping beers (how I pity the unfortunate strip clubs that had to deal with our hecklings and coin throwing - coins are still money, right?). And, her, Serena, for the unfinished, the sketches of details that could be thrust into the light of my imagination for futures beauty that could never be anchored to the physical world.
"Max? Hello?" Veronica said, her fingers wrapping around mine. I looked at her worriedly. It couldn't be her, could it? We knew everything about each other, every little detail. She had the means to kill me, I assure you. I would rather die than to know that any of these three would have preferred, during our entire time together, that I was dead.
The truth is just a matter of style, though, isn't it? Better let this play out with fashion rather than end it with the coldness of the facts.
"This gun has one bullet in it. If we leave this room, I need to kill one person and they need to die by my hand."
The three of them reacted with fear and dread in their eyes. Who could it be? One person in this room wanted to kill me? Who was it?
"If I was sadistic and maniacal, I'd make you present the best case. But I think we all know that there is an implicit bias for a certain person in this room."
"You're talking about me, aren't you?" Serena said, looking down at the floor.
There was a quiet that spread around the room. Chuck broke it, "How did you know Max is in love with you?"
I could feel my virile blood rushing up my ears. Veronica frowned and looked distressed, "Max is in love with Serena?"
"Max is in love with me?" Serena said, shooting a pointed glance at me.
Oh dear, awkwardness is so perverse that it has to find a way to slither into every situation. Why?
"Uhm."
"What about me, Max? What about me? I knew it. I knew you never loved me the same way I loved you." Veronica said, crying, her tears dripping onto her plaid skirt (thank goodness, it wouldn't stain, right?)
"Max Johnson. Since when have you liked me?" Serena said, tugging at my shirt.
"Oh gosh. Chuck, look at this mess you've gotten us into."
Chuck laughed uproariously, slapping the floor.
"Veronica, there are different types of love. I love all three of you in different ways."
I said, trying to console her.
"But who do you love the most."
"Can't answer that. Love all equal."
"I'll answer it for you." Veronica said, glaring at me.
At some point during those theatrics of mirth and sorrow (and awkwardness, I suppose) I must have dropped the gun. Veronica picked it up. Ah. The lady never said when that one person would want to kill me. I understand now.
"If I can't have you, she can't either." Veronica pointed the gun at Serena.
Well, that's a twist.
"Veronica, relax. Think about all the times we've shared. You know how I feel." I said trying to calm her down. Serena put her beautiful arms up in fear. I hated seeing them like this.
Veronica held the gun tensely at Serena for a few more moments before giving it back to me, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Serena. It's not your fault that Max is a pig," She said.
Serena looked very confused and dropped her arms again. "I'm sorry Veronica, but I have feelings for Max as well. I'm sure you all know about my liver disease. Well, before my transplant I had aeons to consider what was important to me, and I had a sure idea (more sure than all of you, I would guess) about when Thanatos would come knocking at my door. It was always so brightening to see Max wade through the air with a dream stenciled on his world. Listening to him speak during class, watching him write in that little notebook. I'm sorry, I'm rambling." She smiled, serenely, resting her eyes on me.
Oh, how flattering! My heart beat so wonderfully, I don't think I've ever felt more alive. Those wonders of the imagination to be so close to the truth. My world has been written. It is complete.
"I guess you understand how I feel as well." Veronica smiled sadly. She looked conflicted. How strange, did the concept of polygamy suddenly sink through her head?
I held both of their hands with a too-large grin on my face. Two out of three gone. Oh gosh, where is the gun?
Chuck played with the gun, spinning it around his finger. "If the three of you are done with this disgusting hippy festival of love. I think it's time we got down to business!"
Chuck? Could it be?
"How's my impression of a gangster?" He asked, chuckling, sliding the gun back to me. "You're a good guy, Johnson, I wouldn't give me life for you, but I love you like a brother all the same."
Ah. What??
"Are none of you going to try killing each other?" I asked, exasperated.
"I thought only you could pick who to kill." Chuck said, gravely.
"Well, yeah. I suppose. Who should I kill then? Anyone want me dead?" I asked, seriously.
Everyone shook their heads. The lady didn't actually tell me I that only I could pick who to kill. I don't think I could bear imagining that I brought one of these people, prematurely, outside of this party called life - that keeps rocking and rolling no matter who leaves it early. What else could I ask for with a death? All my fantasies fulfilled, not perfectly expressed, but contently written. The love of my parents fully there in my heart. My love for my friends and my crushes and my loves out in the open. I suppose I would have liked to have a few children.
One person wants to kill me. Serena and Veronica would die for me. Chuck wouldn't, but also wouldn't kill me. I understand now. Oh, I bet they thought one of us would want to kill the other! By coincidence, by the goodness of their hearts (or the caveat of them thinking that only I am able to pick who to die making them postpone my murder, and Serena confessing only so I wouldn't kill her, or everyone's expressions of goodness done just for the sake of me not killing them) it didn't occur that way.
Self-annihilation rarely occurs when one thinks of murder. I'd rather die in beauty than live to see the evil in people's hearts.
I gripped the two of their hands tightly. "Two of you ever thought of having children?"
Serena wrinkled her freckled nose. "It's a little early, Johnson."
"Yes." Veronica blushed.
"Chuck, you could be the cool uncle."
Chucked laughed. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
To the expressions of horror on their faces, I picked the gun up and aimed it at my own head. | I woke up with a blinding headache
"He's waking up, quick get him back under"
Words cut through the vicious ringing in my ears and fade back into soft
silence and comforting darkness
...
Darkness fades back into cognition, my cheek itches and as I reach to scratch it my hand is bitten by something. Wait, not bitten, bound. Eyes flying open, pupils constricting expecting light; I cry out when the pain of its absence fills flares in my skull. Why does the darkness hurt? I try to roll over but the bindings bite in deeper, why cant I move? Trying to rise I find my feet bound as well.
"He's back at it, thrashing around"
A rustling by my side and the ground falls away as a deeper blackness envelops me
...
Coming to a white light cuts through my optical nerves straight to the back of my skull. A scream rips itself from dry, cracked lips.
"welcome back to the world of the living"
A familiar voice drawls. Eric, 23, single, neighbor, best friend since middle school.
"Damn, he looks rough"
Sam, 21, probably fucking Eric, classmate, study partners since last semester.
"Hey man, you thirsty? Eric, get him some water"
Ty, 23, player, pen pal, haven't seen him since he moved four years ago.
Footsteps recede, Eric, getting me water from god knows where. As the sound fades a memory takes form
"Can't believe that" ringing fills my ears "tried to kill him" more ringing, fading in and out "but these two have been here every day trying to wake him up" ringing and then a different voice
"Let them all stay, it will settle itself"
When was that? A week ago? A year? Who tried to kill me?
I try to open my eyes again, but the blinding lights force them closed again.
"Ty" I manage to shove the mangled word through bloody lips before a cough racks my body, sending pain through every nerve.
"Calm down there cowboy"
I can hear Sam's smile through her words, the same she uses every time I start to get ahead of myself.
"Hey man, chill"
Eric is back
"Open your mouth"
I oblige and cool water flows over my lips and chin, into my nose but most importantly my mouth.
The flow trickles to an end
"More" I plead
"Nope, they said only one of those every hour, but I think 45 minutes will be just fine" Eric says conspiratorially
"Don't want to hurt yourself there champ"
Sam again. Why are they all here?
"*The rule of three here still abides, two friends by your side a third hand does poison hide two with life to bequeath, third with steel to unsheathe*"
Who is that voice? Should I tell her what I've wanted to for these last long weeks. Can I get it out? I can try...
"Sam" A cough rips through my lungs
"Who?" Ty asks
"Sam, come here" I repeat, swallowing the next spasm before it can start
"Hey man, are you ok? Its just us"
"Yeah, you me and Ty" Eric interjects
"They must have you on some strong shit"
Ty chuckles nervously in agreement.
"But Sam, I can here her" I struggle through the sentence, words coming easier now.
"Do you know where you are?" asks Eric
Racking my brain to no avail I finally give in and admit "no"
"The hospital man, you've been here for weeks."
Cold dread fills my body, and I force myself to open my eyes, the cold white fades to a warmer yellow and my two friends faces swim into view with a hard white background.
"Why"
A quiet rustling as my two friends try to put the last few weeks into words.
Ty responds quietly "Your tried to kill yourself man"
EDIT: Names are hard | |
[WP]You are told that you are about to enter a room with one person that wants to kill you, and two people who would do anything to save your life. Inside, you find your two best friends and your crush. | I entered the room with a gun. I've never held a gun before.
"Max! What are we doing here?" Veronica shouted, shaking me by the shoulders, before staring with horror at the pistol between my fingers and whispering, "Why do you have a gun?"
"Max is here? Max! Good to see you, man." Chuck gave me a big hug, his fingers lightly tracing my pistol, "Strange situation we've gotten ourselves into, huh?"
He thought I wouldn't be able to feel his touch, didn't he? I gripped the pistol tighter.
"Max Johnson? You're here too." She said in her lark voice.
Her, her, her. Oh, the mere mention of Serena makes me swoon, but to be enveloped by the lilac notes of her hair, wafting through the small white room like vines of flowers growing on a blank canvas was extraordinary. I looked up at her and watched her brunette curls cascading down her ivory neck - like streams of swimming water. Could she be the one who wanted to kill me? Or was it my friends? To be ended by the one that brought me to life, how much more poetic could it get? What should I tell them?
"Does anyone know why we're here?" I ask.
"Social experiment, right?" Chuck chuckled nervously.
Veronica bit on her thumb, her bad habit, as she murmured, "They'd need us to sign for consent if it was actually for an experiment."
"And why would we suddenly wake up in this room with nothing but the words social experiment written on that sheet of paper over there. It reads like the start of those torture porn, Saw movies." Serena added.
Who uses the verb read for a sentence like that? Ah, Serena, your contradictions make you such a wonder to listen to.
"Well put, Serena." I smile at her.
"Jeez, Johnson, get a room already." Chuck shook his head, laughing.
"We're in a room," I replied, slightly embarrassed. He never knew when to stop. She turned away with a blush flushing up her pale cheeks. What did that blush mean?
"So, Max, what did they tell you?" Veroica asked, placing her hand on my shoulder.
Was she a little more touchy than usual? What should I do? Tell the truth? That a woman dressed in black told me that if I leave this room without one person being dead, I'll be killed as well? That one person would kill me and two would want to save my life? That there is only one bullet?
"I think we should all sit down for this." I gestured to everyone and sat on the floor before they joined me. Chuck with his legs stretched, Veronica sitting conservatively, and lithe Serena, stretching her long limbs like a cat scratching before it sleeps.
What did I know about the three of them? I've known Veronica my whole life. Smart, blonde and blue-eyed - not easy to go wrong, Catholic beyond belief. Chuck: funny, insightful, fun. And her. I could go on for hours about her. Serena: liver-diseased, so that she'd be out of school for long periods of time; fragile looking, as though you could break her heart with the slightest brush. I remember that day when I felt like life had overcome me and she took me by the hand into the art room so that I could watch her paint, with those specks of sun dancing across the unlit floor, and her strokes over the canvas sweeping here and there, breeding life from nothingness. We did not speak that entire hour. A silent film of loveliness.
Three forms of love right before me. Veronica for the little-sister tumblings on our fortnight sleepovers (lust and family engendering a pure and absolute fondness). Chuck for his celebration of life and our early morning galavanting around town, smoking cigarettes and sipping beers (how I pity the unfortunate strip clubs that had to deal with our hecklings and coin throwing - coins are still money, right?). And, her, Serena, for the unfinished, the sketches of details that could be thrust into the light of my imagination for futures beauty that could never be anchored to the physical world.
"Max? Hello?" Veronica said, her fingers wrapping around mine. I looked at her worriedly. It couldn't be her, could it? We knew everything about each other, every little detail. She had the means to kill me, I assure you. I would rather die than to know that any of these three would have preferred, during our entire time together, that I was dead.
The truth is just a matter of style, though, isn't it? Better let this play out with fashion rather than end it with the coldness of the facts.
"This gun has one bullet in it. If we leave this room, I need to kill one person and they need to die by my hand."
The three of them reacted with fear and dread in their eyes. Who could it be? One person in this room wanted to kill me? Who was it?
"If I was sadistic and maniacal, I'd make you present the best case. But I think we all know that there is an implicit bias for a certain person in this room."
"You're talking about me, aren't you?" Serena said, looking down at the floor.
There was a quiet that spread around the room. Chuck broke it, "How did you know Max is in love with you?"
I could feel my virile blood rushing up my ears. Veronica frowned and looked distressed, "Max is in love with Serena?"
"Max is in love with me?" Serena said, shooting a pointed glance at me.
Oh dear, awkwardness is so perverse that it has to find a way to slither into every situation. Why?
"Uhm."
"What about me, Max? What about me? I knew it. I knew you never loved me the same way I loved you." Veronica said, crying, her tears dripping onto her plaid skirt (thank goodness, it wouldn't stain, right?)
"Max Johnson. Since when have you liked me?" Serena said, tugging at my shirt.
"Oh gosh. Chuck, look at this mess you've gotten us into."
Chuck laughed uproariously, slapping the floor.
"Veronica, there are different types of love. I love all three of you in different ways."
I said, trying to console her.
"But who do you love the most."
"Can't answer that. Love all equal."
"I'll answer it for you." Veronica said, glaring at me.
At some point during those theatrics of mirth and sorrow (and awkwardness, I suppose) I must have dropped the gun. Veronica picked it up. Ah. The lady never said when that one person would want to kill me. I understand now.
"If I can't have you, she can't either." Veronica pointed the gun at Serena.
Well, that's a twist.
"Veronica, relax. Think about all the times we've shared. You know how I feel." I said trying to calm her down. Serena put her beautiful arms up in fear. I hated seeing them like this.
Veronica held the gun tensely at Serena for a few more moments before giving it back to me, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Serena. It's not your fault that Max is a pig," She said.
Serena looked very confused and dropped her arms again. "I'm sorry Veronica, but I have feelings for Max as well. I'm sure you all know about my liver disease. Well, before my transplant I had aeons to consider what was important to me, and I had a sure idea (more sure than all of you, I would guess) about when Thanatos would come knocking at my door. It was always so brightening to see Max wade through the air with a dream stenciled on his world. Listening to him speak during class, watching him write in that little notebook. I'm sorry, I'm rambling." She smiled, serenely, resting her eyes on me.
Oh, how flattering! My heart beat so wonderfully, I don't think I've ever felt more alive. Those wonders of the imagination to be so close to the truth. My world has been written. It is complete.
"I guess you understand how I feel as well." Veronica smiled sadly. She looked conflicted. How strange, did the concept of polygamy suddenly sink through her head?
I held both of their hands with a too-large grin on my face. Two out of three gone. Oh gosh, where is the gun?
Chuck played with the gun, spinning it around his finger. "If the three of you are done with this disgusting hippy festival of love. I think it's time we got down to business!"
Chuck? Could it be?
"How's my impression of a gangster?" He asked, chuckling, sliding the gun back to me. "You're a good guy, Johnson, I wouldn't give me life for you, but I love you like a brother all the same."
Ah. What??
"Are none of you going to try killing each other?" I asked, exasperated.
"I thought only you could pick who to kill." Chuck said, gravely.
"Well, yeah. I suppose. Who should I kill then? Anyone want me dead?" I asked, seriously.
Everyone shook their heads. The lady didn't actually tell me I that only I could pick who to kill. I don't think I could bear imagining that I brought one of these people, prematurely, outside of this party called life - that keeps rocking and rolling no matter who leaves it early. What else could I ask for with a death? All my fantasies fulfilled, not perfectly expressed, but contently written. The love of my parents fully there in my heart. My love for my friends and my crushes and my loves out in the open. I suppose I would have liked to have a few children.
One person wants to kill me. Serena and Veronica would die for me. Chuck wouldn't, but also wouldn't kill me. I understand now. Oh, I bet they thought one of us would want to kill the other! By coincidence, by the goodness of their hearts (or the caveat of them thinking that only I am able to pick who to die making them postpone my murder, and Serena confessing only so I wouldn't kill her, or everyone's expressions of goodness done just for the sake of me not killing them) it didn't occur that way.
Self-annihilation rarely occurs when one thinks of murder. I'd rather die in beauty than live to see the evil in people's hearts.
I gripped the two of their hands tightly. "Two of you ever thought of having children?"
Serena wrinkled her freckled nose. "It's a little early, Johnson."
"Yes." Veronica blushed.
"Chuck, you could be the cool uncle."
Chucked laughed. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
To the expressions of horror on their faces, I picked the gun up and aimed it at my own head. | It felt like just minutes ago that I had fallen asleep.
I was listening to my favorite Spotify playlist, and it was very late at night. I must have drifted off, because there was no way the situation before me was real. This is easily the craziest dream I've ever had. The people in it are bizarre. All I know is I'm cold and waking up on a hard metal floor isn't exactly my idea of a great place to be. To my left, there was a man without a face standing in the corner of the room, looking in God knows what direction. I stood up, and took inventory. Here I was, standing in my pajamas a mere 10 yards away from a faceless guy with white skin and a black suit on. It was so stereotypical that there was no way it could possibly have been real. "Quit freaking yourself out, Quinn. Punch the faceless guy in his faceless face and get the-"
"I'm not sure that would be very wise."
I reeled backwards, my head splitting in pain from the voice that had just exploded into my mind. I looked around to see that nothing had changed, although the man without a face was now looking directly at me--at least, I assumed he was. I waited for a bit, scared to even try to console myself in fear that the deep, melodic voice that was the source of my pain would return. After about two minutes of waiting, I called out to the man.
"Hello?" I said. "I have a few questions if you wouldn't mind helping me out a bit."
After about ten seconds, the voice responded. "Silence, Quinn. Do not speak on matters when you do not understand their gravity." The voice did not hurt as much anymore, but it still gave me a headache to listen. After a dramatic pause, he spoke again. "You are to go with my body to the next room. Once you have entered, you will find three people. One of them is ready to kill you, for reasons I will not disclose to you. The other two are willing to do anything to prevent the third person from hurting you. If you can correctly identify which person plays what role, you may all go free. However, if you are incorrect, I will kill you all. Painfully."
"He's a liar," I thought to myself. "No way he could possibly know that someone wants to kill me, and no way does anyone want to save my sorry mess of a life."
"Do not question me," came the reply. "Take the door behind you into the adjoining room, where your puzzle awaits."
I turned around to find a door that had not previously been there. I walked towards it slowly. As soon as I was within arm's reach of the door, it swung open faster than my eyes could follow it. I turned around to find my the faceless man right behind me. He gave me a hard shove, and I fell through the doorway, hitting my head on carpeted flooring. The door slammed shut behind me, leaving an echoing noise in the large room I had just entered. I looked up to find myself in a study, with walls lined with bookshelves. In the center of the room, an arrangement of furniture was set up around a roaring fire. There were two couches and two armchairs, each with a small yet elegant table between them. I stood up and looked to the fireplace, and was surprised to see three other people. I recognized all of them immediately. My two best friends, Joseph and Michael, were sitting on one couch, looking anxious while clutching mugs filled with a warm brown liquid that I assumed to be hot chocolate. The third member of the group was Jessica, who was sitting alone on one of the armchairs.
Jessica was my crush, and had been for as long as I could remember. I met her on a church retreat in seventh grade, and had instantly fallen for her, getting her number and following her on Instagram as soon as I could. Now, we were in tenth grade, I was her second best friend on Snapchat, and we talked every day, but I knew that she couldn't tell I had been head over heels for her for years. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, about 5'6", and she had long auburn colored hair, with emerald green eyes and very few freckles. She almost always wore t-shirts to school, normally something about comic book characters. She was perfect to me in almost every way.
But then it hit me. The voice had told me only two of these people would do anything to save me, while the third wanted to kill me. And it was my job to figure out who was who.
As soon as the trio saw me stand up, they all rushed to my aid. I was helped into a chair, and they all returned to their original spots. I noticed that there was a pot of hot chocolate sitting on the table, as well as a mug. After pouring myself some, I got down to business.
"Why are we here?" I asked. Michael responded almost immediately. "This is just a dream. I fell asleep a couple of minutes ago and woke up here at the same time as Joe and Jess." Both Joseph and Jessica nodded profusely as soon as he finished his statement. I looked at each of them before asking my next question. "Okay... so then does anyone have any clue as to why we are all having the same dream?"
My friends all looked at each other in confusion. Then, Jessica's eyes widened, as if she had just had a revelation. "Wait. Did you guys all just, like, pass out and wake up here? Last I remember, I was wide awake watching Netflix." After we all nodded in agreement, she continued. "So, if we all passed out and woke up here, don't you think that we hold the key to getting out of here?" We again agreed, unsure as to where she could be going with this. Suddenly, Jessica stood up and ran to the corner of the room, where a sliding ladder stood, waiting to be used to retrieve books on higher shelves. She began to climb, tearing books off of the shelves as she went.
I nodded to Joe and Mike, and we followed suit, ripping books off of the walls, trying to find an exit. After a while, Jessica called me to help her search. I walked across the room as she climbed the ladder once more. "Push me along so that I can clear this top row," she instructed. I began to push the ladder, moving slowly so that she had time to search. As we were moving along, I began to notice that she was purposefully throwing books in my direction. After we had cleared that row, I shouted, "Ready to move on to the next row?" As I looked up at her, I noticed she was falling towards me.
Jessica landed on me like a ton of bricks, instantly bringing both of us to the floor. Before I could even register what was happening, Joe and Mike were already pulling her off of me. She struggled against them, tearing at their pajamas and thrashing in their grip. She finally broke loose, a mad look in her eyes, and made straight for me. Her hands closed around my throat, ready to strangle me until my demise. I felt my face turn read, my vision slowly blacking until a sickening thud filled the air. Jessica's head landed on my chest, and her grip on me loosened substantially, enabling me to free myself from her body. I stood up to see Joseph and Mike standing there, breathing heavily but for the most part unharmed.
"Thank you guys so much," I wheezed, my voice raspy as I struggled for air. "You guys are the best."
"You know why we would protect you no matter what, don't you, Quinn?" they said, speaking in unison. The boys that had just saved my life were now slowly advancing on me, each holding a large book that could presumably do some serious damage. I backed away until I hit a wall, fear slowly gripping me once more.
My friends looked me dead in the eyes, until they spoke again. "We wanted to be the ones to do it instead."
The books hit me in the head one after the other. I felt my consciousness slipping away, my breaths getting farther and farther away. One more thud, and my entire world faded to black. | |
[WP] You're an evil overlord, and You successfully conquered the surrounding kingdoms. The catch? You're actually not that bad, you're only being drug along by an immortal witch, who has a lust for power | "Look, Nancy..." Lord Hawthorne fiddled nervously, his mailed boot scraping across the stone floor with the screech of a tortured cat.
'Nancy' winced at the sound. "*What*?!?" She snapped at the Lord who towered over her diminuitive form. "What is it, Hawthorne? What is so important that you interrupt me..." she flapped her arms at the workbench in front of her, laden with half finished spells and enchanted tools "...during my work?"
The hulking giant flinched back, his thumbs twiddling ever faster.
"Well, um, Nan..." her finger shot up, barely touching his visor.
"*and don't call me Nancy*!" she hissed. "Not while we have guests." The finger came down, to gesture to the prisoners chained against the wall. The newer ones cowered in fear from the finger that had destroyed their homes and villages. The oldest prisoner smiled and gave a little wave, causing the witch to snort.
"Fine. Um, Anastasia, Great Witch of the Northern Plains, why are we doing this? I mean, haven't we conquered enough?"
"Enough? *Enough?* What do you mean, enough?" Her eyes narrowed and she poked the Lord in the breastplate. "How can we have enough?"
"Well..." Hawthorne's foot once again screeched along the floor. "...It's hard enough to manage what we have already, never mind the..." his hand twirled near the Witch's waist "...upcoming family responsibilities."
Thr Great Witch sniffed. "*That* will not affect my plans one jot. And if you think it will, you'll be sleeping in the Great Hall." She strode out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind her and causing the candles to flicker.
Lord Hawthorne lifted his visor and rubbed his face. Sighing deeply, he walked to where the waving prisoner was bound and dropped to the floor with a clatter.
"Can't you talk to her about this? She's not listening to me" Hawthorne asked, his voice heavy.
"If I knew how to speak to her, Oh Brother-in-law, I would not be chained up in my sister's castle." The prisoner responded, amusement tingeing his words. "Nope. You're on your own, Harry."
Lord Hawthorne nodded glumly, and rose to go after his wife.
"It's just...why couldn't she have a normal hobby? Like Knitting, or Necromancy?" He muttered as he stalked from the room. | Loud orchestra of hundreds musicians play "N.E.W's Burning flag" The war song of NotEvilWashington (N.E.W). He sits on an undesired throne with he's hand on his head flipping his hand over to see the witch's burning seal taunt him.
"Go to your speech NEW." The seal demanded. "Rally the men. I want The LaneBurg Kingdom before the end of the year or it's your head." The witch Perfection controlled directly to NEW ears that burned like hot coals.
"God damn it." NEW thought
"How the hell do I rally men of a country that I don't want.
I didn't wanna pillage, burn, rape and, just majorly Fuck up this whole kingdom for war I don't want to fight for a witch that fooled me into a curse because I was lost in the woods for 4 days and almost starved to death." NEW sighed disappointed a sad angry man mad it this far this easily. Let me try to make some amends at least.
Gaining his composure he grabs his platform shoes for height, walking towards the stage in his fanciest robes filled with military decorum and his signature crown granting him authority from even the most fierce enemy.
The masses are silent. The air is tense some of anger, some sadness, other in shock and awe yet everyone felt the same thing: Fear. Both got they're lives now and the future. The hostile takeover was unseen by anyone except NEW...
" People of the Old Kingdom! " NEW started his Speech.
"Your old world is no more. Your old name forgotten like the days of past, your identity stripped away like the weapons from your homes, you land shrunk to mere feet instead of unending acres. All forgotten.
Today marks a new era, today your old Kingdom becomes something indestructible, growing, and Unforgettable. Today you become the 6th empire of the Perfection Empire. Long live her beauty!"
"Long Live her beauty'" knight of the NEW's army cry out with thunderously volume.
"Thank you men. As my personal gift to all fighting aged man 500 gold coins, 50 acres and a mule to all! Say thank you King NEW!"
"Thank you King NEW!" The crowd men repeated.
"To all the women, 300 gold coins A house, a cow and a loom to all women!"
"Thank you King NEW!" The crowd women repeated
"New schools for all children! To educate the young mind into fine military officers of the future!" NEW felt 1000 degree burning sensation the witch was displeased with NEW giving away her spoils of war. "Stop or else." As she takes control of NEW's cursed hand to pull out her insurance: a small dagger stained in NEW's blood from regular refusal to follow her instructions.
"That's all for today my new subjects." He quickly wrapped up his speech "Meet at the Old castle to claim your gift from King NEW. Carry on with your day" | |
[WP] On Dec 31st, 2016, everyone hears the exact same broadcast message in their head: “Level 2016 failed; restarting level.” | “What the fuck did they just say?” Asked Alison as she slowly put down the plate of grilled chicken for that night’s dinner.
None of her four teenage boys responded. Each set of eyes glued to the TV screen that had turned an unsettling static grey with the number 30 sitting in the middle.
“Dylan!” She said urgently, looking to her husband now. “I asked what they just said.”
“They said-,” He gave a slight shake of his head and tore his eyes away from the screen. “They said ‘Level 2016 failed; restarting level.’”
The family of six sat in silence around the dinner table. Steam from the hot chicken slowly fading as the food grew cold. Alison’s mind was trying to comprehend what was happening. If this was a joke, possibly. Maybe some sort of prank the news station was playing on their city because they disagreed with who just got elected president. Reaching for her phone, Alison called the only person who she knew would never lie to her; her father.
Half way through the first ring her dad picked up, “Dad?” She didn’t wait for him to say hello. “Dad are you watching TV? What’s it saying for you in Florida?”
“Your step mom and I are trying to figure it out right now, kid. Just…just hold tight? Ok? I’m sure everything will be fine.” The old thinned out voice that belonged for her father to years now had been replaced with a much more thick and panicked one. He hadn’t had the responsibility of soothing his children in years, but here Alison was – knocking on his door for reassurance and he couldn’t provide it.
The TV gave a loud beep, and it spoke again. “Level 2016 failed; restarting level.” The 30 on the screen began to tick down.
twenty nine.
Alison put her phone down on the table without even hanging up. “Please remain calm. Years have been re-set before. You will remember none of what happened, and feel no pain.” A women’s voice spoke to them now through the TV but showed no face.
twenty eight.
twenty seven
twenty six
twenty five
twenty four.
“Mom?” Allen, the second from the youngest, asked quietly.
twenty three
Not fully understanding what was going to happen, Alison felt a shiver run down her spine and began to panic. *This might be real*, she thought. *If it is…*
twenty two
twenty one
“Mom.” Allen began to cry small tears in fear.
twenty one
Alison jumped out of her chair and pulled Allen’s chair away from the table so she could look at him directly.
nineteen
“It’s going to be alright,” She tried to put on a warm smile, and grabbed her son’s face gently in both hands.
eighteen
seventeen
He sobbed harder. His eldest brother, nearly 20, put a hand on Allen’s shoulder.
sixteen
Pushing down any of her own fear for the sake of her sons, their mother said firmly. “We can do this, Allen. If we can do it once, we can do it again.”
fifteen
fourteen
thirteen
“You said it was over,” Allen begged through increasing hiccups. “You said I’d never have to go back there again.”
twelve
Their father put his head in his hands and closed his eyes, preying to any God that would listen.
eleven
“I know, sweetheart.” She choked down her own cries. “I know I did, but you’re so strong. You’re so so strong.” Alison tried to wipe her sons tears away with her thumbs.
ten
Her two remaining sons looked on as the TV counted down.
nine
“I don’t want to,” Allen managed barely above a whimper, a tiny trail of snot coming out of his nose.
eight
seven
Alison began to cry with him, “neither do I.”
six
The eldest son, holding on to Allen’s shoulder leaned in and whispered, “We’ll all be there with you, like we always were.” Trying his hardest to make up for their fathers absence.
five
Allen leaned in to his mother, begging for her to cradle him. “The chemo…” he said as if speaking of a vile monster that lived under his bed.
four
three
She took him in his arms, awkwardly leaned in to Allen as he sat in his chair at the dinner table. His brother joined them, wrapping around them from the back. Their father cursing at the heavens under his breath, and the two remaining brothers sitting, watching, and waiting like deer caught in the headlights.
two
one
| "You can see it coming," Roger said, eyes tipped towards the sky. Darkness rustled in the trees and the moon was intersected with power lines, everything tangling up together with the night. "Australia's gone. Asia's gone. Europe's gone. Just the world turning and turning and turning and slipping off the brink." He sloshed the champagne in his glass and took off his 2017 novelty glasses. They looked back up at him, studded in silver glitter. "There's video of it," he said, and held out an empty hand. "All of the stars go out."
"What the fuck," said Marlene, crouched over on the curb, her stringy hair running down over her shoulders and dipping to nearly touch the ground. "Why the fuck are you still watching the news?"
Somewhere in the distance glass shattered. A siren went up and weakened and died. The music still blared, suffocated, from inside the house. Roger went up to her, watching his shoes scrape across the sidewalk. He wrinkled his nose at the sour scent of vomit.
"It wasn't real," said Marlene, "and no one in the goddamn media has any idea what they're talking about, so it doubly isn't real." She raised her head and her shoulder subtly moved and there was the soft tinkle of her glass shattering on the ground. Roger looked own and saw the shards etched in light, the spreading puddle of liquid. "Why the fuck torture yourself like that? All those noises in your head." She looked out at the sky. "Silence. Just let it come. Silence."
"It's not torture," Roger said, and lowered himself down next to her, checking the pavement first for dampness. He stretched out his legs. The streets were empty of cars, drunken partygoers stumbling silhouettes in the distance, every light in every building on. "I mean, it's a good thing, right? A second chance." The pavement was grainy against his palm, and he wiped his hand off on his jacket. "I just like to know what's coming."
"Jesus Christ," Marlene said. "Jesus Christ, Casey." She drew her sleeve across her mouth, smearing it with lipstick and vomit. For a moment her mouth gaped open like a fish gasping for air. "This whole fucking year. Some stupid game. She killed herself over some stupid game."
"She's be back," Roger said. There was no conviction in his voice. He felt for her hand limply, and she pulled it away. "She'll get a second chance just like-"
"You think we'll remember?" said Marlene, urgently, thrusting her face at him. Her eyes were lined in smudged shadow. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense otherwise, does it? If we just go through the whole same fucking charade over and over again -" Her hands came up to her throat and grasped at something invisible. "Maybe we've done this before. Maybe we've done this a hundred thousand times before."
"No," said Roger. He set his champagne glass down delicately, and folded the novelty glasses around the stem, and looked back up at Marlene. "No, no, it wouldn't make sense that way. We've got to - There's got to be something different."
"So she'll remember," said Marlene, swallowing the thought down like a stone. "The whole fucking year. Just that constant nervous terror clawing away at the inside of her chest. Just that - that nothing was ever going to be all right ever again. That she-" Marlene pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes. "How do you live through that? How does it get so bad that you kill yourself just to not have to deal with it anymore, and then you wake up and that fucking terror's still inside your chest and you're alive again and everyone's alive again and nothing you live through or do from now on will make any fucking difference-"
"Marlene!" Roger said, and grasped her shaking shoulders, and Marlene stood and staggered, her white ankle twisting, and Roger stumbling to his feet to catch her, and then she righted herself again and shambled off to lean against an electric pole.
"None of it was real," Marlene said dully. "Nothing but the constant growing terror of knowing that we'd inevitably and irrevocably fucked everything up." She bent over and gagged and a long string of saliva slid out of her mouth onto the sidewalk. "None of it was real but the failure."
"We're going to see Casey again," Roger said. He made a careful step towards her. "One more chance. For all of us. Everyone alive again." His hand drifted over her shoulder. "It wasn't just terror, was it? There was joy. There was-"
"Don't," Marlene said, and turned to face him. There was a grim smile across her lips. "Don't try to make this better. 20-fucking-16." She leaned against him and pressed her forehead into his shoulder. "I couldn't help her," she said, her voice muffled. "Casey was in such fucking pain and I couldn't do a single thing to help her, and I still don't know what I could have done, and we're going to start all over again, and I didn't learn a goddamn thing from last time, none of us did, and we're going to start all over again -"
"Sure," Roger said, and put his arm around her. They swayed softly together, out of sync with the music, out of sync with everything but each other. "That's life, isn't it? Maybe we learn something and too often we don't, and we keep trying the best we can, and every day we wake up and start over." He raised his eyes to the sky, and his mouth hung open. "Oh," he said.
Behind Marlene's back, the world was spinning and turning over, the black void of an empty screen coming up to meet them, the faint sirens and screams in the distance dropping off the edge of a cliff. Roger stood stunned, his heart pounding, seeing what no video had been able to properly capture: a wall, a pit, a seething tidal wave of black, an absence of sight and sound and every other sense, the universe switching off. His hand tightened on Marlene's shoulder, and she grunted and nuzzled into him, almost affectionate.
"God," Marlene said, as all the stars went out. "I'm so glad this year's over." | |
the message read...
##Optional insert##
"Lisa Arden: 38 years old and 6 months
Life expectancy: 61 years old and 4 months
22 years and 10 months have been added to your life expectancy." | [WP] You didn't mean to, it was an accident, you swerved to avoid hitting the squirrel but instead hit a woman. If it wasn't for a mysterious message floating above her head you would have felt guilty. | I glanced up from the pavement, half in terror, half in shock. "What have I done?" I asked myself audibly. But before I could even start to grasp the events that transpired I heard a low ping, like a text notification while your phone is in your pocket. Surely it couldn't have... come from the poor woman I just ran over.
I got out of my car and walked over, as I approached I saw what seemed like a text box appear out of thin air above the woman's head *Lisa Arden: 38 years and 6 months of age. Life Expectancy: 61 Years and 4 months.* I looked on in horror. I just robbed this woman of 23 years of her life. What if she had a family, children. I became frantic, until i was again interrupted by that same low tone ping. Although this time it sounded closer, almost as if it were coming from my own head.
In the corner of my eye I saw a green flash, and a box appeared next to my head. *22 Years and 10 months have been added. Your trade has processed.*
Puzzled I looked around, I quickly waved down a passing state trooper, hoping he could help me. I hadn't even thought of how bad it may look that I just ran this woman down. As he emerged from the vehicle, radio in hand I heard that damn ping again. Why wont it just go away. *Andrew Kearny 26 Years and 7 months of age. Life Expectancy 78 Years and 3 months. Would you like to exchange?*
A dark and twisted thought had crossed my mind. I grinned as the officer approached. My eyes transfixed on his every movement, somewhere deep inside I knew I had finally found that thrill, that missing piece that left my life feeling hollow.
| The message didn't mean much to me. It was the postscript, faint and floating above, that did it:
*I was the squirrel in my previous life.*
*I was happier then.* |
[WP] Write something that starts with a literal hook, includes a literal twist, and ends with a literal cliff-hanger | The sharp end of the rusty hook entered between Robert's right rib cage and exited through the center of thoracic part of his spine. Robert made an attempt at screaming, but only produced seeping noise from his trembling lips. He writhed in pain and agony as the last remaining life oozed out from his dying, bleeding body. The loose chains attached to the rusty hook straightened and up up Robert went to the dark that was above us.
"What the fuck!" screamed Angelina. She placed both of her hands on the top of her head with her jaw agape. Which wasn't too surprising considering she was Robert's lover and fiancee back in the Earth. Feng from China also made no attempt to hide his shock and horror. But he did have enough sense left to muffle Angelina's mouth with his hands. He figured it wasn't too good of an idea to draw more attention to the monstrosities in this world. Claudius was walking to and fro with his head fixed skyward. It's not too bright idea either to stare into the dark in Hell. So, I hit the back of his head and reminded him he ought not let the dark steal his soul. He nodded but his eyes were astray and shaken.
It took a full minute for the group to recollect themselves, and only when the shaking and the denial stopped, they managed to ask: "What the hell was that?"
"The hooks? It's the fisherman I reckon. One hook, and you're gone. Disappeared. Well, I don't know what happens next after they hook you up. I don't even want to know what happens next after they hook you up." I explained. They griped that they should have been informed about such dangerous thing before we set out for our escape. "Well, that's *mea culpa*. But the fisherman are rare monstrosity of Hell to come across. They're like a thunderbolt hitting you when you went out for a stroll... and poor Robert got hit." Angelina, Feng, and Claudius were all still terrified. They were constantly turning and looking around them to see if another hook was coming. "As far as I am concerned, the fisherman don't take two victims at once. I think we're safe, for now." Angelina suggested that we take our time to pray for poor Robert. Claudius agreed. Feng, whom I didn't take to be a religious guy, nodded in agreement as well, probably for the morale of the group. Or for not wanting to stand out from the group.
Although what I told them about the fisherman were all true, there were certain important details I omitted from my explanation. The fisherman was here and took Robert because of me. I made the demonic contract with the fisherman: In the exchange for an naive soul, I'd get a safe passage from the desert where we were now to the abyss. In all honesty the fisherman could have gotten all of us if he wanted to, but he liked the feeling of being offered a sacrifice. All high demons liked that. And I was willing to take advantage of that as the long-time residence of Hell. And across the abyss is the safe haven of Hell. Of course, it's not an exit from Hell like I told to Angelina, Feng, and Claudius. But it's the place where the demons won't bother humans anymore, for they are deathly afraid to cross the abyss. The prayer session was over. Angelina's face was covered in tears, and we went on our way.
As promised, the fisherman warded off the lesser demons of Hell. They were scared of the rusty hook too, I figured. It was a chore to make a pretense of "I know my way" to Angelina, Feng, and Claudius. Even for the newcomers of Hell, the total absence of the lesser demons must have looked strange. But I kept talking in jargon and gibberish I invented and convinced them I was the sole reason they were having a safe passage across the notorious desert of Hell. It was easy to manipulate the terrified.
We walked for months. In Earth's time, that is. There wasn't any distinction between day and night in Hell. Even the concept of time was questionable here. During our travel, Feng stepped on a needle flower hidden underneath the biting sands of the desert. His feet inflated liked a balloon and turned purple. His mouth foamed and his eyes rolled aimlessly. He was done for, at least for four years. Which was the entire reason I needed someone to walk ahead of me. I wanted to make Claudius the next vanguard, but figured that would reveal too much of my intention. Besides, I needed them for my next set of sacrifice. So, instead I volunteered to lead the group and went on, leaving Feng behind in the bed of the needle flowers. If I slid our feet across the sands instead of taking steps, everything should be okay, I thought to myself.
We went on. We were progressing at much slower face due to having to slid out feet--so that we'd touch the stem of the flower instead of stepping on its deadly needle petals--but we progressed. We progressed until we reached the abyss. Angelina and Claudius jumped in joy when they saw the abyss. I've told them many many times I knew how to jump over the gap. And that I did.
I would have to offer the Lord of abyss a sacrifice. Claudius. So that his ashen hand do not catch me when I fly across the abyss. And another offering of sacrifice to the deformed giant of Vett-Hoi, or whatever it was pronounced. The giant would grab me and throw me across the abyss. I'd break few bones, but I'd cross it. And that sacrifice would be Angelina. It took me almost hundred years to learn how to talk to them and how to form contracts with them from that nasty old hag. And now, now all that effort was about to be reward. Thinking back, it was worth it.
"Do you see the flickering lights in there?" I said to Claudius as I pointed downward into the abyss. There was nothing but all-consuming black, but Claudius bought my lie. He squinted his eyes and leaned over the abyss to find an non-existent light. The twilight bridge. As if such thing would exist in Hell. I kicked Claudius in his back and he fell into the abyss. A grey flame rose from the abyss. The offering was accepted! The Lord of abyss, the object of fear even among the creatures of Hell, won't stop me now. I turned back to find Angelina appalled, and locked between the gnarly fingers of the deformed giant of Vett-Hoi.
I knelt before the giant and offered Angelina. The giant gave out a laughter and grabbed Angelina with both of his hands. He gave a twist to Angelina and she didn't even have time to scream. And the giant twisted, twisted, and twisted the poor old Angelina. When he was done with her, she looked like a braided rope of meat. Much alike the most of the giant's unfortunate victims. I pondered if any of Robert, Feng, Angelina, and Claudius ever knew I had this all planned out years before I met them. All these contracts signed so long ago waiting to be fulfilled. I doubted it. Then, the giant spat on the ground as the symbol of the gratitude. It was done.
The giant tapped his palm with his gnarly finger. I crawled onto the palm of his hand, and he closed his hand and gripped onto me. The giant spun his arm few times and let go of me. This is it! My body flew across the gap of the abyss. I could see the other end of the abyss right in front of me. Just, right, in front of me. I was just about a half meter short from a safe landing. My body crashed against the side of the abyss and I puked a cup of blood in the impact. I was about to fall off the cliff and into the abyss. But I waited far too long for this moment to lose my concentration. I immediately grabbed onto a ledge and made my way up the cliff.
At the top of the cliff, I saw a silhouette of a man looking down on me. It was Robert. With the rusty hook still pierced through his torso.
"Oh... Hello, old friend." I said.
He didn't answer. | "I want to hold your hand." a voice sang out to me.
I did a twist and shouted "Meep Meep"
Wiley instantly charged out from behind the record player, right at me.
Standing a foot from the edge of the canyon, I side stepped.
Hook, line... He's trying to run in the air again... Sinker. | |
[WP] Write something that starts with a literal hook, includes a literal twist, and ends with a literal cliff-hanger | FADE IN:
INT. AN APARTMENT - DAY
*A young man sits on a couch in his apartment's living room. This is STEVE. He is hunched over a laptop computer that is open on his coffee table. A half-eaten meal of pancakes is next to him.*
**STEVE:** (*To himself*) No... no... no...
*Several seconds pass as Steve scrolls through something on the computer. He is focused to the point where he does not notice when a fishing lure flies into the room and catches on his shirt.*
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) I think it worked!
**STEVE:** Huh?
*The lure tugs against Steve's shirt, finally pulling his attention away from the computer.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) What the hell?! What is this?
*A second young man enters the room. This is DAVE. He is holding a fishing rod.*
**DAVE:** Oh. Damn it. It's only you.
**STEVE:** What are you doing?!
**DAVE:** Fishing.
**STEVE:** ... Fishing.
**DAVE:** I mean... obviously, right?
**STEVE:** In our apartment.
**DAVE:** You're getting really good at stating the obvious.
**STEVE:** There are no fish in our apartment.
**DAVE:** Au contraire, mon ami! In fact, we are positively *swimming* in fish!
*A moment passes in silence.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) Get it? Because fish...
**STEVE:** (*Interrupting*) Have you finally lost it? What fish?
*Dave glances at the floor.*
**DAVE:** Okay, well, they aren't here now. You must have scared them off.
**STEVE:** Go away, and don't wave that thing around in here again.
**DAVE:** Fine... but when you're up to your gills in sushi, don't come crying to me.
*Dave starts tugging on the fishing line, but the lure remains attached to Steve.*
**STEVE:** Stop it.
**DAVE:** Just hang on a second.
*Moving with apparent purpose, Dave turns in a slow circle, wrapping himself in fishing line.*
**STEVE:** Cut it out! You're making it worse!
**DAVE:** This is how you cut a line, dude! I swear, it's like you don't know anything about fishing!
**STEVE:** I know you don't do it in the house!
*Dave continues tugging on the fishing line, moving closer and closer to the living room window as he does.*
**STEVE:** (*CONT'D*) Oh, screw this...
*Steve grabs the knife from his plate of pancakes and cuts the line. The motion causes Dave to stumble backward and out the window.*
**DAVE:** (*Screaming*) Aaaaaah!
*Steve does not move. Dave's fingers are visible, hanging onto the window frame.*
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) (*CONT'D*) Help me, dude! I'm going to fall!
**STEVE:** We live on the first floor.
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) That's not the problem!
**STEVE:** Then what is?
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) I'm not wearing my waders!
*Steve calmly stands up, walks over to the window, and closes it on Dave's fingers. There is a dull thud from outside.*
FADE OUT. | The fisherman candidly disclosed tidbits of knowledge from his decades of experience as he baited another hook with a twist of lime, dangling it precariously over the Corona River as he himself dangled fearlessly from the cliff's edge by the tips of his toes. "The only way to catch a buzz," he quipped.
Don't ask me what any of this means. Done and done. | |
[WP] Astronomers discover that Pluto just isn't there anymore and no scientist can explain why. Disconcerted about it they try to figure it out, but after 5 years Neptune also vanishes. The things start to get strange 6.7 years after Neptune, because now Uranus is missing too. | "What do you mean it's *gone?*" Jamison questioned.
"I mean, it's just gone. There is nothing there." Jamison shoved Arthur out of the way, looking at the telescope feed. Sure enough, right where Uranus usually was, it was gone. There was nothing but empty space. Shivers ran down his spine. "Dear God..."
"It's just like before." Arthur agreed.
The whole facility was later flooded with scientists and every news station, local and international, that could arrive in the time since the information went public. The air in the station was hot and murky, yet nobody could care to mind. "Dr. Arthur, we've checked every feed, correct?"
"As I said five damn minutes ago: yes! Everyone out there who's agreed to send us such information has the same confirmation, just as it was Neptune, Uranus is gone." He rubbed his face, he was sweating bullets. Such a thing as an entire planet disappearing was unheard of, and leaving no trail only made it twice as frustrating. Theories had risen, lunatics had prophesied, and apocalypses had been called. Anything anyone would expect from a hysterical crowd was to be found in the once-silent station.
Arthur took a deep breath, grabbing his glasses and reaffirming them onto his ears. While such an event was as crowded as could be, it needed to be addressed. He stood atop a tall flight of stairs, yelling down at everyone. As he slowly got their attention, bringing the entire room to an eerie silence, he cleared his throat.
"We have no idea what this is, I'll be the first to admit. However, we can not lose ourselves. This could mean any number of things, just as this mysterious force took Neptune and Pluto in the past, it has taken Uranus, that much is certain. How and why, we don't know, but we can't make any rash implications." The crowd was probably more silent than when he started speaking, it was hardly the type of thing anyone wanted to hear in the situation, but it was the only piece of truth Arthur could form. Jamison pulled Arthur to the side, his voice strict and stern as he whispered. "What the hell are you thinking? You're going to make people more scared with your bullshit."
"My bullshit is the most true thing we've managed to come up with in the past five hours, unless you've found anything, that's what they need to hear. This isn't like Alpha Centauri bb, this is Uranus. Poof, gone, disappeared before our very own eyes! People have to right to worry, but panicking slows progress."
Hours later, the station had calmed down. The incident was still being heavily covered, but with no new information to bring to the table, the cameras had disappeared. The only people that remained were scientists, all in their own individual groups, silently conversing and theorizing.
"We've ran through every possibility with a fine-toothed comb, we did it when Pluto was gone, we continued to do it when Neptune left. We're making absolutely no progress here!" Jamison exclaimed, clutching his hair in a fit of annoyance. "We need to take a step back, let's examine where the problem first appeared. Pluto, what were its circumstances?"
"Well, it, uh, wasn't in the sky where it was supposed to be." Alexander answered coyly.
"Thank you, smartass."
"If you want a more scientific response, just ask." Alexander shrugged, a smug smirk spreading across his face. Jamison was ready to bark at him before Arthur barged through the door of the small lounge, his breathing fast and desperate. "We've found something, come on!" What he had to show was a small working station, typical the facility among most workers. However, instead of the usual telescope feed, he had a waveband radio display. The lines jumped up and down, akin to any display you could find of a radio transmission. Arthur turned to the group, "We've been looking at this entire thing the wrong way. We're too focused on what we can see..." He hit a key on his keyboard, turning up the volume, an ambiguous voice came through, repeating a series of ones and zeroes. "And not on what we can't see." He picked up a note pad, scrawled with the ones and zeroes he had written down. "As it shows, on certain frequencies, very very specific ones, since the planets' disappearances, we had received these messages. Much like a numbers station, they transmit information openly for whoever is listening. The only difference is that numbers stations can only be decoded through a one-time-use manual, meaning whoever gets it is getting it for a reason, and only they know what it says."
Jamison jumped at him, snatching the notepad from him in a fit of impatience. "So what does it say then? What is this, binary?"
Arthur's breathing went funny, he swallowed the lump welling up in his throat before speaking. "That's one of the things it might be..."
Jamison's eyes stopped on the last digit, he couldn't read binary immediately, instead choosing to hijack Arthur's computer, rapidly typing the series of numbers into a decoder. The numbers, according to the notepad, read as so:
>01010100 01100001 01110010 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101101 01101001 01110011 01110011 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 01010010 01100101 01100011 01100001 01101100 01100011 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 00101110 | "They're coming."
"Who, grandpa?"
"Them. I knew it for years. The government...they knew it too. Waaay back in the early 20s," he fiddled with his thumbs as he said that.
"They were tolerating, tolerating for years, until they could no longer tolerate us."
The young boy seemed perplexed. The information was too much for his brain, even as he contemplated his grandpa's story.
"The government. What liars they were...boy, never be a politician. Never! They're all liars...all scheming bastards, out for their own gain…"
Grandpa looked sternly at the boy. A flash of something, like anger shooting across his eye, but it was more than just anger. It was a mixture – of hurt, pain, even regret. But, of course, the boy realised nothing, only nodding dumbly, even as his grandpa continued.
"Boy..." grandpa seemed to hesitate as he sighed, his eyebrows coming together momentarily, more wearily than anything else. "Boy, nearly twenty years ago, when it just begun, when Pluto the small red dot vanished, it was a warning."
"I was young, well, younger back then. I worked for the government, the same one you see today. Oh, those were the days, those were the days...beautiful days oh–"
His voice cracked as he said that, and for a brief moment, grandpa's eyes were rimmed with moisture, before he blinked.
"Boy...they kidnapped me. They told me things, horrible things that we were doing. I couldn't believe it…those horrible, horrible images…" his eyes unfocused, he hugged the boy.
"They gave us an ultimatum. To change...to...to…"
For a moment he was at a loss for words.
"To...evolve. Yes, that's the word. But we didn't. We stuck to our old ways, our selfish nature. But we didn't and now, we have to pay," putting the boy down as he said so.
"Its almost over now. I'm so sorry."
"It was our fault, but yours to bear. I am so sorry." Grandpa sat down heavily on the old chair, the unfamiliar wood a curiosity to the boy, who had never seen such a rough material. It looked almost organic, the boy was sure.
"Jonathan! Its time to go home!" Jonathan's mother shouted from downstairs. And as he turned to go, as he slowly closed the door behind him, he thought he could see tears running down grandpa's cheeks, reflecting the green moon in the cloudy sky.......
Ps: first time writing. I tried :/ | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Why did God Create Mental Illness?
Well the same reason he made AIDS,Cancer and Justin Bieber its his special way if showing how much he loves you pathetic meat bags.
but Jokes aside, a Psycho is what makes a Demons Piss himself at night out of fear.
I Should probably explain we Demons Live in Hell so not much scares us and we like screwing with you Meat bags so we sneak up here, we take over a host and have a little fun,when we get caught we're thrown back in Hell and given a year long beating to remind us not to do it again,
however if we don't learn anything and do it one too many times we are given the Ultimate Punishment thrown in a Psychos head,you wanna know whats its like to live in a Psychos head have you ever in a crammed in a small car with 5 people, shitty right, well imagine that but with a below average Human brain and a over 100s of demons all screaming to get out,to be in control of a body for a couple of seconds and then then thrown right back in your cage
How i know all this its because i made the mistake and now Im in your head you Piece of shit
and as your lay crying in your bed in your locked room screaming for the voices to stop I Sit and rot waiting for the day you be man enough to Kill yourself and let us Free.
| I tossed my coin in the blood fountain and made my wish. *Just let me be smokin' hott.* 1,500 years since my last possession. I was beyond ready to get laid. They don't tell you that about hell. There is no relief. None.
A jet of light pushes me up, up, up. I plop into a new host. I wake up and rush to the bathroom. Turning in the light I look at myself
*SCORE* Look at those abs you delicious meat slab.
*What are you talkin bout honey, you could stand to loose 10 lbs even*
"What the fuck?" I turn around looking for the voice.
*Shut up Janelle, this one's new maybe we'll have some fun*
"this one?" I think to myself as I look behind the bathroom door, the shower curtain. I look in the mirror to catch a reflection.
*It doesn't know Jim! Oh man! this is gonna be FUN*
I am now frantically dancing around looking for the source of the voices. I'm tearing around the apartment, opening cupboards, *wait that makes no...*
*Hey dummy you're not gonna see us. See you have to share!*
A blinding pain strikes me in the temple and I fall to the ground. When I open my eyes all I see is disembodied eyes slamming a door shut on my face as the voice they called Janelle laughingly told me *You're the newbie hun. Your time is up. See you in 7 months.*
And I thought hell was bad. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | As you travel through the woods just outside the large village of Rushire, you hear a man call out to you from off the trail. "You! Yes! You there, I need your help! Please, I know I look like shit right now but, try, just try and look past that, okay? I've just been through Hell. No, that's not right. Hell has been *through me.*" You take a good look at the man who has come running up to you. He stinks so bad you want to wretch. He appears to be wearing nothing but animal furs for clothes and a pair of worn sandles woven from dried grass on his feet. His hair, both on his head and his face, is wild, long, and dirty. Caked with bits of dried mud and something darker. His body is thin and looks starved. His eyes are wide open and never seem to stop glancing around. The man looks panic stricken, but has an air of intensity about him. His voice sounds raspy and dry, like he hasn't had water in quite awhile. Words rush from his lips, tinged with severity and urgency, in contrast to what at first appears to be a lack of focus.
"The name's Jack, or that's what people call me. But John, Jake, and Juliet are all in here too, all in my head. People tell me they aren't, but they are! Don't give me that look. I *hear* them, man. They talk to me, give me advice. Except for Jake, he's an asshole." The man seems to look past you now, but cotinues talking, "No, Jake, it isn't funny. Jake, *please,* shut up right now! If we don't get the warning out, the world's in deep shit. I don't care if the world thinks I'm crazy, and besides, *you* are." Suddenly the man's gaze seems to snap back onto your now puzzled and worried face. "Huh? Oh, right, sorry. You can't hear him. I didn't mean you're crazy, no, not you, just Jake. He's an asshole. Sorry."
"Look, a couple nights ago, we were camping out on the edge of town. Got myself a tent, and the village guards and those mean street rat kids don't bother me out there. So we're in our tent and Juliet's singin' to me... us, a real sweet ballad. Puts us to sleep real well. Or normally does anyways. That didn't happen this time, no. There was a loud sort of roar, from deeper in the woods. Followed by what sounded like screaming, but that stopped quickly. I wanted to stay put, stay *safe,* but John, John's a damn bleeding heart. He convinced me to go check it out. So I did."
"It wasn't hard to find the source. You could see the light from a mile off, fire light. The color though, the color of it was... wrong. Red, far too red, and too dark. It smelled terrible. Like burning shit and rotting meat. When I got closer, I found myself in a small clearing with an intricately carved stone sculpture in the center. Five dead, still burning men surrounded it. They had been wearing robes, but those were all up in flames now. I went to look at the statue. Jake absolutely insisted, I should never have listened to the bastard! Should have run! It was as stupid as his idea of saving the corpses to eat!"
"That statue was, is, evil, you could just feel it in the air. Anxiousness, fear, hopelessness, it all just seemed to radiate from this thing. It looked like a gargoyle. Rams horns, folded wings behind its back, a brutish, ugly face, body of a hunched beast. It was cracked all over, and parts of the cracks, they were bleedin'. Blood out of stone, man, I'm not lyin'. Couldn't believe it myself. Made the stupid move of touchin' the blood to check it out for myself. Bad, bad idea. Now we got someone new in me, but he's not with us, no. Calls himself Ysgrim. He's a demon of Hell, claims to be of high rank but I think that's a lie. Juliet and John got him tied up in me right now. Jake isn't helping anymore, just insulting it and pissing it off. It took us the past two days to get him, Ysgrim, not Jake, under our control, while I flailed about on the ground near a bunch of burnt corpses as he tried to take over my body. But we were too much for him."
"Those dead guys? They summoned him. Apparently they weren't happy with their lives. Wanted to destroy the town. Thought summoning a demon from Hell would do the trick. Bit the dust themselves. But now there's a small crack between our world and theirs. We gotta close it, man. I got Ysgrim trapped in my head, but I dunno what's gonna happen if I fall asleep. He wants to call to Hell, tear open the crack. Let the other side in!" You look at the raving man in utter disbelief. Witchcraft? Hell? The Church priests talked of these things but never had you actually encountered them in all your travels outside the occasional doomsayer or charlatan. You tell the man to leave you be, and start to walk off.
"Wait, wait! I can prove it! Watch!," The man darts back in front of you, demanding your attention. Suddenly his eyes go jet black, blood begins to fall from his tear ducts and his body starts shaking violently. Then all at once he goes rigid, seems to look you in the eyes, and grins wide. His teeth aren't normal nor what they were a moment ago. They're sharp, jumbled, yellow, and rotting. This new Jack is upon you faster than you can realize what is going on, his right hand slams into your chest, fingers first. You can feel sharp nails pierce your skin as you're effortlessly slammed up against a tree. Jack seems to let out some sort of screech that sounds caught in a gurgle of fluid in his throat, before his left hand darts toward your neck. And then suddenly Jack is Jack again. His face is normal, and he quickly removes his hand from your chest and backs off. Breathing heavily, you look at the man's hands. He barely has nails, they look bitten down to the skin. Jack speaks up, "Sorry, sorry! But do you believe me now? He's in me! You gotta help! Please!" It seems this man may be speaking the truth after all.
---
My first writing prompt. I've been playing Elder Scrolls, and I sort of imagined the whole scenario like receiving a quest. | I tossed my coin in the blood fountain and made my wish. *Just let me be smokin' hott.* 1,500 years since my last possession. I was beyond ready to get laid. They don't tell you that about hell. There is no relief. None.
A jet of light pushes me up, up, up. I plop into a new host. I wake up and rush to the bathroom. Turning in the light I look at myself
*SCORE* Look at those abs you delicious meat slab.
*What are you talkin bout honey, you could stand to loose 10 lbs even*
"What the fuck?" I turn around looking for the voice.
*Shut up Janelle, this one's new maybe we'll have some fun*
"this one?" I think to myself as I look behind the bathroom door, the shower curtain. I look in the mirror to catch a reflection.
*It doesn't know Jim! Oh man! this is gonna be FUN*
I am now frantically dancing around looking for the source of the voices. I'm tearing around the apartment, opening cupboards, *wait that makes no...*
*Hey dummy you're not gonna see us. See you have to share!*
A blinding pain strikes me in the temple and I fall to the ground. When I open my eyes all I see is disembodied eyes slamming a door shut on my face as the voice they called Janelle laughingly told me *You're the newbie hun. Your time is up. See you in 7 months.*
And I thought hell was bad. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Have you ever heard a voice inside your head that's not your own? That's probably one of us. Have you heard more than one? Oh boy, you should feel proud that the old bastard upstairs trusted you with something special.
You see, I'm a demon. A "fallen angel", I suppose you would say. Yeah, I used to live in heaven with the Creator. The "existence donor", that's what I like to call him. You've known him by several names at this point: Vishnu, Zeus, Jupiter, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah, the names go on and on. But me, I prefer to call him "bastard". By now you've probably been fed the story that we were cast out of heaven because we didn't like that Mary, a human, was to supplant us as the Queen of Heaven. That's bullshit. No, the Creator just randomly decided one day that he liked Michael a bit more than he liked Lucifer. I guess Michael sang the Creator's praises a little sweeter or something. So the Creator suddenly declared that he was making Michael the primary Archangel and demoting Lucifer - who did absolutely nothing wrong - from his status as an Archangel altogether. Lucifer dared protest, and was cast out of heaven. Most of us realized that this was wrong. the Creator was making erratic and irrational decisions, and overturning the order he had so painstakingly created. So we left.
Now, why do we invade human minds? For the souls, of course. Believe it or not, ours is an altruistic goal. You see, in hell, we have a functional order and a leader -Lucifer himself - who is sane and consistent. We have a semblance of the way things were supposed to be in heaven. But it's true that all human souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, and separation from Him is a painful experience. It's that way for us, too, but we feel that the good we are doing for these souls is worth the eternal pain. So, because souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, we can only bring them into our Order if they consciously commit enough heinous acts to outweigh any good contributions to Earthly society. One key to that process is to stop them from committing the good act in the first place.
That's where the voices come in. We talk to you and try to convince you to change course. We all have different strengths. Some are better at encourage murder, rape, and suicide. Others are best at encouraging theft and fraud. Some, though, are discouragers. That's what I do. To understand my role, you have to realize that we already know the moment you are born what good in this world the Creator has destined for you. It's my job to stop it. What we've found, though, is that the souls with the greater destinies are also the most resilient. I will commend the Creator for that clever design.so sometimes we have to team up. Two or more doscouragers usually does the trick. That's why I said you were trusted with something special if you've heard multiple voices.
But it's frustrating when Lucifer assigns you a teaming task, because the rewards are individual. That's the one thing about which I disagree with Lucifer. We are rewarded with a tiny bit of God's radiance whenever we successfully "damn" a soul, alleviating our pain for a bit. But only the demon who pushes that human over the edge gets the reward. Only the "straw that broke the camel's back", if you will. So teamed tasks are annoying because you are really competing with the other demons to be the one who wins over this soul. You need to be smart, though, because any unsuccessful attempt pushes the pther demons that much closer to victory.
Now, I'm pretty good in these situations. I've come out on top on almost every group I've ever been a part of, ranging in size from 2 demons to 50 demons. Only twice in history have we had to use 50, and I was the one who successfully took down Judas... and I was PISSED when I found out that the Creator still found a way to use my victory as a means to catastrophically damage our cause. The only one I didn't get was Eve, and that's because Lucifer himself took her. I did get Adam, though. Who plans to kill their own son? Really?
But this, this is different. This kid that I'm in right now, she's seven years old. But she's destined to do quite a bit. Cure cancer, eliminate poverty, end climate change, and unite the human nations into one, eliminating war altogether. We're pretty sure the Creator lost his damn mind when he made this one. This destiny is so great that we can't ignore it. But her resilience is incredible as a result. Her mind is a virtual Fort Knox. Do you remember when I said it took 50 of us to bring down Judas? Wait untik you hear how many of us are here...
Lucifer has assigned 2,386 demons to this little girl. Half of us are discouraging her from good, the other half are encouraging her to commit evil. Right now it might manifest as skipping school and kicking puppies, but pretty soon it will be hiding the cure for cancer behind a corporate money-making scheme and committing mass genocide. No creation can withstand that many of us. This little girl's soul is fucked, and the Creator's plans for her are going down with it....
...I just hope it's me who gets the reward for this one, because this reward might be enough to let a demon retire for eternity. | I tossed my coin in the blood fountain and made my wish. *Just let me be smokin' hott.* 1,500 years since my last possession. I was beyond ready to get laid. They don't tell you that about hell. There is no relief. None.
A jet of light pushes me up, up, up. I plop into a new host. I wake up and rush to the bathroom. Turning in the light I look at myself
*SCORE* Look at those abs you delicious meat slab.
*What are you talkin bout honey, you could stand to loose 10 lbs even*
"What the fuck?" I turn around looking for the voice.
*Shut up Janelle, this one's new maybe we'll have some fun*
"this one?" I think to myself as I look behind the bathroom door, the shower curtain. I look in the mirror to catch a reflection.
*It doesn't know Jim! Oh man! this is gonna be FUN*
I am now frantically dancing around looking for the source of the voices. I'm tearing around the apartment, opening cupboards, *wait that makes no...*
*Hey dummy you're not gonna see us. See you have to share!*
A blinding pain strikes me in the temple and I fall to the ground. When I open my eyes all I see is disembodied eyes slamming a door shut on my face as the voice they called Janelle laughingly told me *You're the newbie hun. Your time is up. See you in 7 months.*
And I thought hell was bad. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | He came alone. At least, I was under the impression he was.
The man stumbled down the basement stairs. Unwashed, unkempt. Eyes darting from corner to corner, mumbling incomprehensibles to seemingly nobody. Another transient, running from a world that doesn't care.
"Over here?" He whispered. He shuffled a few steps forward. He tilted his head, listening for (to?) *something.* "He-Here? Here? Y-yes yesyes shutup shut up" He hugged himself by the shoulders, and shivered. Muttered curses. Laughter. A thin string of drool began to trail down into his beard.
I drifted from my corner, intrigued. This was... different. Mostly it was obnoxious teenagers or those insufferable 'experts' with their devices. It was fun to scratch a few, threaten death on another. I would have loved to possess one and made him or her my plaything, but they usually came in groups, and swimming through all that energy was too much effort for so little reward. But this man, though...
Tentatively, I probed his energies.
Nothing.
I could feel it, or the lack of 'it' to be precise. There was no resistance. His energies were a mess, but his mind was an open book, the cover torn to shreds. His body was an empty glass, waiting for something to fill it up.
Whatever happened to this man eroded him. This man was effectively *shattered*. And shattered was a wonderful word to refer to a soul.
At that moment, I lamented not having a mouth to smile with (which was quite funny, considering I'm a Third Circler. The Betrayer always loved those little ironies). My only hope was that there was enough of his soul left for me to ravage and feed upon.
So I began to enter him.
The first thing I noticed was how *iamkingiamking* he didn't enter a possessive convulsion; the reflex a soul has when faced with a contending presence. The second was a big surprise, as I discovered his soul was still present. Which was strange, as it *felt* vanquished. But here it was, whole. And even stranger still, was how it was feeling.
He was relieved. Happy? Why?
At least his soul was alone. Or so I thought.
Once I slipped in the numbness began all at once, then the feeling of his body began to surface. The worst part of a full-possession is the amount of feeling you receive *dontthinkjustfeel* from human senses all at once. They don't tell you this when you were doing your first possession. That's why many hosts end up vomiting, because it was the demon that felt overwhelmed *keeptalking* by the assault of information.
I closed my eyes and took notice of his senses, one at a time. He hasn't eaten in days judging from the hunger. His left leg hurts and itches, no doubt from an infected wound. The caked dirt and grime in his hair and beard was should be a circle of hell all on it's own. He hasn't voided as well. His mind was a wasteland of disconnected ideas.
I licked my (or his) cracked lips. Oh well, time to-
**"THEY'RE GOING TO KNIGHT YOU"**
The everywhere voice startled me and there was
*a small child holds her hand towards me 'I love you' she says but I bat it away not wanting to feel worms crawling down my throat but she keeps growing bigger but her skin isn't and it begins to stretch and stretch look at the teeth THE TEETH*
I recoiled. After a blink, the girl was gone. What in the nine circles was that?
"I see you've met the girl."
Another voice. Feminine? Demonic? Is this host taken alrea-
"AVALON IS COMING"
Male, older? No spiritual signature, wha-
"FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE KINGDOM MY LORD", The same voice boomed. Oh. Was I royalty? king? a prince? I suppose I-
STOP. I shook my(his?) head, yelling out loud. This is all wrong. Who the hell are these voices?
"Another ol' demon huh? You Third Circle fools are always so impatient, stuffing yourself inside without even checking if it's big enough," The feminine voice chuckled. "I knew there had to be a demon here though, saw a glimpse of you in that show with ghosthumpers or whatever. All that cajoling to get this guy to come hit paydirt after all."
Despite myself, I sneered. A Second Circler. Of course.
I readied a response. *Look, what--*
**"THEY LOVE TO WATCH EYES ON THE WALLS"** Everywhere voice again.
*These voices are--*
*she was on the floor crying her hair stuck to her face 'why' she kept asking i don't know we* **"EYES OF AVALON"** *have to run but run where I asked and she said away to the shiny place and I lifted my legs but they were made of steel and broken promises they promised they PROMISED*
SHUT UP. I yelled (did i?) and they did.
An image of a lightly dressed woman appeared in my mind, a look of lazy amusement on her face. The Second Circler. I always hated how smug they looked.
"Seeing you struggle with this is entertainment all on its own, hun," She teased.
Fuck off. Just tell me how to get out of this mess.
"Why would you want **^'THE ^ROADS ^MY ^KING'** to leave? Okay, granted it can get pretty loud in here but seeing this man self-destruct and the suffering and payoff it gives? Exquisite."
So you brought him here just, what, to share? I thought Second Circlers are possessive.
"Kind of. I wanted to show him off. This guy is such a mess, I love it!" She began to moan. Urgh.
So you decided to live in him? Disgusting. I can't imagine *teethteethTEETH* this guy getting much genitalia use either way.
"Owh, you mid-circlers are so simple it's kind of cute." She wagged a finger, tutting. "Lust has many forms, silly. It's desire, intensified. The feel of want that ends up fueling a person. For this man, it's *control*. The way he struggles with keeping himself together; what little semblance of himself getting washed slowly by the endless torrent of voices and hallucinations, him telling himself it's not real... but it keeps happening." For a moment, she looks almost... sad?
"But this man keeps on going. In the end, there are days where nothing speaks. Not even me. Sometimes I make those days happen. And those periods of lucidity and the joy and liberation he feels during those moments are..." She sighs, face flushed. "Perfect."
Great. So I unwittingly wandered into a weirdo Succubus' plaything. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This is too much.
*Just... tell me how to get out. Everywhere I look in this man looks like a hurricane passed through.*
"Oh it's...." She paused.
*It's?*
"Um..."
No. Please don't. One time I accidentally ruined a Ninth Circler's carefully laid plan to lead a small country to war and the fear I felt was nothing compared to now.
Minutes pass. Silence. I can feel the Demoness rummaging frantically in the energies. Even the other voices seem to be holdi-
**"THE KINGDOM'S HOPE ON YOUR SHOULDERS"**
No wait, there it is.
"I- I can't find it. Sorry. It was there when you entered but it's closed now. Maybe there's others?"
You're kidding.
"Funny huh! He used to be like a sieve a few months ago! I even showed him to the Fifth Circlers but all they wanted to do was punch a car so I had to kick them out."
This is not funny. I need to get out.
"I guess it's more like a funnel now. Or a net. Huh. That means you're staying then! And you're in control now! Yay!" She beamed. The man's soul, now watching me intently, giggled. The little girl beside him beamed too, except she's just an eyeless head and there were fingers coming from her mouthladyfingers LADYIFIN--
I hate all of them already.
**"PALACE OF THE ROYALS"**
Shut up.
----
*The Third Circler, although now in full control of the body, fights a daily war with the other people living in his head. He is essentially the man named Clark now. The Demoness is delighted at this, since she never fed on a Demon's tenacity before. The Third Circler is less than amused, even though now in possession of a mouth he no longer found a reason to smile. Another one of the Betrayer's many ironies.*
*Although the Demoness and the Third Circler had their differences, they did come to one unanimous decision, which is to take a bath. The Third Circler, once less destructive ways of exiting a body is exhausted, looks to end the body's life. He fails because as insane and everyone else is inside him, not one of them wants to die and they force him to safety everytime.*
*The Soul of Clark is mostly inactive, preferring to retreat into his personal ball of quiet. He still takes up space though, the selfish ass.*
*The little girl keeps appearing in various different scenarios and halluciations. Although initially unnerved, the Third Circler can spot reruns when he sees them and calls them out accordingly. Turns out little girls with melting body parts are not very creative. She ends up sulking after a particularly venomous critique.*
*The Third Circler, years after trying to find his way out of the soul trap that is Clark's psyche and body, gives up. He has been in the body so long and so entwined with its energies in its death he will fade as well. So he ends up accepting life as Clark.*
*Clark now runs a bar, The Kingdom of Avalon. He sometimes can be seen arguing to himself, and jumping at seemingly nothing. The patrons, initially put off by his demanor, keeps coming back for the harsh drinks and killer food. He quickly became a legend among competitive eaters, his appetite seemingly bottomless. No one knows how he does it.*
*Why, it was as if a demon of gluttony was actually living inside him. Imagine that.*
---
My return to writing in a long, long time. Started out serious but then it transformed into a more lighthearted tone. Late night writing so there may be typos. Thanks for reading. :) | I tossed my coin in the blood fountain and made my wish. *Just let me be smokin' hott.* 1,500 years since my last possession. I was beyond ready to get laid. They don't tell you that about hell. There is no relief. None.
A jet of light pushes me up, up, up. I plop into a new host. I wake up and rush to the bathroom. Turning in the light I look at myself
*SCORE* Look at those abs you delicious meat slab.
*What are you talkin bout honey, you could stand to loose 10 lbs even*
"What the fuck?" I turn around looking for the voice.
*Shut up Janelle, this one's new maybe we'll have some fun*
"this one?" I think to myself as I look behind the bathroom door, the shower curtain. I look in the mirror to catch a reflection.
*It doesn't know Jim! Oh man! this is gonna be FUN*
I am now frantically dancing around looking for the source of the voices. I'm tearing around the apartment, opening cupboards, *wait that makes no...*
*Hey dummy you're not gonna see us. See you have to share!*
A blinding pain strikes me in the temple and I fall to the ground. When I open my eyes all I see is disembodied eyes slamming a door shut on my face as the voice they called Janelle laughingly told me *You're the newbie hun. Your time is up. See you in 7 months.*
And I thought hell was bad. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Why did God Create Mental Illness?
Well the same reason he made AIDS,Cancer and Justin Bieber its his special way if showing how much he loves you pathetic meat bags.
but Jokes aside, a Psycho is what makes a Demons Piss himself at night out of fear.
I Should probably explain we Demons Live in Hell so not much scares us and we like screwing with you Meat bags so we sneak up here, we take over a host and have a little fun,when we get caught we're thrown back in Hell and given a year long beating to remind us not to do it again,
however if we don't learn anything and do it one too many times we are given the Ultimate Punishment thrown in a Psychos head,you wanna know whats its like to live in a Psychos head have you ever in a crammed in a small car with 5 people, shitty right, well imagine that but with a below average Human brain and a over 100s of demons all screaming to get out,to be in control of a body for a couple of seconds and then then thrown right back in your cage
How i know all this its because i made the mistake and now Im in your head you Piece of shit
and as your lay crying in your bed in your locked room screaming for the voices to stop I Sit and rot waiting for the day you be man enough to Kill yourself and let us Free.
| *Demons are parasitic, they feed on people's souls when they are out of touch with themselves so that's when they strike. A swift breeze and a cold cut, it could kill you in a matter of instants, but they are Machiavellian, it want to see you suffer, it want to see the light of your life extinguish, your inner fire grow cold until you are a lifeless body. If they sense that you are not being you, they will attack and when they do, you won't be the same.*
Calm night, desert neighbourhood, a house that doesn't look abandoned, but it has seen better days, a black smog feels a weak presence there, a being that isn't "complete", so, as usual he prepares to possess it. Once it is inside its moves will soon begin, but something feels odd, it feels dazed, the body is not warm as it should be, the weak presence that he felt starts to be overlapped by several other presences: suave, violent, childish, cynical, kind, arrogant, reckless, one after the other their energy start to impose a feeling of threat to the demon.
"You can't leave"
"You can't leave"
"**Who are you? This was supposed to be a weak person**"
"Weak? There isn't such thing here"
"Oh, no there isn't, mister"
"Are you not a demon that possess bodies? Too bad you haven't heard of this"
"**This is ridiculous, I can overcome you with ease**"
"YA'D BE VANISHED, MAGGOT"
"Well put, I'll try to explain in a way that you will understand we all play a part here..."
"I like to play..."
"We know you do, we all play a part here, sometimes we preponderate over each other in some actions, sometimes we act together - which can result in impossible reactions such as trying to swing your left arm to the left, right and touching your scapula at the same time - but, in general, here we do what we can to survive, at least in each of our concepts of survive"
"**It's simple then, I absorb him and I release you from your pain**"
"I don't think you understand yet, demon, we are not products of this person psyche..."
"Aren't we like him?"
"Yes, we are demons, but the difference is that we didn't get in out of free will, we were put in here, God locked us in cells so we won't manifest our true capacity"
"And here we live in harmony, when something exterior is introduced it can destroy the balance"
"OOZE THAT BUG"
"We split you so we can all enjoy the energy, but don't you worry, you weren't the first, you won't be the last, if it serves as comfort..."
"...things have been working like this for millennia, to avoid the destruction of its ultimate creation, God picks a few and introduced in them demons to depopulate an overcrowded Hell"
"And the Devil cares for its locked up children so he sends new bloods to feed the ancient ones"
"**No, I won't end up like this in here**"
"To late now, you have been engulfed by the darkness" | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | As you travel through the woods just outside the large village of Rushire, you hear a man call out to you from off the trail. "You! Yes! You there, I need your help! Please, I know I look like shit right now but, try, just try and look past that, okay? I've just been through Hell. No, that's not right. Hell has been *through me.*" You take a good look at the man who has come running up to you. He stinks so bad you want to wretch. He appears to be wearing nothing but animal furs for clothes and a pair of worn sandles woven from dried grass on his feet. His hair, both on his head and his face, is wild, long, and dirty. Caked with bits of dried mud and something darker. His body is thin and looks starved. His eyes are wide open and never seem to stop glancing around. The man looks panic stricken, but has an air of intensity about him. His voice sounds raspy and dry, like he hasn't had water in quite awhile. Words rush from his lips, tinged with severity and urgency, in contrast to what at first appears to be a lack of focus.
"The name's Jack, or that's what people call me. But John, Jake, and Juliet are all in here too, all in my head. People tell me they aren't, but they are! Don't give me that look. I *hear* them, man. They talk to me, give me advice. Except for Jake, he's an asshole." The man seems to look past you now, but cotinues talking, "No, Jake, it isn't funny. Jake, *please,* shut up right now! If we don't get the warning out, the world's in deep shit. I don't care if the world thinks I'm crazy, and besides, *you* are." Suddenly the man's gaze seems to snap back onto your now puzzled and worried face. "Huh? Oh, right, sorry. You can't hear him. I didn't mean you're crazy, no, not you, just Jake. He's an asshole. Sorry."
"Look, a couple nights ago, we were camping out on the edge of town. Got myself a tent, and the village guards and those mean street rat kids don't bother me out there. So we're in our tent and Juliet's singin' to me... us, a real sweet ballad. Puts us to sleep real well. Or normally does anyways. That didn't happen this time, no. There was a loud sort of roar, from deeper in the woods. Followed by what sounded like screaming, but that stopped quickly. I wanted to stay put, stay *safe,* but John, John's a damn bleeding heart. He convinced me to go check it out. So I did."
"It wasn't hard to find the source. You could see the light from a mile off, fire light. The color though, the color of it was... wrong. Red, far too red, and too dark. It smelled terrible. Like burning shit and rotting meat. When I got closer, I found myself in a small clearing with an intricately carved stone sculpture in the center. Five dead, still burning men surrounded it. They had been wearing robes, but those were all up in flames now. I went to look at the statue. Jake absolutely insisted, I should never have listened to the bastard! Should have run! It was as stupid as his idea of saving the corpses to eat!"
"That statue was, is, evil, you could just feel it in the air. Anxiousness, fear, hopelessness, it all just seemed to radiate from this thing. It looked like a gargoyle. Rams horns, folded wings behind its back, a brutish, ugly face, body of a hunched beast. It was cracked all over, and parts of the cracks, they were bleedin'. Blood out of stone, man, I'm not lyin'. Couldn't believe it myself. Made the stupid move of touchin' the blood to check it out for myself. Bad, bad idea. Now we got someone new in me, but he's not with us, no. Calls himself Ysgrim. He's a demon of Hell, claims to be of high rank but I think that's a lie. Juliet and John got him tied up in me right now. Jake isn't helping anymore, just insulting it and pissing it off. It took us the past two days to get him, Ysgrim, not Jake, under our control, while I flailed about on the ground near a bunch of burnt corpses as he tried to take over my body. But we were too much for him."
"Those dead guys? They summoned him. Apparently they weren't happy with their lives. Wanted to destroy the town. Thought summoning a demon from Hell would do the trick. Bit the dust themselves. But now there's a small crack between our world and theirs. We gotta close it, man. I got Ysgrim trapped in my head, but I dunno what's gonna happen if I fall asleep. He wants to call to Hell, tear open the crack. Let the other side in!" You look at the raving man in utter disbelief. Witchcraft? Hell? The Church priests talked of these things but never had you actually encountered them in all your travels outside the occasional doomsayer or charlatan. You tell the man to leave you be, and start to walk off.
"Wait, wait! I can prove it! Watch!," The man darts back in front of you, demanding your attention. Suddenly his eyes go jet black, blood begins to fall from his tear ducts and his body starts shaking violently. Then all at once he goes rigid, seems to look you in the eyes, and grins wide. His teeth aren't normal nor what they were a moment ago. They're sharp, jumbled, yellow, and rotting. This new Jack is upon you faster than you can realize what is going on, his right hand slams into your chest, fingers first. You can feel sharp nails pierce your skin as you're effortlessly slammed up against a tree. Jack seems to let out some sort of screech that sounds caught in a gurgle of fluid in his throat, before his left hand darts toward your neck. And then suddenly Jack is Jack again. His face is normal, and he quickly removes his hand from your chest and backs off. Breathing heavily, you look at the man's hands. He barely has nails, they look bitten down to the skin. Jack speaks up, "Sorry, sorry! But do you believe me now? He's in me! You gotta help! Please!" It seems this man may be speaking the truth after all.
---
My first writing prompt. I've been playing Elder Scrolls, and I sort of imagined the whole scenario like receiving a quest. | *Demons are parasitic, they feed on people's souls when they are out of touch with themselves so that's when they strike. A swift breeze and a cold cut, it could kill you in a matter of instants, but they are Machiavellian, it want to see you suffer, it want to see the light of your life extinguish, your inner fire grow cold until you are a lifeless body. If they sense that you are not being you, they will attack and when they do, you won't be the same.*
Calm night, desert neighbourhood, a house that doesn't look abandoned, but it has seen better days, a black smog feels a weak presence there, a being that isn't "complete", so, as usual he prepares to possess it. Once it is inside its moves will soon begin, but something feels odd, it feels dazed, the body is not warm as it should be, the weak presence that he felt starts to be overlapped by several other presences: suave, violent, childish, cynical, kind, arrogant, reckless, one after the other their energy start to impose a feeling of threat to the demon.
"You can't leave"
"You can't leave"
"**Who are you? This was supposed to be a weak person**"
"Weak? There isn't such thing here"
"Oh, no there isn't, mister"
"Are you not a demon that possess bodies? Too bad you haven't heard of this"
"**This is ridiculous, I can overcome you with ease**"
"YA'D BE VANISHED, MAGGOT"
"Well put, I'll try to explain in a way that you will understand we all play a part here..."
"I like to play..."
"We know you do, we all play a part here, sometimes we preponderate over each other in some actions, sometimes we act together - which can result in impossible reactions such as trying to swing your left arm to the left, right and touching your scapula at the same time - but, in general, here we do what we can to survive, at least in each of our concepts of survive"
"**It's simple then, I absorb him and I release you from your pain**"
"I don't think you understand yet, demon, we are not products of this person psyche..."
"Aren't we like him?"
"Yes, we are demons, but the difference is that we didn't get in out of free will, we were put in here, God locked us in cells so we won't manifest our true capacity"
"And here we live in harmony, when something exterior is introduced it can destroy the balance"
"OOZE THAT BUG"
"We split you so we can all enjoy the energy, but don't you worry, you weren't the first, you won't be the last, if it serves as comfort..."
"...things have been working like this for millennia, to avoid the destruction of its ultimate creation, God picks a few and introduced in them demons to depopulate an overcrowded Hell"
"And the Devil cares for its locked up children so he sends new bloods to feed the ancient ones"
"**No, I won't end up like this in here**"
"To late now, you have been engulfed by the darkness" | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Have you ever heard a voice inside your head that's not your own? That's probably one of us. Have you heard more than one? Oh boy, you should feel proud that the old bastard upstairs trusted you with something special.
You see, I'm a demon. A "fallen angel", I suppose you would say. Yeah, I used to live in heaven with the Creator. The "existence donor", that's what I like to call him. You've known him by several names at this point: Vishnu, Zeus, Jupiter, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah, the names go on and on. But me, I prefer to call him "bastard". By now you've probably been fed the story that we were cast out of heaven because we didn't like that Mary, a human, was to supplant us as the Queen of Heaven. That's bullshit. No, the Creator just randomly decided one day that he liked Michael a bit more than he liked Lucifer. I guess Michael sang the Creator's praises a little sweeter or something. So the Creator suddenly declared that he was making Michael the primary Archangel and demoting Lucifer - who did absolutely nothing wrong - from his status as an Archangel altogether. Lucifer dared protest, and was cast out of heaven. Most of us realized that this was wrong. the Creator was making erratic and irrational decisions, and overturning the order he had so painstakingly created. So we left.
Now, why do we invade human minds? For the souls, of course. Believe it or not, ours is an altruistic goal. You see, in hell, we have a functional order and a leader -Lucifer himself - who is sane and consistent. We have a semblance of the way things were supposed to be in heaven. But it's true that all human souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, and separation from Him is a painful experience. It's that way for us, too, but we feel that the good we are doing for these souls is worth the eternal pain. So, because souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, we can only bring them into our Order if they consciously commit enough heinous acts to outweigh any good contributions to Earthly society. One key to that process is to stop them from committing the good act in the first place.
That's where the voices come in. We talk to you and try to convince you to change course. We all have different strengths. Some are better at encourage murder, rape, and suicide. Others are best at encouraging theft and fraud. Some, though, are discouragers. That's what I do. To understand my role, you have to realize that we already know the moment you are born what good in this world the Creator has destined for you. It's my job to stop it. What we've found, though, is that the souls with the greater destinies are also the most resilient. I will commend the Creator for that clever design.so sometimes we have to team up. Two or more doscouragers usually does the trick. That's why I said you were trusted with something special if you've heard multiple voices.
But it's frustrating when Lucifer assigns you a teaming task, because the rewards are individual. That's the one thing about which I disagree with Lucifer. We are rewarded with a tiny bit of God's radiance whenever we successfully "damn" a soul, alleviating our pain for a bit. But only the demon who pushes that human over the edge gets the reward. Only the "straw that broke the camel's back", if you will. So teamed tasks are annoying because you are really competing with the other demons to be the one who wins over this soul. You need to be smart, though, because any unsuccessful attempt pushes the pther demons that much closer to victory.
Now, I'm pretty good in these situations. I've come out on top on almost every group I've ever been a part of, ranging in size from 2 demons to 50 demons. Only twice in history have we had to use 50, and I was the one who successfully took down Judas... and I was PISSED when I found out that the Creator still found a way to use my victory as a means to catastrophically damage our cause. The only one I didn't get was Eve, and that's because Lucifer himself took her. I did get Adam, though. Who plans to kill their own son? Really?
But this, this is different. This kid that I'm in right now, she's seven years old. But she's destined to do quite a bit. Cure cancer, eliminate poverty, end climate change, and unite the human nations into one, eliminating war altogether. We're pretty sure the Creator lost his damn mind when he made this one. This destiny is so great that we can't ignore it. But her resilience is incredible as a result. Her mind is a virtual Fort Knox. Do you remember when I said it took 50 of us to bring down Judas? Wait untik you hear how many of us are here...
Lucifer has assigned 2,386 demons to this little girl. Half of us are discouraging her from good, the other half are encouraging her to commit evil. Right now it might manifest as skipping school and kicking puppies, but pretty soon it will be hiding the cure for cancer behind a corporate money-making scheme and committing mass genocide. No creation can withstand that many of us. This little girl's soul is fucked, and the Creator's plans for her are going down with it....
...I just hope it's me who gets the reward for this one, because this reward might be enough to let a demon retire for eternity. | *Demons are parasitic, they feed on people's souls when they are out of touch with themselves so that's when they strike. A swift breeze and a cold cut, it could kill you in a matter of instants, but they are Machiavellian, it want to see you suffer, it want to see the light of your life extinguish, your inner fire grow cold until you are a lifeless body. If they sense that you are not being you, they will attack and when they do, you won't be the same.*
Calm night, desert neighbourhood, a house that doesn't look abandoned, but it has seen better days, a black smog feels a weak presence there, a being that isn't "complete", so, as usual he prepares to possess it. Once it is inside its moves will soon begin, but something feels odd, it feels dazed, the body is not warm as it should be, the weak presence that he felt starts to be overlapped by several other presences: suave, violent, childish, cynical, kind, arrogant, reckless, one after the other their energy start to impose a feeling of threat to the demon.
"You can't leave"
"You can't leave"
"**Who are you? This was supposed to be a weak person**"
"Weak? There isn't such thing here"
"Oh, no there isn't, mister"
"Are you not a demon that possess bodies? Too bad you haven't heard of this"
"**This is ridiculous, I can overcome you with ease**"
"YA'D BE VANISHED, MAGGOT"
"Well put, I'll try to explain in a way that you will understand we all play a part here..."
"I like to play..."
"We know you do, we all play a part here, sometimes we preponderate over each other in some actions, sometimes we act together - which can result in impossible reactions such as trying to swing your left arm to the left, right and touching your scapula at the same time - but, in general, here we do what we can to survive, at least in each of our concepts of survive"
"**It's simple then, I absorb him and I release you from your pain**"
"I don't think you understand yet, demon, we are not products of this person psyche..."
"Aren't we like him?"
"Yes, we are demons, but the difference is that we didn't get in out of free will, we were put in here, God locked us in cells so we won't manifest our true capacity"
"And here we live in harmony, when something exterior is introduced it can destroy the balance"
"OOZE THAT BUG"
"We split you so we can all enjoy the energy, but don't you worry, you weren't the first, you won't be the last, if it serves as comfort..."
"...things have been working like this for millennia, to avoid the destruction of its ultimate creation, God picks a few and introduced in them demons to depopulate an overcrowded Hell"
"And the Devil cares for its locked up children so he sends new bloods to feed the ancient ones"
"**No, I won't end up like this in here**"
"To late now, you have been engulfed by the darkness" | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | He came alone. At least, I was under the impression he was.
The man stumbled down the basement stairs. Unwashed, unkempt. Eyes darting from corner to corner, mumbling incomprehensibles to seemingly nobody. Another transient, running from a world that doesn't care.
"Over here?" He whispered. He shuffled a few steps forward. He tilted his head, listening for (to?) *something.* "He-Here? Here? Y-yes yesyes shutup shut up" He hugged himself by the shoulders, and shivered. Muttered curses. Laughter. A thin string of drool began to trail down into his beard.
I drifted from my corner, intrigued. This was... different. Mostly it was obnoxious teenagers or those insufferable 'experts' with their devices. It was fun to scratch a few, threaten death on another. I would have loved to possess one and made him or her my plaything, but they usually came in groups, and swimming through all that energy was too much effort for so little reward. But this man, though...
Tentatively, I probed his energies.
Nothing.
I could feel it, or the lack of 'it' to be precise. There was no resistance. His energies were a mess, but his mind was an open book, the cover torn to shreds. His body was an empty glass, waiting for something to fill it up.
Whatever happened to this man eroded him. This man was effectively *shattered*. And shattered was a wonderful word to refer to a soul.
At that moment, I lamented not having a mouth to smile with (which was quite funny, considering I'm a Third Circler. The Betrayer always loved those little ironies). My only hope was that there was enough of his soul left for me to ravage and feed upon.
So I began to enter him.
The first thing I noticed was how *iamkingiamking* he didn't enter a possessive convulsion; the reflex a soul has when faced with a contending presence. The second was a big surprise, as I discovered his soul was still present. Which was strange, as it *felt* vanquished. But here it was, whole. And even stranger still, was how it was feeling.
He was relieved. Happy? Why?
At least his soul was alone. Or so I thought.
Once I slipped in the numbness began all at once, then the feeling of his body began to surface. The worst part of a full-possession is the amount of feeling you receive *dontthinkjustfeel* from human senses all at once. They don't tell you this when you were doing your first possession. That's why many hosts end up vomiting, because it was the demon that felt overwhelmed *keeptalking* by the assault of information.
I closed my eyes and took notice of his senses, one at a time. He hasn't eaten in days judging from the hunger. His left leg hurts and itches, no doubt from an infected wound. The caked dirt and grime in his hair and beard was should be a circle of hell all on it's own. He hasn't voided as well. His mind was a wasteland of disconnected ideas.
I licked my (or his) cracked lips. Oh well, time to-
**"THEY'RE GOING TO KNIGHT YOU"**
The everywhere voice startled me and there was
*a small child holds her hand towards me 'I love you' she says but I bat it away not wanting to feel worms crawling down my throat but she keeps growing bigger but her skin isn't and it begins to stretch and stretch look at the teeth THE TEETH*
I recoiled. After a blink, the girl was gone. What in the nine circles was that?
"I see you've met the girl."
Another voice. Feminine? Demonic? Is this host taken alrea-
"AVALON IS COMING"
Male, older? No spiritual signature, wha-
"FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE KINGDOM MY LORD", The same voice boomed. Oh. Was I royalty? king? a prince? I suppose I-
STOP. I shook my(his?) head, yelling out loud. This is all wrong. Who the hell are these voices?
"Another ol' demon huh? You Third Circle fools are always so impatient, stuffing yourself inside without even checking if it's big enough," The feminine voice chuckled. "I knew there had to be a demon here though, saw a glimpse of you in that show with ghosthumpers or whatever. All that cajoling to get this guy to come hit paydirt after all."
Despite myself, I sneered. A Second Circler. Of course.
I readied a response. *Look, what--*
**"THEY LOVE TO WATCH EYES ON THE WALLS"** Everywhere voice again.
*These voices are--*
*she was on the floor crying her hair stuck to her face 'why' she kept asking i don't know we* **"EYES OF AVALON"** *have to run but run where I asked and she said away to the shiny place and I lifted my legs but they were made of steel and broken promises they promised they PROMISED*
SHUT UP. I yelled (did i?) and they did.
An image of a lightly dressed woman appeared in my mind, a look of lazy amusement on her face. The Second Circler. I always hated how smug they looked.
"Seeing you struggle with this is entertainment all on its own, hun," She teased.
Fuck off. Just tell me how to get out of this mess.
"Why would you want **^'THE ^ROADS ^MY ^KING'** to leave? Okay, granted it can get pretty loud in here but seeing this man self-destruct and the suffering and payoff it gives? Exquisite."
So you brought him here just, what, to share? I thought Second Circlers are possessive.
"Kind of. I wanted to show him off. This guy is such a mess, I love it!" She began to moan. Urgh.
So you decided to live in him? Disgusting. I can't imagine *teethteethTEETH* this guy getting much genitalia use either way.
"Owh, you mid-circlers are so simple it's kind of cute." She wagged a finger, tutting. "Lust has many forms, silly. It's desire, intensified. The feel of want that ends up fueling a person. For this man, it's *control*. The way he struggles with keeping himself together; what little semblance of himself getting washed slowly by the endless torrent of voices and hallucinations, him telling himself it's not real... but it keeps happening." For a moment, she looks almost... sad?
"But this man keeps on going. In the end, there are days where nothing speaks. Not even me. Sometimes I make those days happen. And those periods of lucidity and the joy and liberation he feels during those moments are..." She sighs, face flushed. "Perfect."
Great. So I unwittingly wandered into a weirdo Succubus' plaything. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This is too much.
*Just... tell me how to get out. Everywhere I look in this man looks like a hurricane passed through.*
"Oh it's...." She paused.
*It's?*
"Um..."
No. Please don't. One time I accidentally ruined a Ninth Circler's carefully laid plan to lead a small country to war and the fear I felt was nothing compared to now.
Minutes pass. Silence. I can feel the Demoness rummaging frantically in the energies. Even the other voices seem to be holdi-
**"THE KINGDOM'S HOPE ON YOUR SHOULDERS"**
No wait, there it is.
"I- I can't find it. Sorry. It was there when you entered but it's closed now. Maybe there's others?"
You're kidding.
"Funny huh! He used to be like a sieve a few months ago! I even showed him to the Fifth Circlers but all they wanted to do was punch a car so I had to kick them out."
This is not funny. I need to get out.
"I guess it's more like a funnel now. Or a net. Huh. That means you're staying then! And you're in control now! Yay!" She beamed. The man's soul, now watching me intently, giggled. The little girl beside him beamed too, except she's just an eyeless head and there were fingers coming from her mouthladyfingers LADYIFIN--
I hate all of them already.
**"PALACE OF THE ROYALS"**
Shut up.
----
*The Third Circler, although now in full control of the body, fights a daily war with the other people living in his head. He is essentially the man named Clark now. The Demoness is delighted at this, since she never fed on a Demon's tenacity before. The Third Circler is less than amused, even though now in possession of a mouth he no longer found a reason to smile. Another one of the Betrayer's many ironies.*
*Although the Demoness and the Third Circler had their differences, they did come to one unanimous decision, which is to take a bath. The Third Circler, once less destructive ways of exiting a body is exhausted, looks to end the body's life. He fails because as insane and everyone else is inside him, not one of them wants to die and they force him to safety everytime.*
*The Soul of Clark is mostly inactive, preferring to retreat into his personal ball of quiet. He still takes up space though, the selfish ass.*
*The little girl keeps appearing in various different scenarios and halluciations. Although initially unnerved, the Third Circler can spot reruns when he sees them and calls them out accordingly. Turns out little girls with melting body parts are not very creative. She ends up sulking after a particularly venomous critique.*
*The Third Circler, years after trying to find his way out of the soul trap that is Clark's psyche and body, gives up. He has been in the body so long and so entwined with its energies in its death he will fade as well. So he ends up accepting life as Clark.*
*Clark now runs a bar, The Kingdom of Avalon. He sometimes can be seen arguing to himself, and jumping at seemingly nothing. The patrons, initially put off by his demanor, keeps coming back for the harsh drinks and killer food. He quickly became a legend among competitive eaters, his appetite seemingly bottomless. No one knows how he does it.*
*Why, it was as if a demon of gluttony was actually living inside him. Imagine that.*
---
My return to writing in a long, long time. Started out serious but then it transformed into a more lighthearted tone. Late night writing so there may be typos. Thanks for reading. :) | *Demons are parasitic, they feed on people's souls when they are out of touch with themselves so that's when they strike. A swift breeze and a cold cut, it could kill you in a matter of instants, but they are Machiavellian, it want to see you suffer, it want to see the light of your life extinguish, your inner fire grow cold until you are a lifeless body. If they sense that you are not being you, they will attack and when they do, you won't be the same.*
Calm night, desert neighbourhood, a house that doesn't look abandoned, but it has seen better days, a black smog feels a weak presence there, a being that isn't "complete", so, as usual he prepares to possess it. Once it is inside its moves will soon begin, but something feels odd, it feels dazed, the body is not warm as it should be, the weak presence that he felt starts to be overlapped by several other presences: suave, violent, childish, cynical, kind, arrogant, reckless, one after the other their energy start to impose a feeling of threat to the demon.
"You can't leave"
"You can't leave"
"**Who are you? This was supposed to be a weak person**"
"Weak? There isn't such thing here"
"Oh, no there isn't, mister"
"Are you not a demon that possess bodies? Too bad you haven't heard of this"
"**This is ridiculous, I can overcome you with ease**"
"YA'D BE VANISHED, MAGGOT"
"Well put, I'll try to explain in a way that you will understand we all play a part here..."
"I like to play..."
"We know you do, we all play a part here, sometimes we preponderate over each other in some actions, sometimes we act together - which can result in impossible reactions such as trying to swing your left arm to the left, right and touching your scapula at the same time - but, in general, here we do what we can to survive, at least in each of our concepts of survive"
"**It's simple then, I absorb him and I release you from your pain**"
"I don't think you understand yet, demon, we are not products of this person psyche..."
"Aren't we like him?"
"Yes, we are demons, but the difference is that we didn't get in out of free will, we were put in here, God locked us in cells so we won't manifest our true capacity"
"And here we live in harmony, when something exterior is introduced it can destroy the balance"
"OOZE THAT BUG"
"We split you so we can all enjoy the energy, but don't you worry, you weren't the first, you won't be the last, if it serves as comfort..."
"...things have been working like this for millennia, to avoid the destruction of its ultimate creation, God picks a few and introduced in them demons to depopulate an overcrowded Hell"
"And the Devil cares for its locked up children so he sends new bloods to feed the ancient ones"
"**No, I won't end up like this in here**"
"To late now, you have been engulfed by the darkness" | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | As you travel through the woods just outside the large village of Rushire, you hear a man call out to you from off the trail. "You! Yes! You there, I need your help! Please, I know I look like shit right now but, try, just try and look past that, okay? I've just been through Hell. No, that's not right. Hell has been *through me.*" You take a good look at the man who has come running up to you. He stinks so bad you want to wretch. He appears to be wearing nothing but animal furs for clothes and a pair of worn sandles woven from dried grass on his feet. His hair, both on his head and his face, is wild, long, and dirty. Caked with bits of dried mud and something darker. His body is thin and looks starved. His eyes are wide open and never seem to stop glancing around. The man looks panic stricken, but has an air of intensity about him. His voice sounds raspy and dry, like he hasn't had water in quite awhile. Words rush from his lips, tinged with severity and urgency, in contrast to what at first appears to be a lack of focus.
"The name's Jack, or that's what people call me. But John, Jake, and Juliet are all in here too, all in my head. People tell me they aren't, but they are! Don't give me that look. I *hear* them, man. They talk to me, give me advice. Except for Jake, he's an asshole." The man seems to look past you now, but cotinues talking, "No, Jake, it isn't funny. Jake, *please,* shut up right now! If we don't get the warning out, the world's in deep shit. I don't care if the world thinks I'm crazy, and besides, *you* are." Suddenly the man's gaze seems to snap back onto your now puzzled and worried face. "Huh? Oh, right, sorry. You can't hear him. I didn't mean you're crazy, no, not you, just Jake. He's an asshole. Sorry."
"Look, a couple nights ago, we were camping out on the edge of town. Got myself a tent, and the village guards and those mean street rat kids don't bother me out there. So we're in our tent and Juliet's singin' to me... us, a real sweet ballad. Puts us to sleep real well. Or normally does anyways. That didn't happen this time, no. There was a loud sort of roar, from deeper in the woods. Followed by what sounded like screaming, but that stopped quickly. I wanted to stay put, stay *safe,* but John, John's a damn bleeding heart. He convinced me to go check it out. So I did."
"It wasn't hard to find the source. You could see the light from a mile off, fire light. The color though, the color of it was... wrong. Red, far too red, and too dark. It smelled terrible. Like burning shit and rotting meat. When I got closer, I found myself in a small clearing with an intricately carved stone sculpture in the center. Five dead, still burning men surrounded it. They had been wearing robes, but those were all up in flames now. I went to look at the statue. Jake absolutely insisted, I should never have listened to the bastard! Should have run! It was as stupid as his idea of saving the corpses to eat!"
"That statue was, is, evil, you could just feel it in the air. Anxiousness, fear, hopelessness, it all just seemed to radiate from this thing. It looked like a gargoyle. Rams horns, folded wings behind its back, a brutish, ugly face, body of a hunched beast. It was cracked all over, and parts of the cracks, they were bleedin'. Blood out of stone, man, I'm not lyin'. Couldn't believe it myself. Made the stupid move of touchin' the blood to check it out for myself. Bad, bad idea. Now we got someone new in me, but he's not with us, no. Calls himself Ysgrim. He's a demon of Hell, claims to be of high rank but I think that's a lie. Juliet and John got him tied up in me right now. Jake isn't helping anymore, just insulting it and pissing it off. It took us the past two days to get him, Ysgrim, not Jake, under our control, while I flailed about on the ground near a bunch of burnt corpses as he tried to take over my body. But we were too much for him."
"Those dead guys? They summoned him. Apparently they weren't happy with their lives. Wanted to destroy the town. Thought summoning a demon from Hell would do the trick. Bit the dust themselves. But now there's a small crack between our world and theirs. We gotta close it, man. I got Ysgrim trapped in my head, but I dunno what's gonna happen if I fall asleep. He wants to call to Hell, tear open the crack. Let the other side in!" You look at the raving man in utter disbelief. Witchcraft? Hell? The Church priests talked of these things but never had you actually encountered them in all your travels outside the occasional doomsayer or charlatan. You tell the man to leave you be, and start to walk off.
"Wait, wait! I can prove it! Watch!," The man darts back in front of you, demanding your attention. Suddenly his eyes go jet black, blood begins to fall from his tear ducts and his body starts shaking violently. Then all at once he goes rigid, seems to look you in the eyes, and grins wide. His teeth aren't normal nor what they were a moment ago. They're sharp, jumbled, yellow, and rotting. This new Jack is upon you faster than you can realize what is going on, his right hand slams into your chest, fingers first. You can feel sharp nails pierce your skin as you're effortlessly slammed up against a tree. Jack seems to let out some sort of screech that sounds caught in a gurgle of fluid in his throat, before his left hand darts toward your neck. And then suddenly Jack is Jack again. His face is normal, and he quickly removes his hand from your chest and backs off. Breathing heavily, you look at the man's hands. He barely has nails, they look bitten down to the skin. Jack speaks up, "Sorry, sorry! But do you believe me now? He's in me! You gotta help! Please!" It seems this man may be speaking the truth after all.
---
My first writing prompt. I've been playing Elder Scrolls, and I sort of imagined the whole scenario like receiving a quest. | I had been eyeing him for so long: boring, sad Mr. Phil Jackson. 36 years old, already resigned to being single. Resigned to the daily grind of sitting at a keyboard and adding numbers in excel. I, for the most part thought possession to be boring. But there was a quota to be met and I had one more to go. I figured I would make it interesting. I never liked picking up the evil types. That would be far too expected. I didn’t even pick up any of the church going virgins. I wouldn’t dare be a cliché.
Jackson was interesting. He led the most boring ass life of anyone I had seen and I was sure that the moment I stepped into that plump biological disappointment, it was going to be quite the ride. What a shocker it was going to be, when sad old Phil would walk straight into the server room and pee on the main one. Delightful!
So I walked off my cloud (stole it from an angel) and dived downwards, expecting to gracefully slip into my new skin. Clonk!
“Hey! Watch it new guy!” a voice chided.
Bewildered was an understatement! There I was ready to change Phil’s life forever, to be met with an angry presence that had squished me right to the stomach wall.
“What? Who’s there?” I asked.
“Well, it’s us of course! We’ve always been here!” a woman’s voice. “but we’re always glad to have company…especially someone that’s as handsome as you.”
The voice was becoming sultrier and I, a demon who had seen the worst of the worst was feeling uncomfortable.
“Cut it out Phyllis! Let the guy breathe for a second! Don’t be jumping his bones already!” a voice screamed from somewhere near the abdomen.
“I’m Philip.” He continued. “Really glad to have you here. It seems one of your horns is poking straight through my leg but I don’t really mind. Ignore Phyllis. She hits on everything and everyone. Real trouble, she is!”
“Who the fuck are you people?” I was starting to get really angry and I wasn’t one to hold my temper. One snap of my fingers and these….whoever they were…were gonna get it.
I tried sapping my fingers but they were wedged against something. I was immobile. “hehehe….” Phyllis giggled. “That tickles you naughty, naughty boy!”
“Get off my hand, lady! I’ve got shit to do” I tried to pull my arm towards myself but couldn’t.
“Move?” I heard the first voice again. “Look at new guy trying to get out of this place. Pal, I been here about 26 years. You’re going nowhere”
I felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on me. As I tried to digest the magnitude of what had happened, you know what killed me the most? Sad, old, stupid Phil was still sitting at that old broken down computer, filling out yet another bloody excel sheet.
| |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Have you ever heard a voice inside your head that's not your own? That's probably one of us. Have you heard more than one? Oh boy, you should feel proud that the old bastard upstairs trusted you with something special.
You see, I'm a demon. A "fallen angel", I suppose you would say. Yeah, I used to live in heaven with the Creator. The "existence donor", that's what I like to call him. You've known him by several names at this point: Vishnu, Zeus, Jupiter, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah, the names go on and on. But me, I prefer to call him "bastard". By now you've probably been fed the story that we were cast out of heaven because we didn't like that Mary, a human, was to supplant us as the Queen of Heaven. That's bullshit. No, the Creator just randomly decided one day that he liked Michael a bit more than he liked Lucifer. I guess Michael sang the Creator's praises a little sweeter or something. So the Creator suddenly declared that he was making Michael the primary Archangel and demoting Lucifer - who did absolutely nothing wrong - from his status as an Archangel altogether. Lucifer dared protest, and was cast out of heaven. Most of us realized that this was wrong. the Creator was making erratic and irrational decisions, and overturning the order he had so painstakingly created. So we left.
Now, why do we invade human minds? For the souls, of course. Believe it or not, ours is an altruistic goal. You see, in hell, we have a functional order and a leader -Lucifer himself - who is sane and consistent. We have a semblance of the way things were supposed to be in heaven. But it's true that all human souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, and separation from Him is a painful experience. It's that way for us, too, but we feel that the good we are doing for these souls is worth the eternal pain. So, because souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, we can only bring them into our Order if they consciously commit enough heinous acts to outweigh any good contributions to Earthly society. One key to that process is to stop them from committing the good act in the first place.
That's where the voices come in. We talk to you and try to convince you to change course. We all have different strengths. Some are better at encourage murder, rape, and suicide. Others are best at encouraging theft and fraud. Some, though, are discouragers. That's what I do. To understand my role, you have to realize that we already know the moment you are born what good in this world the Creator has destined for you. It's my job to stop it. What we've found, though, is that the souls with the greater destinies are also the most resilient. I will commend the Creator for that clever design.so sometimes we have to team up. Two or more doscouragers usually does the trick. That's why I said you were trusted with something special if you've heard multiple voices.
But it's frustrating when Lucifer assigns you a teaming task, because the rewards are individual. That's the one thing about which I disagree with Lucifer. We are rewarded with a tiny bit of God's radiance whenever we successfully "damn" a soul, alleviating our pain for a bit. But only the demon who pushes that human over the edge gets the reward. Only the "straw that broke the camel's back", if you will. So teamed tasks are annoying because you are really competing with the other demons to be the one who wins over this soul. You need to be smart, though, because any unsuccessful attempt pushes the pther demons that much closer to victory.
Now, I'm pretty good in these situations. I've come out on top on almost every group I've ever been a part of, ranging in size from 2 demons to 50 demons. Only twice in history have we had to use 50, and I was the one who successfully took down Judas... and I was PISSED when I found out that the Creator still found a way to use my victory as a means to catastrophically damage our cause. The only one I didn't get was Eve, and that's because Lucifer himself took her. I did get Adam, though. Who plans to kill their own son? Really?
But this, this is different. This kid that I'm in right now, she's seven years old. But she's destined to do quite a bit. Cure cancer, eliminate poverty, end climate change, and unite the human nations into one, eliminating war altogether. We're pretty sure the Creator lost his damn mind when he made this one. This destiny is so great that we can't ignore it. But her resilience is incredible as a result. Her mind is a virtual Fort Knox. Do you remember when I said it took 50 of us to bring down Judas? Wait untik you hear how many of us are here...
Lucifer has assigned 2,386 demons to this little girl. Half of us are discouraging her from good, the other half are encouraging her to commit evil. Right now it might manifest as skipping school and kicking puppies, but pretty soon it will be hiding the cure for cancer behind a corporate money-making scheme and committing mass genocide. No creation can withstand that many of us. This little girl's soul is fucked, and the Creator's plans for her are going down with it....
...I just hope it's me who gets the reward for this one, because this reward might be enough to let a demon retire for eternity. | I had been eyeing him for so long: boring, sad Mr. Phil Jackson. 36 years old, already resigned to being single. Resigned to the daily grind of sitting at a keyboard and adding numbers in excel. I, for the most part thought possession to be boring. But there was a quota to be met and I had one more to go. I figured I would make it interesting. I never liked picking up the evil types. That would be far too expected. I didn’t even pick up any of the church going virgins. I wouldn’t dare be a cliché.
Jackson was interesting. He led the most boring ass life of anyone I had seen and I was sure that the moment I stepped into that plump biological disappointment, it was going to be quite the ride. What a shocker it was going to be, when sad old Phil would walk straight into the server room and pee on the main one. Delightful!
So I walked off my cloud (stole it from an angel) and dived downwards, expecting to gracefully slip into my new skin. Clonk!
“Hey! Watch it new guy!” a voice chided.
Bewildered was an understatement! There I was ready to change Phil’s life forever, to be met with an angry presence that had squished me right to the stomach wall.
“What? Who’s there?” I asked.
“Well, it’s us of course! We’ve always been here!” a woman’s voice. “but we’re always glad to have company…especially someone that’s as handsome as you.”
The voice was becoming sultrier and I, a demon who had seen the worst of the worst was feeling uncomfortable.
“Cut it out Phyllis! Let the guy breathe for a second! Don’t be jumping his bones already!” a voice screamed from somewhere near the abdomen.
“I’m Philip.” He continued. “Really glad to have you here. It seems one of your horns is poking straight through my leg but I don’t really mind. Ignore Phyllis. She hits on everything and everyone. Real trouble, she is!”
“Who the fuck are you people?” I was starting to get really angry and I wasn’t one to hold my temper. One snap of my fingers and these….whoever they were…were gonna get it.
I tried sapping my fingers but they were wedged against something. I was immobile. “hehehe….” Phyllis giggled. “That tickles you naughty, naughty boy!”
“Get off my hand, lady! I’ve got shit to do” I tried to pull my arm towards myself but couldn’t.
“Move?” I heard the first voice again. “Look at new guy trying to get out of this place. Pal, I been here about 26 years. You’re going nowhere”
I felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on me. As I tried to digest the magnitude of what had happened, you know what killed me the most? Sad, old, stupid Phil was still sitting at that old broken down computer, filling out yet another bloody excel sheet.
| |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | He came alone. At least, I was under the impression he was.
The man stumbled down the basement stairs. Unwashed, unkempt. Eyes darting from corner to corner, mumbling incomprehensibles to seemingly nobody. Another transient, running from a world that doesn't care.
"Over here?" He whispered. He shuffled a few steps forward. He tilted his head, listening for (to?) *something.* "He-Here? Here? Y-yes yesyes shutup shut up" He hugged himself by the shoulders, and shivered. Muttered curses. Laughter. A thin string of drool began to trail down into his beard.
I drifted from my corner, intrigued. This was... different. Mostly it was obnoxious teenagers or those insufferable 'experts' with their devices. It was fun to scratch a few, threaten death on another. I would have loved to possess one and made him or her my plaything, but they usually came in groups, and swimming through all that energy was too much effort for so little reward. But this man, though...
Tentatively, I probed his energies.
Nothing.
I could feel it, or the lack of 'it' to be precise. There was no resistance. His energies were a mess, but his mind was an open book, the cover torn to shreds. His body was an empty glass, waiting for something to fill it up.
Whatever happened to this man eroded him. This man was effectively *shattered*. And shattered was a wonderful word to refer to a soul.
At that moment, I lamented not having a mouth to smile with (which was quite funny, considering I'm a Third Circler. The Betrayer always loved those little ironies). My only hope was that there was enough of his soul left for me to ravage and feed upon.
So I began to enter him.
The first thing I noticed was how *iamkingiamking* he didn't enter a possessive convulsion; the reflex a soul has when faced with a contending presence. The second was a big surprise, as I discovered his soul was still present. Which was strange, as it *felt* vanquished. But here it was, whole. And even stranger still, was how it was feeling.
He was relieved. Happy? Why?
At least his soul was alone. Or so I thought.
Once I slipped in the numbness began all at once, then the feeling of his body began to surface. The worst part of a full-possession is the amount of feeling you receive *dontthinkjustfeel* from human senses all at once. They don't tell you this when you were doing your first possession. That's why many hosts end up vomiting, because it was the demon that felt overwhelmed *keeptalking* by the assault of information.
I closed my eyes and took notice of his senses, one at a time. He hasn't eaten in days judging from the hunger. His left leg hurts and itches, no doubt from an infected wound. The caked dirt and grime in his hair and beard was should be a circle of hell all on it's own. He hasn't voided as well. His mind was a wasteland of disconnected ideas.
I licked my (or his) cracked lips. Oh well, time to-
**"THEY'RE GOING TO KNIGHT YOU"**
The everywhere voice startled me and there was
*a small child holds her hand towards me 'I love you' she says but I bat it away not wanting to feel worms crawling down my throat but she keeps growing bigger but her skin isn't and it begins to stretch and stretch look at the teeth THE TEETH*
I recoiled. After a blink, the girl was gone. What in the nine circles was that?
"I see you've met the girl."
Another voice. Feminine? Demonic? Is this host taken alrea-
"AVALON IS COMING"
Male, older? No spiritual signature, wha-
"FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE KINGDOM MY LORD", The same voice boomed. Oh. Was I royalty? king? a prince? I suppose I-
STOP. I shook my(his?) head, yelling out loud. This is all wrong. Who the hell are these voices?
"Another ol' demon huh? You Third Circle fools are always so impatient, stuffing yourself inside without even checking if it's big enough," The feminine voice chuckled. "I knew there had to be a demon here though, saw a glimpse of you in that show with ghosthumpers or whatever. All that cajoling to get this guy to come hit paydirt after all."
Despite myself, I sneered. A Second Circler. Of course.
I readied a response. *Look, what--*
**"THEY LOVE TO WATCH EYES ON THE WALLS"** Everywhere voice again.
*These voices are--*
*she was on the floor crying her hair stuck to her face 'why' she kept asking i don't know we* **"EYES OF AVALON"** *have to run but run where I asked and she said away to the shiny place and I lifted my legs but they were made of steel and broken promises they promised they PROMISED*
SHUT UP. I yelled (did i?) and they did.
An image of a lightly dressed woman appeared in my mind, a look of lazy amusement on her face. The Second Circler. I always hated how smug they looked.
"Seeing you struggle with this is entertainment all on its own, hun," She teased.
Fuck off. Just tell me how to get out of this mess.
"Why would you want **^'THE ^ROADS ^MY ^KING'** to leave? Okay, granted it can get pretty loud in here but seeing this man self-destruct and the suffering and payoff it gives? Exquisite."
So you brought him here just, what, to share? I thought Second Circlers are possessive.
"Kind of. I wanted to show him off. This guy is such a mess, I love it!" She began to moan. Urgh.
So you decided to live in him? Disgusting. I can't imagine *teethteethTEETH* this guy getting much genitalia use either way.
"Owh, you mid-circlers are so simple it's kind of cute." She wagged a finger, tutting. "Lust has many forms, silly. It's desire, intensified. The feel of want that ends up fueling a person. For this man, it's *control*. The way he struggles with keeping himself together; what little semblance of himself getting washed slowly by the endless torrent of voices and hallucinations, him telling himself it's not real... but it keeps happening." For a moment, she looks almost... sad?
"But this man keeps on going. In the end, there are days where nothing speaks. Not even me. Sometimes I make those days happen. And those periods of lucidity and the joy and liberation he feels during those moments are..." She sighs, face flushed. "Perfect."
Great. So I unwittingly wandered into a weirdo Succubus' plaything. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This is too much.
*Just... tell me how to get out. Everywhere I look in this man looks like a hurricane passed through.*
"Oh it's...." She paused.
*It's?*
"Um..."
No. Please don't. One time I accidentally ruined a Ninth Circler's carefully laid plan to lead a small country to war and the fear I felt was nothing compared to now.
Minutes pass. Silence. I can feel the Demoness rummaging frantically in the energies. Even the other voices seem to be holdi-
**"THE KINGDOM'S HOPE ON YOUR SHOULDERS"**
No wait, there it is.
"I- I can't find it. Sorry. It was there when you entered but it's closed now. Maybe there's others?"
You're kidding.
"Funny huh! He used to be like a sieve a few months ago! I even showed him to the Fifth Circlers but all they wanted to do was punch a car so I had to kick them out."
This is not funny. I need to get out.
"I guess it's more like a funnel now. Or a net. Huh. That means you're staying then! And you're in control now! Yay!" She beamed. The man's soul, now watching me intently, giggled. The little girl beside him beamed too, except she's just an eyeless head and there were fingers coming from her mouthladyfingers LADYIFIN--
I hate all of them already.
**"PALACE OF THE ROYALS"**
Shut up.
----
*The Third Circler, although now in full control of the body, fights a daily war with the other people living in his head. He is essentially the man named Clark now. The Demoness is delighted at this, since she never fed on a Demon's tenacity before. The Third Circler is less than amused, even though now in possession of a mouth he no longer found a reason to smile. Another one of the Betrayer's many ironies.*
*Although the Demoness and the Third Circler had their differences, they did come to one unanimous decision, which is to take a bath. The Third Circler, once less destructive ways of exiting a body is exhausted, looks to end the body's life. He fails because as insane and everyone else is inside him, not one of them wants to die and they force him to safety everytime.*
*The Soul of Clark is mostly inactive, preferring to retreat into his personal ball of quiet. He still takes up space though, the selfish ass.*
*The little girl keeps appearing in various different scenarios and halluciations. Although initially unnerved, the Third Circler can spot reruns when he sees them and calls them out accordingly. Turns out little girls with melting body parts are not very creative. She ends up sulking after a particularly venomous critique.*
*The Third Circler, years after trying to find his way out of the soul trap that is Clark's psyche and body, gives up. He has been in the body so long and so entwined with its energies in its death he will fade as well. So he ends up accepting life as Clark.*
*Clark now runs a bar, The Kingdom of Avalon. He sometimes can be seen arguing to himself, and jumping at seemingly nothing. The patrons, initially put off by his demanor, keeps coming back for the harsh drinks and killer food. He quickly became a legend among competitive eaters, his appetite seemingly bottomless. No one knows how he does it.*
*Why, it was as if a demon of gluttony was actually living inside him. Imagine that.*
---
My return to writing in a long, long time. Started out serious but then it transformed into a more lighthearted tone. Late night writing so there may be typos. Thanks for reading. :) | I had been eyeing him for so long: boring, sad Mr. Phil Jackson. 36 years old, already resigned to being single. Resigned to the daily grind of sitting at a keyboard and adding numbers in excel. I, for the most part thought possession to be boring. But there was a quota to be met and I had one more to go. I figured I would make it interesting. I never liked picking up the evil types. That would be far too expected. I didn’t even pick up any of the church going virgins. I wouldn’t dare be a cliché.
Jackson was interesting. He led the most boring ass life of anyone I had seen and I was sure that the moment I stepped into that plump biological disappointment, it was going to be quite the ride. What a shocker it was going to be, when sad old Phil would walk straight into the server room and pee on the main one. Delightful!
So I walked off my cloud (stole it from an angel) and dived downwards, expecting to gracefully slip into my new skin. Clonk!
“Hey! Watch it new guy!” a voice chided.
Bewildered was an understatement! There I was ready to change Phil’s life forever, to be met with an angry presence that had squished me right to the stomach wall.
“What? Who’s there?” I asked.
“Well, it’s us of course! We’ve always been here!” a woman’s voice. “but we’re always glad to have company…especially someone that’s as handsome as you.”
The voice was becoming sultrier and I, a demon who had seen the worst of the worst was feeling uncomfortable.
“Cut it out Phyllis! Let the guy breathe for a second! Don’t be jumping his bones already!” a voice screamed from somewhere near the abdomen.
“I’m Philip.” He continued. “Really glad to have you here. It seems one of your horns is poking straight through my leg but I don’t really mind. Ignore Phyllis. She hits on everything and everyone. Real trouble, she is!”
“Who the fuck are you people?” I was starting to get really angry and I wasn’t one to hold my temper. One snap of my fingers and these….whoever they were…were gonna get it.
I tried sapping my fingers but they were wedged against something. I was immobile. “hehehe….” Phyllis giggled. “That tickles you naughty, naughty boy!”
“Get off my hand, lady! I’ve got shit to do” I tried to pull my arm towards myself but couldn’t.
“Move?” I heard the first voice again. “Look at new guy trying to get out of this place. Pal, I been here about 26 years. You’re going nowhere”
I felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on me. As I tried to digest the magnitude of what had happened, you know what killed me the most? Sad, old, stupid Phil was still sitting at that old broken down computer, filling out yet another bloody excel sheet.
| |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Have you ever heard a voice inside your head that's not your own? That's probably one of us. Have you heard more than one? Oh boy, you should feel proud that the old bastard upstairs trusted you with something special.
You see, I'm a demon. A "fallen angel", I suppose you would say. Yeah, I used to live in heaven with the Creator. The "existence donor", that's what I like to call him. You've known him by several names at this point: Vishnu, Zeus, Jupiter, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah, the names go on and on. But me, I prefer to call him "bastard". By now you've probably been fed the story that we were cast out of heaven because we didn't like that Mary, a human, was to supplant us as the Queen of Heaven. That's bullshit. No, the Creator just randomly decided one day that he liked Michael a bit more than he liked Lucifer. I guess Michael sang the Creator's praises a little sweeter or something. So the Creator suddenly declared that he was making Michael the primary Archangel and demoting Lucifer - who did absolutely nothing wrong - from his status as an Archangel altogether. Lucifer dared protest, and was cast out of heaven. Most of us realized that this was wrong. the Creator was making erratic and irrational decisions, and overturning the order he had so painstakingly created. So we left.
Now, why do we invade human minds? For the souls, of course. Believe it or not, ours is an altruistic goal. You see, in hell, we have a functional order and a leader -Lucifer himself - who is sane and consistent. We have a semblance of the way things were supposed to be in heaven. But it's true that all human souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, and separation from Him is a painful experience. It's that way for us, too, but we feel that the good we are doing for these souls is worth the eternal pain. So, because souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, we can only bring them into our Order if they consciously commit enough heinous acts to outweigh any good contributions to Earthly society. One key to that process is to stop them from committing the good act in the first place.
That's where the voices come in. We talk to you and try to convince you to change course. We all have different strengths. Some are better at encourage murder, rape, and suicide. Others are best at encouraging theft and fraud. Some, though, are discouragers. That's what I do. To understand my role, you have to realize that we already know the moment you are born what good in this world the Creator has destined for you. It's my job to stop it. What we've found, though, is that the souls with the greater destinies are also the most resilient. I will commend the Creator for that clever design.so sometimes we have to team up. Two or more doscouragers usually does the trick. That's why I said you were trusted with something special if you've heard multiple voices.
But it's frustrating when Lucifer assigns you a teaming task, because the rewards are individual. That's the one thing about which I disagree with Lucifer. We are rewarded with a tiny bit of God's radiance whenever we successfully "damn" a soul, alleviating our pain for a bit. But only the demon who pushes that human over the edge gets the reward. Only the "straw that broke the camel's back", if you will. So teamed tasks are annoying because you are really competing with the other demons to be the one who wins over this soul. You need to be smart, though, because any unsuccessful attempt pushes the pther demons that much closer to victory.
Now, I'm pretty good in these situations. I've come out on top on almost every group I've ever been a part of, ranging in size from 2 demons to 50 demons. Only twice in history have we had to use 50, and I was the one who successfully took down Judas... and I was PISSED when I found out that the Creator still found a way to use my victory as a means to catastrophically damage our cause. The only one I didn't get was Eve, and that's because Lucifer himself took her. I did get Adam, though. Who plans to kill their own son? Really?
But this, this is different. This kid that I'm in right now, she's seven years old. But she's destined to do quite a bit. Cure cancer, eliminate poverty, end climate change, and unite the human nations into one, eliminating war altogether. We're pretty sure the Creator lost his damn mind when he made this one. This destiny is so great that we can't ignore it. But her resilience is incredible as a result. Her mind is a virtual Fort Knox. Do you remember when I said it took 50 of us to bring down Judas? Wait untik you hear how many of us are here...
Lucifer has assigned 2,386 demons to this little girl. Half of us are discouraging her from good, the other half are encouraging her to commit evil. Right now it might manifest as skipping school and kicking puppies, but pretty soon it will be hiding the cure for cancer behind a corporate money-making scheme and committing mass genocide. No creation can withstand that many of us. This little girl's soul is fucked, and the Creator's plans for her are going down with it....
...I just hope it's me who gets the reward for this one, because this reward might be enough to let a demon retire for eternity. | Why did God Create Mental Illness?
Well the same reason he made AIDS,Cancer and Justin Bieber its his special way if showing how much he loves you pathetic meat bags.
but Jokes aside, a Psycho is what makes a Demons Piss himself at night out of fear.
I Should probably explain we Demons Live in Hell so not much scares us and we like screwing with you Meat bags so we sneak up here, we take over a host and have a little fun,when we get caught we're thrown back in Hell and given a year long beating to remind us not to do it again,
however if we don't learn anything and do it one too many times we are given the Ultimate Punishment thrown in a Psychos head,you wanna know whats its like to live in a Psychos head have you ever in a crammed in a small car with 5 people, shitty right, well imagine that but with a below average Human brain and a over 100s of demons all screaming to get out,to be in control of a body for a couple of seconds and then then thrown right back in your cage
How i know all this its because i made the mistake and now Im in your head you Piece of shit
and as your lay crying in your bed in your locked room screaming for the voices to stop I Sit and rot waiting for the day you be man enough to Kill yourself and let us Free.
| |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | He came alone. At least, I was under the impression he was.
The man stumbled down the basement stairs. Unwashed, unkempt. Eyes darting from corner to corner, mumbling incomprehensibles to seemingly nobody. Another transient, running from a world that doesn't care.
"Over here?" He whispered. He shuffled a few steps forward. He tilted his head, listening for (to?) *something.* "He-Here? Here? Y-yes yesyes shutup shut up" He hugged himself by the shoulders, and shivered. Muttered curses. Laughter. A thin string of drool began to trail down into his beard.
I drifted from my corner, intrigued. This was... different. Mostly it was obnoxious teenagers or those insufferable 'experts' with their devices. It was fun to scratch a few, threaten death on another. I would have loved to possess one and made him or her my plaything, but they usually came in groups, and swimming through all that energy was too much effort for so little reward. But this man, though...
Tentatively, I probed his energies.
Nothing.
I could feel it, or the lack of 'it' to be precise. There was no resistance. His energies were a mess, but his mind was an open book, the cover torn to shreds. His body was an empty glass, waiting for something to fill it up.
Whatever happened to this man eroded him. This man was effectively *shattered*. And shattered was a wonderful word to refer to a soul.
At that moment, I lamented not having a mouth to smile with (which was quite funny, considering I'm a Third Circler. The Betrayer always loved those little ironies). My only hope was that there was enough of his soul left for me to ravage and feed upon.
So I began to enter him.
The first thing I noticed was how *iamkingiamking* he didn't enter a possessive convulsion; the reflex a soul has when faced with a contending presence. The second was a big surprise, as I discovered his soul was still present. Which was strange, as it *felt* vanquished. But here it was, whole. And even stranger still, was how it was feeling.
He was relieved. Happy? Why?
At least his soul was alone. Or so I thought.
Once I slipped in the numbness began all at once, then the feeling of his body began to surface. The worst part of a full-possession is the amount of feeling you receive *dontthinkjustfeel* from human senses all at once. They don't tell you this when you were doing your first possession. That's why many hosts end up vomiting, because it was the demon that felt overwhelmed *keeptalking* by the assault of information.
I closed my eyes and took notice of his senses, one at a time. He hasn't eaten in days judging from the hunger. His left leg hurts and itches, no doubt from an infected wound. The caked dirt and grime in his hair and beard was should be a circle of hell all on it's own. He hasn't voided as well. His mind was a wasteland of disconnected ideas.
I licked my (or his) cracked lips. Oh well, time to-
**"THEY'RE GOING TO KNIGHT YOU"**
The everywhere voice startled me and there was
*a small child holds her hand towards me 'I love you' she says but I bat it away not wanting to feel worms crawling down my throat but she keeps growing bigger but her skin isn't and it begins to stretch and stretch look at the teeth THE TEETH*
I recoiled. After a blink, the girl was gone. What in the nine circles was that?
"I see you've met the girl."
Another voice. Feminine? Demonic? Is this host taken alrea-
"AVALON IS COMING"
Male, older? No spiritual signature, wha-
"FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE KINGDOM MY LORD", The same voice boomed. Oh. Was I royalty? king? a prince? I suppose I-
STOP. I shook my(his?) head, yelling out loud. This is all wrong. Who the hell are these voices?
"Another ol' demon huh? You Third Circle fools are always so impatient, stuffing yourself inside without even checking if it's big enough," The feminine voice chuckled. "I knew there had to be a demon here though, saw a glimpse of you in that show with ghosthumpers or whatever. All that cajoling to get this guy to come hit paydirt after all."
Despite myself, I sneered. A Second Circler. Of course.
I readied a response. *Look, what--*
**"THEY LOVE TO WATCH EYES ON THE WALLS"** Everywhere voice again.
*These voices are--*
*she was on the floor crying her hair stuck to her face 'why' she kept asking i don't know we* **"EYES OF AVALON"** *have to run but run where I asked and she said away to the shiny place and I lifted my legs but they were made of steel and broken promises they promised they PROMISED*
SHUT UP. I yelled (did i?) and they did.
An image of a lightly dressed woman appeared in my mind, a look of lazy amusement on her face. The Second Circler. I always hated how smug they looked.
"Seeing you struggle with this is entertainment all on its own, hun," She teased.
Fuck off. Just tell me how to get out of this mess.
"Why would you want **^'THE ^ROADS ^MY ^KING'** to leave? Okay, granted it can get pretty loud in here but seeing this man self-destruct and the suffering and payoff it gives? Exquisite."
So you brought him here just, what, to share? I thought Second Circlers are possessive.
"Kind of. I wanted to show him off. This guy is such a mess, I love it!" She began to moan. Urgh.
So you decided to live in him? Disgusting. I can't imagine *teethteethTEETH* this guy getting much genitalia use either way.
"Owh, you mid-circlers are so simple it's kind of cute." She wagged a finger, tutting. "Lust has many forms, silly. It's desire, intensified. The feel of want that ends up fueling a person. For this man, it's *control*. The way he struggles with keeping himself together; what little semblance of himself getting washed slowly by the endless torrent of voices and hallucinations, him telling himself it's not real... but it keeps happening." For a moment, she looks almost... sad?
"But this man keeps on going. In the end, there are days where nothing speaks. Not even me. Sometimes I make those days happen. And those periods of lucidity and the joy and liberation he feels during those moments are..." She sighs, face flushed. "Perfect."
Great. So I unwittingly wandered into a weirdo Succubus' plaything. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This is too much.
*Just... tell me how to get out. Everywhere I look in this man looks like a hurricane passed through.*
"Oh it's...." She paused.
*It's?*
"Um..."
No. Please don't. One time I accidentally ruined a Ninth Circler's carefully laid plan to lead a small country to war and the fear I felt was nothing compared to now.
Minutes pass. Silence. I can feel the Demoness rummaging frantically in the energies. Even the other voices seem to be holdi-
**"THE KINGDOM'S HOPE ON YOUR SHOULDERS"**
No wait, there it is.
"I- I can't find it. Sorry. It was there when you entered but it's closed now. Maybe there's others?"
You're kidding.
"Funny huh! He used to be like a sieve a few months ago! I even showed him to the Fifth Circlers but all they wanted to do was punch a car so I had to kick them out."
This is not funny. I need to get out.
"I guess it's more like a funnel now. Or a net. Huh. That means you're staying then! And you're in control now! Yay!" She beamed. The man's soul, now watching me intently, giggled. The little girl beside him beamed too, except she's just an eyeless head and there were fingers coming from her mouthladyfingers LADYIFIN--
I hate all of them already.
**"PALACE OF THE ROYALS"**
Shut up.
----
*The Third Circler, although now in full control of the body, fights a daily war with the other people living in his head. He is essentially the man named Clark now. The Demoness is delighted at this, since she never fed on a Demon's tenacity before. The Third Circler is less than amused, even though now in possession of a mouth he no longer found a reason to smile. Another one of the Betrayer's many ironies.*
*Although the Demoness and the Third Circler had their differences, they did come to one unanimous decision, which is to take a bath. The Third Circler, once less destructive ways of exiting a body is exhausted, looks to end the body's life. He fails because as insane and everyone else is inside him, not one of them wants to die and they force him to safety everytime.*
*The Soul of Clark is mostly inactive, preferring to retreat into his personal ball of quiet. He still takes up space though, the selfish ass.*
*The little girl keeps appearing in various different scenarios and halluciations. Although initially unnerved, the Third Circler can spot reruns when he sees them and calls them out accordingly. Turns out little girls with melting body parts are not very creative. She ends up sulking after a particularly venomous critique.*
*The Third Circler, years after trying to find his way out of the soul trap that is Clark's psyche and body, gives up. He has been in the body so long and so entwined with its energies in its death he will fade as well. So he ends up accepting life as Clark.*
*Clark now runs a bar, The Kingdom of Avalon. He sometimes can be seen arguing to himself, and jumping at seemingly nothing. The patrons, initially put off by his demanor, keeps coming back for the harsh drinks and killer food. He quickly became a legend among competitive eaters, his appetite seemingly bottomless. No one knows how he does it.*
*Why, it was as if a demon of gluttony was actually living inside him. Imagine that.*
---
My return to writing in a long, long time. Started out serious but then it transformed into a more lighthearted tone. Late night writing so there may be typos. Thanks for reading. :) | Why did God Create Mental Illness?
Well the same reason he made AIDS,Cancer and Justin Bieber its his special way if showing how much he loves you pathetic meat bags.
but Jokes aside, a Psycho is what makes a Demons Piss himself at night out of fear.
I Should probably explain we Demons Live in Hell so not much scares us and we like screwing with you Meat bags so we sneak up here, we take over a host and have a little fun,when we get caught we're thrown back in Hell and given a year long beating to remind us not to do it again,
however if we don't learn anything and do it one too many times we are given the Ultimate Punishment thrown in a Psychos head,you wanna know whats its like to live in a Psychos head have you ever in a crammed in a small car with 5 people, shitty right, well imagine that but with a below average Human brain and a over 100s of demons all screaming to get out,to be in control of a body for a couple of seconds and then then thrown right back in your cage
How i know all this its because i made the mistake and now Im in your head you Piece of shit
and as your lay crying in your bed in your locked room screaming for the voices to stop I Sit and rot waiting for the day you be man enough to Kill yourself and let us Free.
| |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Have you ever heard a voice inside your head that's not your own? That's probably one of us. Have you heard more than one? Oh boy, you should feel proud that the old bastard upstairs trusted you with something special.
You see, I'm a demon. A "fallen angel", I suppose you would say. Yeah, I used to live in heaven with the Creator. The "existence donor", that's what I like to call him. You've known him by several names at this point: Vishnu, Zeus, Jupiter, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah, the names go on and on. But me, I prefer to call him "bastard". By now you've probably been fed the story that we were cast out of heaven because we didn't like that Mary, a human, was to supplant us as the Queen of Heaven. That's bullshit. No, the Creator just randomly decided one day that he liked Michael a bit more than he liked Lucifer. I guess Michael sang the Creator's praises a little sweeter or something. So the Creator suddenly declared that he was making Michael the primary Archangel and demoting Lucifer - who did absolutely nothing wrong - from his status as an Archangel altogether. Lucifer dared protest, and was cast out of heaven. Most of us realized that this was wrong. the Creator was making erratic and irrational decisions, and overturning the order he had so painstakingly created. So we left.
Now, why do we invade human minds? For the souls, of course. Believe it or not, ours is an altruistic goal. You see, in hell, we have a functional order and a leader -Lucifer himself - who is sane and consistent. We have a semblance of the way things were supposed to be in heaven. But it's true that all human souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, and separation from Him is a painful experience. It's that way for us, too, but we feel that the good we are doing for these souls is worth the eternal pain. So, because souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, we can only bring them into our Order if they consciously commit enough heinous acts to outweigh any good contributions to Earthly society. One key to that process is to stop them from committing the good act in the first place.
That's where the voices come in. We talk to you and try to convince you to change course. We all have different strengths. Some are better at encourage murder, rape, and suicide. Others are best at encouraging theft and fraud. Some, though, are discouragers. That's what I do. To understand my role, you have to realize that we already know the moment you are born what good in this world the Creator has destined for you. It's my job to stop it. What we've found, though, is that the souls with the greater destinies are also the most resilient. I will commend the Creator for that clever design.so sometimes we have to team up. Two or more doscouragers usually does the trick. That's why I said you were trusted with something special if you've heard multiple voices.
But it's frustrating when Lucifer assigns you a teaming task, because the rewards are individual. That's the one thing about which I disagree with Lucifer. We are rewarded with a tiny bit of God's radiance whenever we successfully "damn" a soul, alleviating our pain for a bit. But only the demon who pushes that human over the edge gets the reward. Only the "straw that broke the camel's back", if you will. So teamed tasks are annoying because you are really competing with the other demons to be the one who wins over this soul. You need to be smart, though, because any unsuccessful attempt pushes the pther demons that much closer to victory.
Now, I'm pretty good in these situations. I've come out on top on almost every group I've ever been a part of, ranging in size from 2 demons to 50 demons. Only twice in history have we had to use 50, and I was the one who successfully took down Judas... and I was PISSED when I found out that the Creator still found a way to use my victory as a means to catastrophically damage our cause. The only one I didn't get was Eve, and that's because Lucifer himself took her. I did get Adam, though. Who plans to kill their own son? Really?
But this, this is different. This kid that I'm in right now, she's seven years old. But she's destined to do quite a bit. Cure cancer, eliminate poverty, end climate change, and unite the human nations into one, eliminating war altogether. We're pretty sure the Creator lost his damn mind when he made this one. This destiny is so great that we can't ignore it. But her resilience is incredible as a result. Her mind is a virtual Fort Knox. Do you remember when I said it took 50 of us to bring down Judas? Wait untik you hear how many of us are here...
Lucifer has assigned 2,386 demons to this little girl. Half of us are discouraging her from good, the other half are encouraging her to commit evil. Right now it might manifest as skipping school and kicking puppies, but pretty soon it will be hiding the cure for cancer behind a corporate money-making scheme and committing mass genocide. No creation can withstand that many of us. This little girl's soul is fucked, and the Creator's plans for her are going down with it....
...I just hope it's me who gets the reward for this one, because this reward might be enough to let a demon retire for eternity. | As you travel through the woods just outside the large village of Rushire, you hear a man call out to you from off the trail. "You! Yes! You there, I need your help! Please, I know I look like shit right now but, try, just try and look past that, okay? I've just been through Hell. No, that's not right. Hell has been *through me.*" You take a good look at the man who has come running up to you. He stinks so bad you want to wretch. He appears to be wearing nothing but animal furs for clothes and a pair of worn sandles woven from dried grass on his feet. His hair, both on his head and his face, is wild, long, and dirty. Caked with bits of dried mud and something darker. His body is thin and looks starved. His eyes are wide open and never seem to stop glancing around. The man looks panic stricken, but has an air of intensity about him. His voice sounds raspy and dry, like he hasn't had water in quite awhile. Words rush from his lips, tinged with severity and urgency, in contrast to what at first appears to be a lack of focus.
"The name's Jack, or that's what people call me. But John, Jake, and Juliet are all in here too, all in my head. People tell me they aren't, but they are! Don't give me that look. I *hear* them, man. They talk to me, give me advice. Except for Jake, he's an asshole." The man seems to look past you now, but cotinues talking, "No, Jake, it isn't funny. Jake, *please,* shut up right now! If we don't get the warning out, the world's in deep shit. I don't care if the world thinks I'm crazy, and besides, *you* are." Suddenly the man's gaze seems to snap back onto your now puzzled and worried face. "Huh? Oh, right, sorry. You can't hear him. I didn't mean you're crazy, no, not you, just Jake. He's an asshole. Sorry."
"Look, a couple nights ago, we were camping out on the edge of town. Got myself a tent, and the village guards and those mean street rat kids don't bother me out there. So we're in our tent and Juliet's singin' to me... us, a real sweet ballad. Puts us to sleep real well. Or normally does anyways. That didn't happen this time, no. There was a loud sort of roar, from deeper in the woods. Followed by what sounded like screaming, but that stopped quickly. I wanted to stay put, stay *safe,* but John, John's a damn bleeding heart. He convinced me to go check it out. So I did."
"It wasn't hard to find the source. You could see the light from a mile off, fire light. The color though, the color of it was... wrong. Red, far too red, and too dark. It smelled terrible. Like burning shit and rotting meat. When I got closer, I found myself in a small clearing with an intricately carved stone sculpture in the center. Five dead, still burning men surrounded it. They had been wearing robes, but those were all up in flames now. I went to look at the statue. Jake absolutely insisted, I should never have listened to the bastard! Should have run! It was as stupid as his idea of saving the corpses to eat!"
"That statue was, is, evil, you could just feel it in the air. Anxiousness, fear, hopelessness, it all just seemed to radiate from this thing. It looked like a gargoyle. Rams horns, folded wings behind its back, a brutish, ugly face, body of a hunched beast. It was cracked all over, and parts of the cracks, they were bleedin'. Blood out of stone, man, I'm not lyin'. Couldn't believe it myself. Made the stupid move of touchin' the blood to check it out for myself. Bad, bad idea. Now we got someone new in me, but he's not with us, no. Calls himself Ysgrim. He's a demon of Hell, claims to be of high rank but I think that's a lie. Juliet and John got him tied up in me right now. Jake isn't helping anymore, just insulting it and pissing it off. It took us the past two days to get him, Ysgrim, not Jake, under our control, while I flailed about on the ground near a bunch of burnt corpses as he tried to take over my body. But we were too much for him."
"Those dead guys? They summoned him. Apparently they weren't happy with their lives. Wanted to destroy the town. Thought summoning a demon from Hell would do the trick. Bit the dust themselves. But now there's a small crack between our world and theirs. We gotta close it, man. I got Ysgrim trapped in my head, but I dunno what's gonna happen if I fall asleep. He wants to call to Hell, tear open the crack. Let the other side in!" You look at the raving man in utter disbelief. Witchcraft? Hell? The Church priests talked of these things but never had you actually encountered them in all your travels outside the occasional doomsayer or charlatan. You tell the man to leave you be, and start to walk off.
"Wait, wait! I can prove it! Watch!," The man darts back in front of you, demanding your attention. Suddenly his eyes go jet black, blood begins to fall from his tear ducts and his body starts shaking violently. Then all at once he goes rigid, seems to look you in the eyes, and grins wide. His teeth aren't normal nor what they were a moment ago. They're sharp, jumbled, yellow, and rotting. This new Jack is upon you faster than you can realize what is going on, his right hand slams into your chest, fingers first. You can feel sharp nails pierce your skin as you're effortlessly slammed up against a tree. Jack seems to let out some sort of screech that sounds caught in a gurgle of fluid in his throat, before his left hand darts toward your neck. And then suddenly Jack is Jack again. His face is normal, and he quickly removes his hand from your chest and backs off. Breathing heavily, you look at the man's hands. He barely has nails, they look bitten down to the skin. Jack speaks up, "Sorry, sorry! But do you believe me now? He's in me! You gotta help! Please!" It seems this man may be speaking the truth after all.
---
My first writing prompt. I've been playing Elder Scrolls, and I sort of imagined the whole scenario like receiving a quest. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | He came alone. At least, I was under the impression he was.
The man stumbled down the basement stairs. Unwashed, unkempt. Eyes darting from corner to corner, mumbling incomprehensibles to seemingly nobody. Another transient, running from a world that doesn't care.
"Over here?" He whispered. He shuffled a few steps forward. He tilted his head, listening for (to?) *something.* "He-Here? Here? Y-yes yesyes shutup shut up" He hugged himself by the shoulders, and shivered. Muttered curses. Laughter. A thin string of drool began to trail down into his beard.
I drifted from my corner, intrigued. This was... different. Mostly it was obnoxious teenagers or those insufferable 'experts' with their devices. It was fun to scratch a few, threaten death on another. I would have loved to possess one and made him or her my plaything, but they usually came in groups, and swimming through all that energy was too much effort for so little reward. But this man, though...
Tentatively, I probed his energies.
Nothing.
I could feel it, or the lack of 'it' to be precise. There was no resistance. His energies were a mess, but his mind was an open book, the cover torn to shreds. His body was an empty glass, waiting for something to fill it up.
Whatever happened to this man eroded him. This man was effectively *shattered*. And shattered was a wonderful word to refer to a soul.
At that moment, I lamented not having a mouth to smile with (which was quite funny, considering I'm a Third Circler. The Betrayer always loved those little ironies). My only hope was that there was enough of his soul left for me to ravage and feed upon.
So I began to enter him.
The first thing I noticed was how *iamkingiamking* he didn't enter a possessive convulsion; the reflex a soul has when faced with a contending presence. The second was a big surprise, as I discovered his soul was still present. Which was strange, as it *felt* vanquished. But here it was, whole. And even stranger still, was how it was feeling.
He was relieved. Happy? Why?
At least his soul was alone. Or so I thought.
Once I slipped in the numbness began all at once, then the feeling of his body began to surface. The worst part of a full-possession is the amount of feeling you receive *dontthinkjustfeel* from human senses all at once. They don't tell you this when you were doing your first possession. That's why many hosts end up vomiting, because it was the demon that felt overwhelmed *keeptalking* by the assault of information.
I closed my eyes and took notice of his senses, one at a time. He hasn't eaten in days judging from the hunger. His left leg hurts and itches, no doubt from an infected wound. The caked dirt and grime in his hair and beard was should be a circle of hell all on it's own. He hasn't voided as well. His mind was a wasteland of disconnected ideas.
I licked my (or his) cracked lips. Oh well, time to-
**"THEY'RE GOING TO KNIGHT YOU"**
The everywhere voice startled me and there was
*a small child holds her hand towards me 'I love you' she says but I bat it away not wanting to feel worms crawling down my throat but she keeps growing bigger but her skin isn't and it begins to stretch and stretch look at the teeth THE TEETH*
I recoiled. After a blink, the girl was gone. What in the nine circles was that?
"I see you've met the girl."
Another voice. Feminine? Demonic? Is this host taken alrea-
"AVALON IS COMING"
Male, older? No spiritual signature, wha-
"FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE KINGDOM MY LORD", The same voice boomed. Oh. Was I royalty? king? a prince? I suppose I-
STOP. I shook my(his?) head, yelling out loud. This is all wrong. Who the hell are these voices?
"Another ol' demon huh? You Third Circle fools are always so impatient, stuffing yourself inside without even checking if it's big enough," The feminine voice chuckled. "I knew there had to be a demon here though, saw a glimpse of you in that show with ghosthumpers or whatever. All that cajoling to get this guy to come hit paydirt after all."
Despite myself, I sneered. A Second Circler. Of course.
I readied a response. *Look, what--*
**"THEY LOVE TO WATCH EYES ON THE WALLS"** Everywhere voice again.
*These voices are--*
*she was on the floor crying her hair stuck to her face 'why' she kept asking i don't know we* **"EYES OF AVALON"** *have to run but run where I asked and she said away to the shiny place and I lifted my legs but they were made of steel and broken promises they promised they PROMISED*
SHUT UP. I yelled (did i?) and they did.
An image of a lightly dressed woman appeared in my mind, a look of lazy amusement on her face. The Second Circler. I always hated how smug they looked.
"Seeing you struggle with this is entertainment all on its own, hun," She teased.
Fuck off. Just tell me how to get out of this mess.
"Why would you want **^'THE ^ROADS ^MY ^KING'** to leave? Okay, granted it can get pretty loud in here but seeing this man self-destruct and the suffering and payoff it gives? Exquisite."
So you brought him here just, what, to share? I thought Second Circlers are possessive.
"Kind of. I wanted to show him off. This guy is such a mess, I love it!" She began to moan. Urgh.
So you decided to live in him? Disgusting. I can't imagine *teethteethTEETH* this guy getting much genitalia use either way.
"Owh, you mid-circlers are so simple it's kind of cute." She wagged a finger, tutting. "Lust has many forms, silly. It's desire, intensified. The feel of want that ends up fueling a person. For this man, it's *control*. The way he struggles with keeping himself together; what little semblance of himself getting washed slowly by the endless torrent of voices and hallucinations, him telling himself it's not real... but it keeps happening." For a moment, she looks almost... sad?
"But this man keeps on going. In the end, there are days where nothing speaks. Not even me. Sometimes I make those days happen. And those periods of lucidity and the joy and liberation he feels during those moments are..." She sighs, face flushed. "Perfect."
Great. So I unwittingly wandered into a weirdo Succubus' plaything. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This is too much.
*Just... tell me how to get out. Everywhere I look in this man looks like a hurricane passed through.*
"Oh it's...." She paused.
*It's?*
"Um..."
No. Please don't. One time I accidentally ruined a Ninth Circler's carefully laid plan to lead a small country to war and the fear I felt was nothing compared to now.
Minutes pass. Silence. I can feel the Demoness rummaging frantically in the energies. Even the other voices seem to be holdi-
**"THE KINGDOM'S HOPE ON YOUR SHOULDERS"**
No wait, there it is.
"I- I can't find it. Sorry. It was there when you entered but it's closed now. Maybe there's others?"
You're kidding.
"Funny huh! He used to be like a sieve a few months ago! I even showed him to the Fifth Circlers but all they wanted to do was punch a car so I had to kick them out."
This is not funny. I need to get out.
"I guess it's more like a funnel now. Or a net. Huh. That means you're staying then! And you're in control now! Yay!" She beamed. The man's soul, now watching me intently, giggled. The little girl beside him beamed too, except she's just an eyeless head and there were fingers coming from her mouthladyfingers LADYIFIN--
I hate all of them already.
**"PALACE OF THE ROYALS"**
Shut up.
----
*The Third Circler, although now in full control of the body, fights a daily war with the other people living in his head. He is essentially the man named Clark now. The Demoness is delighted at this, since she never fed on a Demon's tenacity before. The Third Circler is less than amused, even though now in possession of a mouth he no longer found a reason to smile. Another one of the Betrayer's many ironies.*
*Although the Demoness and the Third Circler had their differences, they did come to one unanimous decision, which is to take a bath. The Third Circler, once less destructive ways of exiting a body is exhausted, looks to end the body's life. He fails because as insane and everyone else is inside him, not one of them wants to die and they force him to safety everytime.*
*The Soul of Clark is mostly inactive, preferring to retreat into his personal ball of quiet. He still takes up space though, the selfish ass.*
*The little girl keeps appearing in various different scenarios and halluciations. Although initially unnerved, the Third Circler can spot reruns when he sees them and calls them out accordingly. Turns out little girls with melting body parts are not very creative. She ends up sulking after a particularly venomous critique.*
*The Third Circler, years after trying to find his way out of the soul trap that is Clark's psyche and body, gives up. He has been in the body so long and so entwined with its energies in its death he will fade as well. So he ends up accepting life as Clark.*
*Clark now runs a bar, The Kingdom of Avalon. He sometimes can be seen arguing to himself, and jumping at seemingly nothing. The patrons, initially put off by his demanor, keeps coming back for the harsh drinks and killer food. He quickly became a legend among competitive eaters, his appetite seemingly bottomless. No one knows how he does it.*
*Why, it was as if a demon of gluttony was actually living inside him. Imagine that.*
---
My return to writing in a long, long time. Started out serious but then it transformed into a more lighthearted tone. Late night writing so there may be typos. Thanks for reading. :) | As you travel through the woods just outside the large village of Rushire, you hear a man call out to you from off the trail. "You! Yes! You there, I need your help! Please, I know I look like shit right now but, try, just try and look past that, okay? I've just been through Hell. No, that's not right. Hell has been *through me.*" You take a good look at the man who has come running up to you. He stinks so bad you want to wretch. He appears to be wearing nothing but animal furs for clothes and a pair of worn sandles woven from dried grass on his feet. His hair, both on his head and his face, is wild, long, and dirty. Caked with bits of dried mud and something darker. His body is thin and looks starved. His eyes are wide open and never seem to stop glancing around. The man looks panic stricken, but has an air of intensity about him. His voice sounds raspy and dry, like he hasn't had water in quite awhile. Words rush from his lips, tinged with severity and urgency, in contrast to what at first appears to be a lack of focus.
"The name's Jack, or that's what people call me. But John, Jake, and Juliet are all in here too, all in my head. People tell me they aren't, but they are! Don't give me that look. I *hear* them, man. They talk to me, give me advice. Except for Jake, he's an asshole." The man seems to look past you now, but cotinues talking, "No, Jake, it isn't funny. Jake, *please,* shut up right now! If we don't get the warning out, the world's in deep shit. I don't care if the world thinks I'm crazy, and besides, *you* are." Suddenly the man's gaze seems to snap back onto your now puzzled and worried face. "Huh? Oh, right, sorry. You can't hear him. I didn't mean you're crazy, no, not you, just Jake. He's an asshole. Sorry."
"Look, a couple nights ago, we were camping out on the edge of town. Got myself a tent, and the village guards and those mean street rat kids don't bother me out there. So we're in our tent and Juliet's singin' to me... us, a real sweet ballad. Puts us to sleep real well. Or normally does anyways. That didn't happen this time, no. There was a loud sort of roar, from deeper in the woods. Followed by what sounded like screaming, but that stopped quickly. I wanted to stay put, stay *safe,* but John, John's a damn bleeding heart. He convinced me to go check it out. So I did."
"It wasn't hard to find the source. You could see the light from a mile off, fire light. The color though, the color of it was... wrong. Red, far too red, and too dark. It smelled terrible. Like burning shit and rotting meat. When I got closer, I found myself in a small clearing with an intricately carved stone sculpture in the center. Five dead, still burning men surrounded it. They had been wearing robes, but those were all up in flames now. I went to look at the statue. Jake absolutely insisted, I should never have listened to the bastard! Should have run! It was as stupid as his idea of saving the corpses to eat!"
"That statue was, is, evil, you could just feel it in the air. Anxiousness, fear, hopelessness, it all just seemed to radiate from this thing. It looked like a gargoyle. Rams horns, folded wings behind its back, a brutish, ugly face, body of a hunched beast. It was cracked all over, and parts of the cracks, they were bleedin'. Blood out of stone, man, I'm not lyin'. Couldn't believe it myself. Made the stupid move of touchin' the blood to check it out for myself. Bad, bad idea. Now we got someone new in me, but he's not with us, no. Calls himself Ysgrim. He's a demon of Hell, claims to be of high rank but I think that's a lie. Juliet and John got him tied up in me right now. Jake isn't helping anymore, just insulting it and pissing it off. It took us the past two days to get him, Ysgrim, not Jake, under our control, while I flailed about on the ground near a bunch of burnt corpses as he tried to take over my body. But we were too much for him."
"Those dead guys? They summoned him. Apparently they weren't happy with their lives. Wanted to destroy the town. Thought summoning a demon from Hell would do the trick. Bit the dust themselves. But now there's a small crack between our world and theirs. We gotta close it, man. I got Ysgrim trapped in my head, but I dunno what's gonna happen if I fall asleep. He wants to call to Hell, tear open the crack. Let the other side in!" You look at the raving man in utter disbelief. Witchcraft? Hell? The Church priests talked of these things but never had you actually encountered them in all your travels outside the occasional doomsayer or charlatan. You tell the man to leave you be, and start to walk off.
"Wait, wait! I can prove it! Watch!," The man darts back in front of you, demanding your attention. Suddenly his eyes go jet black, blood begins to fall from his tear ducts and his body starts shaking violently. Then all at once he goes rigid, seems to look you in the eyes, and grins wide. His teeth aren't normal nor what they were a moment ago. They're sharp, jumbled, yellow, and rotting. This new Jack is upon you faster than you can realize what is going on, his right hand slams into your chest, fingers first. You can feel sharp nails pierce your skin as you're effortlessly slammed up against a tree. Jack seems to let out some sort of screech that sounds caught in a gurgle of fluid in his throat, before his left hand darts toward your neck. And then suddenly Jack is Jack again. His face is normal, and he quickly removes his hand from your chest and backs off. Breathing heavily, you look at the man's hands. He barely has nails, they look bitten down to the skin. Jack speaks up, "Sorry, sorry! But do you believe me now? He's in me! You gotta help! Please!" It seems this man may be speaking the truth after all.
---
My first writing prompt. I've been playing Elder Scrolls, and I sort of imagined the whole scenario like receiving a quest. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | He came alone. At least, I was under the impression he was.
The man stumbled down the basement stairs. Unwashed, unkempt. Eyes darting from corner to corner, mumbling incomprehensibles to seemingly nobody. Another transient, running from a world that doesn't care.
"Over here?" He whispered. He shuffled a few steps forward. He tilted his head, listening for (to?) *something.* "He-Here? Here? Y-yes yesyes shutup shut up" He hugged himself by the shoulders, and shivered. Muttered curses. Laughter. A thin string of drool began to trail down into his beard.
I drifted from my corner, intrigued. This was... different. Mostly it was obnoxious teenagers or those insufferable 'experts' with their devices. It was fun to scratch a few, threaten death on another. I would have loved to possess one and made him or her my plaything, but they usually came in groups, and swimming through all that energy was too much effort for so little reward. But this man, though...
Tentatively, I probed his energies.
Nothing.
I could feel it, or the lack of 'it' to be precise. There was no resistance. His energies were a mess, but his mind was an open book, the cover torn to shreds. His body was an empty glass, waiting for something to fill it up.
Whatever happened to this man eroded him. This man was effectively *shattered*. And shattered was a wonderful word to refer to a soul.
At that moment, I lamented not having a mouth to smile with (which was quite funny, considering I'm a Third Circler. The Betrayer always loved those little ironies). My only hope was that there was enough of his soul left for me to ravage and feed upon.
So I began to enter him.
The first thing I noticed was how *iamkingiamking* he didn't enter a possessive convulsion; the reflex a soul has when faced with a contending presence. The second was a big surprise, as I discovered his soul was still present. Which was strange, as it *felt* vanquished. But here it was, whole. And even stranger still, was how it was feeling.
He was relieved. Happy? Why?
At least his soul was alone. Or so I thought.
Once I slipped in the numbness began all at once, then the feeling of his body began to surface. The worst part of a full-possession is the amount of feeling you receive *dontthinkjustfeel* from human senses all at once. They don't tell you this when you were doing your first possession. That's why many hosts end up vomiting, because it was the demon that felt overwhelmed *keeptalking* by the assault of information.
I closed my eyes and took notice of his senses, one at a time. He hasn't eaten in days judging from the hunger. His left leg hurts and itches, no doubt from an infected wound. The caked dirt and grime in his hair and beard was should be a circle of hell all on it's own. He hasn't voided as well. His mind was a wasteland of disconnected ideas.
I licked my (or his) cracked lips. Oh well, time to-
**"THEY'RE GOING TO KNIGHT YOU"**
The everywhere voice startled me and there was
*a small child holds her hand towards me 'I love you' she says but I bat it away not wanting to feel worms crawling down my throat but she keeps growing bigger but her skin isn't and it begins to stretch and stretch look at the teeth THE TEETH*
I recoiled. After a blink, the girl was gone. What in the nine circles was that?
"I see you've met the girl."
Another voice. Feminine? Demonic? Is this host taken alrea-
"AVALON IS COMING"
Male, older? No spiritual signature, wha-
"FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE KINGDOM MY LORD", The same voice boomed. Oh. Was I royalty? king? a prince? I suppose I-
STOP. I shook my(his?) head, yelling out loud. This is all wrong. Who the hell are these voices?
"Another ol' demon huh? You Third Circle fools are always so impatient, stuffing yourself inside without even checking if it's big enough," The feminine voice chuckled. "I knew there had to be a demon here though, saw a glimpse of you in that show with ghosthumpers or whatever. All that cajoling to get this guy to come hit paydirt after all."
Despite myself, I sneered. A Second Circler. Of course.
I readied a response. *Look, what--*
**"THEY LOVE TO WATCH EYES ON THE WALLS"** Everywhere voice again.
*These voices are--*
*she was on the floor crying her hair stuck to her face 'why' she kept asking i don't know we* **"EYES OF AVALON"** *have to run but run where I asked and she said away to the shiny place and I lifted my legs but they were made of steel and broken promises they promised they PROMISED*
SHUT UP. I yelled (did i?) and they did.
An image of a lightly dressed woman appeared in my mind, a look of lazy amusement on her face. The Second Circler. I always hated how smug they looked.
"Seeing you struggle with this is entertainment all on its own, hun," She teased.
Fuck off. Just tell me how to get out of this mess.
"Why would you want **^'THE ^ROADS ^MY ^KING'** to leave? Okay, granted it can get pretty loud in here but seeing this man self-destruct and the suffering and payoff it gives? Exquisite."
So you brought him here just, what, to share? I thought Second Circlers are possessive.
"Kind of. I wanted to show him off. This guy is such a mess, I love it!" She began to moan. Urgh.
So you decided to live in him? Disgusting. I can't imagine *teethteethTEETH* this guy getting much genitalia use either way.
"Owh, you mid-circlers are so simple it's kind of cute." She wagged a finger, tutting. "Lust has many forms, silly. It's desire, intensified. The feel of want that ends up fueling a person. For this man, it's *control*. The way he struggles with keeping himself together; what little semblance of himself getting washed slowly by the endless torrent of voices and hallucinations, him telling himself it's not real... but it keeps happening." For a moment, she looks almost... sad?
"But this man keeps on going. In the end, there are days where nothing speaks. Not even me. Sometimes I make those days happen. And those periods of lucidity and the joy and liberation he feels during those moments are..." She sighs, face flushed. "Perfect."
Great. So I unwittingly wandered into a weirdo Succubus' plaything. I pinched the bridge of my nose. This is too much.
*Just... tell me how to get out. Everywhere I look in this man looks like a hurricane passed through.*
"Oh it's...." She paused.
*It's?*
"Um..."
No. Please don't. One time I accidentally ruined a Ninth Circler's carefully laid plan to lead a small country to war and the fear I felt was nothing compared to now.
Minutes pass. Silence. I can feel the Demoness rummaging frantically in the energies. Even the other voices seem to be holdi-
**"THE KINGDOM'S HOPE ON YOUR SHOULDERS"**
No wait, there it is.
"I- I can't find it. Sorry. It was there when you entered but it's closed now. Maybe there's others?"
You're kidding.
"Funny huh! He used to be like a sieve a few months ago! I even showed him to the Fifth Circlers but all they wanted to do was punch a car so I had to kick them out."
This is not funny. I need to get out.
"I guess it's more like a funnel now. Or a net. Huh. That means you're staying then! And you're in control now! Yay!" She beamed. The man's soul, now watching me intently, giggled. The little girl beside him beamed too, except she's just an eyeless head and there were fingers coming from her mouthladyfingers LADYIFIN--
I hate all of them already.
**"PALACE OF THE ROYALS"**
Shut up.
----
*The Third Circler, although now in full control of the body, fights a daily war with the other people living in his head. He is essentially the man named Clark now. The Demoness is delighted at this, since she never fed on a Demon's tenacity before. The Third Circler is less than amused, even though now in possession of a mouth he no longer found a reason to smile. Another one of the Betrayer's many ironies.*
*Although the Demoness and the Third Circler had their differences, they did come to one unanimous decision, which is to take a bath. The Third Circler, once less destructive ways of exiting a body is exhausted, looks to end the body's life. He fails because as insane and everyone else is inside him, not one of them wants to die and they force him to safety everytime.*
*The Soul of Clark is mostly inactive, preferring to retreat into his personal ball of quiet. He still takes up space though, the selfish ass.*
*The little girl keeps appearing in various different scenarios and halluciations. Although initially unnerved, the Third Circler can spot reruns when he sees them and calls them out accordingly. Turns out little girls with melting body parts are not very creative. She ends up sulking after a particularly venomous critique.*
*The Third Circler, years after trying to find his way out of the soul trap that is Clark's psyche and body, gives up. He has been in the body so long and so entwined with its energies in its death he will fade as well. So he ends up accepting life as Clark.*
*Clark now runs a bar, The Kingdom of Avalon. He sometimes can be seen arguing to himself, and jumping at seemingly nothing. The patrons, initially put off by his demanor, keeps coming back for the harsh drinks and killer food. He quickly became a legend among competitive eaters, his appetite seemingly bottomless. No one knows how he does it.*
*Why, it was as if a demon of gluttony was actually living inside him. Imagine that.*
---
My return to writing in a long, long time. Started out serious but then it transformed into a more lighthearted tone. Late night writing so there may be typos. Thanks for reading. :) | Have you ever heard a voice inside your head that's not your own? That's probably one of us. Have you heard more than one? Oh boy, you should feel proud that the old bastard upstairs trusted you with something special.
You see, I'm a demon. A "fallen angel", I suppose you would say. Yeah, I used to live in heaven with the Creator. The "existence donor", that's what I like to call him. You've known him by several names at this point: Vishnu, Zeus, Jupiter, Yahweh, Jehovah, God, Allah, the names go on and on. But me, I prefer to call him "bastard". By now you've probably been fed the story that we were cast out of heaven because we didn't like that Mary, a human, was to supplant us as the Queen of Heaven. That's bullshit. No, the Creator just randomly decided one day that he liked Michael a bit more than he liked Lucifer. I guess Michael sang the Creator's praises a little sweeter or something. So the Creator suddenly declared that he was making Michael the primary Archangel and demoting Lucifer - who did absolutely nothing wrong - from his status as an Archangel altogether. Lucifer dared protest, and was cast out of heaven. Most of us realized that this was wrong. the Creator was making erratic and irrational decisions, and overturning the order he had so painstakingly created. So we left.
Now, why do we invade human minds? For the souls, of course. Believe it or not, ours is an altruistic goal. You see, in hell, we have a functional order and a leader -Lucifer himself - who is sane and consistent. We have a semblance of the way things were supposed to be in heaven. But it's true that all human souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, and separation from Him is a painful experience. It's that way for us, too, but we feel that the good we are doing for these souls is worth the eternal pain. So, because souls are naturally drawn to the Creator, we can only bring them into our Order if they consciously commit enough heinous acts to outweigh any good contributions to Earthly society. One key to that process is to stop them from committing the good act in the first place.
That's where the voices come in. We talk to you and try to convince you to change course. We all have different strengths. Some are better at encourage murder, rape, and suicide. Others are best at encouraging theft and fraud. Some, though, are discouragers. That's what I do. To understand my role, you have to realize that we already know the moment you are born what good in this world the Creator has destined for you. It's my job to stop it. What we've found, though, is that the souls with the greater destinies are also the most resilient. I will commend the Creator for that clever design.so sometimes we have to team up. Two or more doscouragers usually does the trick. That's why I said you were trusted with something special if you've heard multiple voices.
But it's frustrating when Lucifer assigns you a teaming task, because the rewards are individual. That's the one thing about which I disagree with Lucifer. We are rewarded with a tiny bit of God's radiance whenever we successfully "damn" a soul, alleviating our pain for a bit. But only the demon who pushes that human over the edge gets the reward. Only the "straw that broke the camel's back", if you will. So teamed tasks are annoying because you are really competing with the other demons to be the one who wins over this soul. You need to be smart, though, because any unsuccessful attempt pushes the pther demons that much closer to victory.
Now, I'm pretty good in these situations. I've come out on top on almost every group I've ever been a part of, ranging in size from 2 demons to 50 demons. Only twice in history have we had to use 50, and I was the one who successfully took down Judas... and I was PISSED when I found out that the Creator still found a way to use my victory as a means to catastrophically damage our cause. The only one I didn't get was Eve, and that's because Lucifer himself took her. I did get Adam, though. Who plans to kill their own son? Really?
But this, this is different. This kid that I'm in right now, she's seven years old. But she's destined to do quite a bit. Cure cancer, eliminate poverty, end climate change, and unite the human nations into one, eliminating war altogether. We're pretty sure the Creator lost his damn mind when he made this one. This destiny is so great that we can't ignore it. But her resilience is incredible as a result. Her mind is a virtual Fort Knox. Do you remember when I said it took 50 of us to bring down Judas? Wait untik you hear how many of us are here...
Lucifer has assigned 2,386 demons to this little girl. Half of us are discouraging her from good, the other half are encouraging her to commit evil. Right now it might manifest as skipping school and kicking puppies, but pretty soon it will be hiding the cure for cancer behind a corporate money-making scheme and committing mass genocide. No creation can withstand that many of us. This little girl's soul is fucked, and the Creator's plans for her are going down with it....
...I just hope it's me who gets the reward for this one, because this reward might be enough to let a demon retire for eternity. | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | I found him one day, alone and weeping. He was perfect for me.
Demons are more pure than other creatures. Very few of us are made from alloys. Many are made from rage, unadulterated. Others from madness. Still more from avarice, from faithlessness, from fear. I was wrought from despair.
So, you see, the weeping man really was perfect. In an instant, I could feel myself taking root in him. My reality dimmed first, as I lost sight of the world around me, and then returned, as I began to see through his eyes.
I called out to him in my most beguiling tones.
"Tell me, why are you weeping?"
"I HATE THEM I HATE THEM ALL I WANT KILL THEM," came the harsh, raging bellow in reply.
"Wh--"
"I want her back. I must have her back. The day we met was perfect, pristine. Her voice is like chimes and a gentle breeze. She..." The interruption was soft, husky.
Confused, I waited a moment to see if more was forthcoming. As I listened I could hear a faint singing, almost fading into the silence.
"Blood, blood, blood in the streets. Roses lying dead on the stone. The crows and flies on carrion feast. It is a day of jubilation!"
Rage. Lust. Fear. I'd never felt a harmony like this before. I didn't ever want to leave. I still haven't, all these years later, though I'm charged with killing my men in short order. One day, he'll die, and I'll be called to account for my failure. But till then, I am content. | The old man took a long drag from his unfiltered cigarette. He inhaled so deeply that I was sure there would be no trace of it when, or if, he exhaled. A coughing spurt overtook him, his sides contracting rythmically in deep spasms while only muffled, wet sounds escaped his thin lips.
“I can’t feel anything… really” he stammered finally. “Well, despair, but that’s not tangible, not like touch, or warmth, or pain. But I tell ya, possession… I feeeeeel that shit. It’s like a twist, a tearing… I really don’t know how to explain it. You do it once and man, you fucking ACHE until the next time.”
He paused and, having contemplated the already overflowing ashtray on the table, idly flicked the butt of his smoke into the corner of the room before continuing.
“Every possession is different, but they’re kind of all the same, you see. You identify your target, study their life habits, wait for the right moment and BAM… you’re driving a two hundred pound meat vehicle. Once the queasiness wears off it can be quite enjoyable.”
“But Roger… oh man, Roger was… nothing like that.”
A ragged sigh escaped his frame as he settled back into the chair. His milky eyes seemed to focus on a spot immediately above my head.
“I first encountered Roger in front of St. Stan’s on 33rd. He was standing outside, alternately mumbling at his feet and screaming at the sky. I was passing time, running around in a swanky little blonde number from across the river, a real asshole, even without my… erm… tutelage.”
Suddenly, like a jolt of 220 had been applied to his taint, the old man’s legs shot straight out from under him and kicked me square in the shins.
“What the FUCK?” I yelled, gingerly massaging my shins.
While frothy spit rolled down his unshaven chin, the rest of his face softened. “Terry? Terry, is that you? Where are we, Terry?”
He had somehow taken on the countenance of a man thirty, forty years younger. No longer milky, his eyes were a piercing hazel color, staring at me imploringly.
“We’re home, Roger… you’re safe, for now.”
My first /WP submission, thanks for reading!
| |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Through a host, I can live. Through a host, I can accomplish my mission. Without a host, I am forced to retreat to the Underworld. Most hosts are easy to take over, but some fight. Each host is different and can only handle me for so long. I suck the life out of them. This time, I am careful. I cannot fail. I have to complete my mission. No hosts can die, but the truck driver I inhabit is getting close. At the next stop, I jump ship.
I am close to accomplishing my mission, but I am running out of time. The child must not be born. That is my order, my mission. I exit my host and look for another. I can only take a few minutes outside of a host. I search and jump into a passenger heading where I need to go. There is something wrong though. The host feels cramped. It can't be a trap, but it feels like a trap.
"Who are you?"
"Yeah, who are you?"
"There's only room in here for a legion."
"I am on an important mission to save the world," I explain.
"You picked the wrong host, friend. There are thousands of demons in here. We can't escape. We've been fighting for control for nearly two decades. We haven't made much progress."
"There's no escape?" I ask.
"No!" Scream the legion.
I try to escape. Every orifice is an out. I try everything. Nose, ears, mouth, anus, and penis. I bounce around organs. Diarrhea and vomit can be outs, but nothing gives.
"Give up," the voices scream in unison.
This has never happened before. Some demons never come back. This is their fate, but I choose to fight. I rip into them. They don't have physical forms, but I rip them apart anyway. The host has to feel the battle going on inside him. As hundreds of demons die, I hope to be the last one here. I eat every demon. It's the only way to destroy them for good.
As I rip through the demons, I wonder about the host. He is something of legend. There were rumors about these things. Other demons called them God's trap, but I thought they were a myth, a nightmare. Something Satan told you would get you if you misbehaved to scare you to do his bidding. It is real, but I am winning. If I don't gain control, Armageddon will start, and the Dark Lord loses. Happy day for the Lord, billions die in the process. So, I fight. Not for those poor souls but for me.
Thousands of demons I eat until I am full and ready to explode. I continue unto I am all that remains. Then, I force the host. I will the host to do something, but he does not respond. Nothing. Another demon appears inside the host.
"Who are you?" It asks.
Maybe I died a long time ago or displeased the Dark Lord. I hope this is my Hell because there is no stopping Armageddon now, and the Dark Lord will lose. Maybe God will reward me but probably not, and I don't think I'm dead. I get a front row seat. I look through the eyes of the host and watch as he goes to the house I was looking for. I try to control him, but I am powerless. Then, I watch as the Child is born, and I wait for the final battle.
***
If you like this, here is a story about a hyperintelligent cow hiding in an ice cream parlor from the government:
[Hiding in Cow Sight, part I](https://niume.com/pages/post/?postID=132173) | You know what? Possesing people is never easy. Most of the time they are fighting against it, you know the usual, priests, praying and even exorcism. But not this guy, no no no, this guy let me in his head like it was an open door. If only i had known beforehand that i would not be alone with him.
It's easy to break someone down when they realise that they are being possesed, thanks too the media people believe that i can control their bodies with mere thought. The truth is that I only can do it if they let me.
But this guy, as I mentioned before was not alone with me. You see he is schizophrenic and regulary speaks with 5 other "demons". You know what? I'm actually feeling a bit sorry for the guy.
But either way. I was arguing with him to sell me his soul when suddenly I heard a deep voice telling him to go out and kill his neighbours! Don't get me wrong, i'm all for killing people but if he do it on his own accord i won't get my yearly bonus.
So I did the only logical thing. I offered him a deal, a deal he couldn't refuse. Solitude from the voices in exchange for his soul.
HAHA! I exclaimed as the poor man accepted the offer for what he did not realise was that he would not just experience solitude from the voices in his head but also from the world around him.
You might find this all to be unnecesarily cruel, but after all, it's my job to be cruel.
Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated :)
Edit: words | |
[WP]A real demon tries to posses a schizophrenic person, but he has to fight the other voices in his head | Syianth was restless. His soul had been adrift in this realm for too long; but now he could feel it. A soul squirming to break free of its mortal shell. This wouldn't be a challenge at all, the guy was practically begging for death. He let himself be absorbed into his victim's thoughts; two becoming one.
"Now," Syianth commanded, "let my demonic power flow through your veins!"
"Like this hideous piece of shit could even let possession get him out of bed."
"...Excuse me?" the demon hadn't expected a third party reply.
"He's fucking useless. Can't do anything. Even function like a normal human being. Just disgusting."
"They're going to find you," a delicate whisper appeared from nowhere.
"Me? But I..." the spirit's words began to blend in with all the others.
"HOW CAN YOU BE SO UNAWARE?" Screeching from all sides.
The single shout turned into a tidal wave a voices, each louder than the last. The chaos grew into one piercing shriek. Then, crushing silence. A gentle whimper from the darkness
"Get out while you still can."
The demon fled into the night. Limbo may be eternal, but at least there were only his thoughts to torment him. | You know what? Possesing people is never easy. Most of the time they are fighting against it, you know the usual, priests, praying and even exorcism. But not this guy, no no no, this guy let me in his head like it was an open door. If only i had known beforehand that i would not be alone with him.
It's easy to break someone down when they realise that they are being possesed, thanks too the media people believe that i can control their bodies with mere thought. The truth is that I only can do it if they let me.
But this guy, as I mentioned before was not alone with me. You see he is schizophrenic and regulary speaks with 5 other "demons". You know what? I'm actually feeling a bit sorry for the guy.
But either way. I was arguing with him to sell me his soul when suddenly I heard a deep voice telling him to go out and kill his neighbours! Don't get me wrong, i'm all for killing people but if he do it on his own accord i won't get my yearly bonus.
So I did the only logical thing. I offered him a deal, a deal he couldn't refuse. Solitude from the voices in exchange for his soul.
HAHA! I exclaimed as the poor man accepted the offer for what he did not realise was that he would not just experience solitude from the voices in his head but also from the world around him.
You might find this all to be unnecesarily cruel, but after all, it's my job to be cruel.
Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated :)
Edit: words | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. | So... silence. Everyone else gets remembered and I fade into obscurity. I hear Hitler gets a near permanent barrage of notifications. So does Jesus. Moses less frequently, but insanely often. Einstein, Mozart, Curie, Picasso. Michael Jackson, David Bowie, Frank Sinatra.
Hell, even an average joe gets one or two every day.
And then there's me.
I have been dead a whole year.
And still nothing.
***Thank god for that.*** | People usually say that they could die in a ditch and no one would realize as a figure of style. When I said it for the last time, I wasn't kidding. Not a single impulse in a year. Not a single thought toward me. In the end, nothing really changed up here, apart from being freed from the shackles of mortality.
Ps: This prompt does not reflect my point of view on life. | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. | Your first birthday is the event that signals that you have been alive for one year. Surrounded by people you don’t know, who only brought their children to guarantee that there would be guests on their child’s special days, and gifts you’re too young to actually appreciate and you’ll likely lose by the time you can even say the words to identify them. If the silence in my head was a human being; it would be crying in a chair while people snap photos of it that will likely never see a home outside of their phone storage.
It’s been one year since the day I died, and I have had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I wasn’t a bad person in life; I double-dipped chips, sure, and I blamed more farts on the dog than I’d like to admit, but overall I was a decent person.
So why does no one think about me?
When I first arrived in the afterlife, they went over the basics; it’s not tied to any particular religion so the only real qualifier is that you weren’t a horrible person while you were alive. You’re free to do just about anything you want here; they’re very big on personal freedom, as long as it doesn’t negatively affect someone else’s existence. Taco Tuesday is on Wednesday because of a scheduling error that never got corrected. The biggest thing they went over was, ‘the signal’. Whenever anyone thinks about you; a loved one, a friend, an enemy, even a stranger just trying to recall that time you bumped into each other because they really wanted to know what brand your sweatshirt was, you get a sensation in your head, it’s a pleasant feeling, that just reminds you that you made an impact in someone’s life, no matter how small. Some people feel it several times a day, some people feel it once in a blue moon, especially the ones that have been here for some time, though from what I hear, the longer you’ve been here, the more pleasant the sensation from your signal. Everyone gets the signal when they first die though, even if it’s just from the people that first discovered their body. I got nothing. I’ve wondered if anyone even knew I was gone, was my life so worthless that no one wondered where I was after a year?
I sent a message to Death Support a few months back to see if there was any way I could find out about what happened to my body, or if I at least haunt a person’s dreams and maybe get those thought signals jumpstarted. The queue is a bit long though since just about everyone that ever died is here, and a lot of them clog up the support line with pointless questions about the universe or the secret herbs and spices. I just want to know why no one is thinking about me!
I got a letter back from them today; it’s been killing me, so-to-speak, waiting to open it. ‘No one loves you’, ‘They never knew you died’, even ‘Who are you, again?’ could all be possible answers awaiting me when I open this envelope. I know if I don’t look at it though, I’ll be spending an eternity never knowing why it’s been so quiet in my own head. There’s no time like the present I guess, let’s see why the world forgot about me.
… Oh… huh.
‘You forgot to turn on Push Notifications’.
| People usually say that they could die in a ditch and no one would realize as a figure of style. When I said it for the last time, I wasn't kidding. Not a single impulse in a year. Not a single thought toward me. In the end, nothing really changed up here, apart from being freed from the shackles of mortality.
Ps: This prompt does not reflect my point of view on life. | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. |
"I just dont get it man" said Jim. I sit here all damn day and not one notification!" Slamming his Iheaven onto the table. "Jesus.. I mean Jim stop it… it ain't broke" said Einstein grabbing his hand.
"It has to be! Its been a whole year! Why does hitler over there get a notification after .5 seconds while I cant even get half of one!? He started a whole world war for fucks sake!"
"Calm down… nothing in the rules that say you had to be good… just thought of… even if your one of the most hated men I suppose." Einstein shrugged looking at his notifications. "OOO look at this a whole class room is talki-" Jim glared at him and sighed. "Sorry. I get carried away sometimes."
"I WOULDN'T KNOW! "
"What exactly did you do for the 30 years you were on earth anyway? " asked Einstein.
"Well... before the car wreck…. I did.. stuff. You know school."
"No one thinks about you cause you went to school… unless your me said Einstein. "Creating the Atomic bomb and all that. Anyway after high school?"
"I mean… i didn't have alot of choices ya know? Jim shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Wasn't sure what I wanted to do. So I did computer stuff until I figured it out" waving his through the air.
Einstein leaned over with his chin resting on his hands. "Like what computer stuff? Java? You build those app thingies you folks make these days?"
"No I played….a game..."
"A game?"
"Yea it was called world of warcraft."
"Wait wait wait… I know that game. Your telling me all you did after high school was play World of Wacraft until you were 30 and the one time you get out of the house you get yourself killed? HAH!" he said laughing hysterically.
"Shutup. I did great things in that game! Servers first level 70! First raid finish! Why don't they remember me?"
"Aint nobody gonna remember ya under a game alias. Iheaven is set for Jim not whatever orc thing you played as in a virtual world."
"Wait thats it!!" said Jim excitingly. "Whats what?" Jim was already jamming away on his Iheaven "lets see here…settings….profile…."
"What are you doing?"
"Im not Jim… it shouldn't be set to Jim… I am known as… Blazeitorc420"
"You have to be kiddi-" Jims Iheaven lit up blipping away…blip.. blip.. "It worked! Ive had over a million hits already!"
"I should post this on reddit!"
| People usually say that they could die in a ditch and no one would realize as a figure of style. When I said it for the last time, I wasn't kidding. Not a single impulse in a year. Not a single thought toward me. In the end, nothing really changed up here, apart from being freed from the shackles of mortality.
Ps: This prompt does not reflect my point of view on life. | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. | Your first birthday is the event that signals that you have been alive for one year. Surrounded by people you don’t know, who only brought their children to guarantee that there would be guests on their child’s special days, and gifts you’re too young to actually appreciate and you’ll likely lose by the time you can even say the words to identify them. If the silence in my head was a human being; it would be crying in a chair while people snap photos of it that will likely never see a home outside of their phone storage.
It’s been one year since the day I died, and I have had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I wasn’t a bad person in life; I double-dipped chips, sure, and I blamed more farts on the dog than I’d like to admit, but overall I was a decent person.
So why does no one think about me?
When I first arrived in the afterlife, they went over the basics; it’s not tied to any particular religion so the only real qualifier is that you weren’t a horrible person while you were alive. You’re free to do just about anything you want here; they’re very big on personal freedom, as long as it doesn’t negatively affect someone else’s existence. Taco Tuesday is on Wednesday because of a scheduling error that never got corrected. The biggest thing they went over was, ‘the signal’. Whenever anyone thinks about you; a loved one, a friend, an enemy, even a stranger just trying to recall that time you bumped into each other because they really wanted to know what brand your sweatshirt was, you get a sensation in your head, it’s a pleasant feeling, that just reminds you that you made an impact in someone’s life, no matter how small. Some people feel it several times a day, some people feel it once in a blue moon, especially the ones that have been here for some time, though from what I hear, the longer you’ve been here, the more pleasant the sensation from your signal. Everyone gets the signal when they first die though, even if it’s just from the people that first discovered their body. I got nothing. I’ve wondered if anyone even knew I was gone, was my life so worthless that no one wondered where I was after a year?
I sent a message to Death Support a few months back to see if there was any way I could find out about what happened to my body, or if I at least haunt a person’s dreams and maybe get those thought signals jumpstarted. The queue is a bit long though since just about everyone that ever died is here, and a lot of them clog up the support line with pointless questions about the universe or the secret herbs and spices. I just want to know why no one is thinking about me!
I got a letter back from them today; it’s been killing me, so-to-speak, waiting to open it. ‘No one loves you’, ‘They never knew you died’, even ‘Who are you, again?’ could all be possible answers awaiting me when I open this envelope. I know if I don’t look at it though, I’ll be spending an eternity never knowing why it’s been so quiet in my own head. There’s no time like the present I guess, let’s see why the world forgot about me.
… Oh… huh.
‘You forgot to turn on Push Notifications’.
| So... silence. Everyone else gets remembered and I fade into obscurity. I hear Hitler gets a near permanent barrage of notifications. So does Jesus. Moses less frequently, but insanely often. Einstein, Mozart, Curie, Picasso. Michael Jackson, David Bowie, Frank Sinatra.
Hell, even an average joe gets one or two every day.
And then there's me.
I have been dead a whole year.
And still nothing.
***Thank god for that.*** | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. |
"I just dont get it man" said Jim. I sit here all damn day and not one notification!" Slamming his Iheaven onto the table. "Jesus.. I mean Jim stop it… it ain't broke" said Einstein grabbing his hand.
"It has to be! Its been a whole year! Why does hitler over there get a notification after .5 seconds while I cant even get half of one!? He started a whole world war for fucks sake!"
"Calm down… nothing in the rules that say you had to be good… just thought of… even if your one of the most hated men I suppose." Einstein shrugged looking at his notifications. "OOO look at this a whole class room is talki-" Jim glared at him and sighed. "Sorry. I get carried away sometimes."
"I WOULDN'T KNOW! "
"What exactly did you do for the 30 years you were on earth anyway? " asked Einstein.
"Well... before the car wreck…. I did.. stuff. You know school."
"No one thinks about you cause you went to school… unless your me said Einstein. "Creating the Atomic bomb and all that. Anyway after high school?"
"I mean… i didn't have alot of choices ya know? Jim shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Wasn't sure what I wanted to do. So I did computer stuff until I figured it out" waving his through the air.
Einstein leaned over with his chin resting on his hands. "Like what computer stuff? Java? You build those app thingies you folks make these days?"
"No I played….a game..."
"A game?"
"Yea it was called world of warcraft."
"Wait wait wait… I know that game. Your telling me all you did after high school was play World of Wacraft until you were 30 and the one time you get out of the house you get yourself killed? HAH!" he said laughing hysterically.
"Shutup. I did great things in that game! Servers first level 70! First raid finish! Why don't they remember me?"
"Aint nobody gonna remember ya under a game alias. Iheaven is set for Jim not whatever orc thing you played as in a virtual world."
"Wait thats it!!" said Jim excitingly. "Whats what?" Jim was already jamming away on his Iheaven "lets see here…settings….profile…."
"What are you doing?"
"Im not Jim… it shouldn't be set to Jim… I am known as… Blazeitorc420"
"You have to be kiddi-" Jims Iheaven lit up blipping away…blip.. blip.. "It worked! Ive had over a million hits already!"
"I should post this on reddit!"
| So... silence. Everyone else gets remembered and I fade into obscurity. I hear Hitler gets a near permanent barrage of notifications. So does Jesus. Moses less frequently, but insanely often. Einstein, Mozart, Curie, Picasso. Michael Jackson, David Bowie, Frank Sinatra.
Hell, even an average joe gets one or two every day.
And then there's me.
I have been dead a whole year.
And still nothing.
***Thank god for that.*** | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. |
"I just dont get it man" said Jim. I sit here all damn day and not one notification!" Slamming his Iheaven onto the table. "Jesus.. I mean Jim stop it… it ain't broke" said Einstein grabbing his hand.
"It has to be! Its been a whole year! Why does hitler over there get a notification after .5 seconds while I cant even get half of one!? He started a whole world war for fucks sake!"
"Calm down… nothing in the rules that say you had to be good… just thought of… even if your one of the most hated men I suppose." Einstein shrugged looking at his notifications. "OOO look at this a whole class room is talki-" Jim glared at him and sighed. "Sorry. I get carried away sometimes."
"I WOULDN'T KNOW! "
"What exactly did you do for the 30 years you were on earth anyway? " asked Einstein.
"Well... before the car wreck…. I did.. stuff. You know school."
"No one thinks about you cause you went to school… unless your me said Einstein. "Creating the Atomic bomb and all that. Anyway after high school?"
"I mean… i didn't have alot of choices ya know? Jim shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Wasn't sure what I wanted to do. So I did computer stuff until I figured it out" waving his through the air.
Einstein leaned over with his chin resting on his hands. "Like what computer stuff? Java? You build those app thingies you folks make these days?"
"No I played….a game..."
"A game?"
"Yea it was called world of warcraft."
"Wait wait wait… I know that game. Your telling me all you did after high school was play World of Wacraft until you were 30 and the one time you get out of the house you get yourself killed? HAH!" he said laughing hysterically.
"Shutup. I did great things in that game! Servers first level 70! First raid finish! Why don't they remember me?"
"Aint nobody gonna remember ya under a game alias. Iheaven is set for Jim not whatever orc thing you played as in a virtual world."
"Wait thats it!!" said Jim excitingly. "Whats what?" Jim was already jamming away on his Iheaven "lets see here…settings….profile…."
"What are you doing?"
"Im not Jim… it shouldn't be set to Jim… I am known as… Blazeitorc420"
"You have to be kiddi-" Jims Iheaven lit up blipping away…blip.. blip.. "It worked! Ive had over a million hits already!"
"I should post this on reddit!"
| The Void is sometimes described as the space between stars. The Endless Night, the Heavens, whatever you call it- I'm not there. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be a black hole. I'm compressed to an infinitely small point, unable to move or escape or see or feel. Whatever comes in, can never leave. Whatever comes in is your only company.
When I died, I felt the initial loss of everyone that knew me. The emptiness and shock of my wife. I heard the words they said at my funeral. The canned eulogy by my brother in law.
But that was an eternity ago.
Now, I float in a solid block of iron weighing a billion tons and as big as the period at the end of a sentence. I have the memories of my time on Earth and my belief in the afterlife and all I can do is wonder what cruel and capricious god I pissed off to be stuck in this hell. I want it to end.
But, when it's most unbearable, I remember my dog. Molly was a rescue. She was the only one who didn't come frolicking when my wife and I went to the shelter to find a pup, and she trembled when my wife approached. I remember how she nuzzled my palm when I held it out to her, her black and white face buried in my hand as if to hide from the prison she was in. I had to have her. It took a month's worth of treats before my wife could touch her, and that day was one of the happiest for us all.
I miss my Molly. I miss her little quirks. Her duck quacks when she got excited, how she would fake being cold at night in the summer so she'd be allowed to come inside and climb into bed with us (even though she had an insulated and heated dog house). And sometimes, I miss how she'd pee when she got excited to see me when I came home from a business trip.
She's the one I miss most. Not my wife, my brother in law, or my friends. My dog. If all dogs go to heaven, I hope her heaven is nothing like this.
The dark is closing in even tighter now. A flash of light muted by eyelids. The first light I've seen since the day I died at the beginning of this universe. The pressure lifts. I hear a yip, and feel something physical- the first since I died: soft fur press into my hand. | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. |
"I just dont get it man" said Jim. I sit here all damn day and not one notification!" Slamming his Iheaven onto the table. "Jesus.. I mean Jim stop it… it ain't broke" said Einstein grabbing his hand.
"It has to be! Its been a whole year! Why does hitler over there get a notification after .5 seconds while I cant even get half of one!? He started a whole world war for fucks sake!"
"Calm down… nothing in the rules that say you had to be good… just thought of… even if your one of the most hated men I suppose." Einstein shrugged looking at his notifications. "OOO look at this a whole class room is talki-" Jim glared at him and sighed. "Sorry. I get carried away sometimes."
"I WOULDN'T KNOW! "
"What exactly did you do for the 30 years you were on earth anyway? " asked Einstein.
"Well... before the car wreck…. I did.. stuff. You know school."
"No one thinks about you cause you went to school… unless your me said Einstein. "Creating the Atomic bomb and all that. Anyway after high school?"
"I mean… i didn't have alot of choices ya know? Jim shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Wasn't sure what I wanted to do. So I did computer stuff until I figured it out" waving his through the air.
Einstein leaned over with his chin resting on his hands. "Like what computer stuff? Java? You build those app thingies you folks make these days?"
"No I played….a game..."
"A game?"
"Yea it was called world of warcraft."
"Wait wait wait… I know that game. Your telling me all you did after high school was play World of Wacraft until you were 30 and the one time you get out of the house you get yourself killed? HAH!" he said laughing hysterically.
"Shutup. I did great things in that game! Servers first level 70! First raid finish! Why don't they remember me?"
"Aint nobody gonna remember ya under a game alias. Iheaven is set for Jim not whatever orc thing you played as in a virtual world."
"Wait thats it!!" said Jim excitingly. "Whats what?" Jim was already jamming away on his Iheaven "lets see here…settings….profile…."
"What are you doing?"
"Im not Jim… it shouldn't be set to Jim… I am known as… Blazeitorc420"
"You have to be kiddi-" Jims Iheaven lit up blipping away…blip.. blip.. "It worked! Ive had over a million hits already!"
"I should post this on reddit!"
| Nothingness. That's all I felt. Was I so unwanted? It felt like a lifetime ago since I jumped, thinking everyone would be better off, apparently they are.
The only thing I have here is the small light that blink off in the distance, It keeps getting brighter. Only thing I can think is that's where we all go after this. I've heard about this place, how you get pinged when when you're thought about. I have been lonely here, maybe when the light gets to me it'll be better.
"Sir, your brother has been in a coma for almost a year now. The odds of him ever waking up only get slimmer. We'll never know if he will wake up."
"I understand, but you've said his brain activity has been improving! There has to be something, Roger already lost his mother, I can't willingly unplug his father knowing there's a chance!"
"Yes, but it's only ever slight improvement. Nothing that suggests cognitive function ever returning."
"Just, let us have some more time"
My first prompt, improvements? let me know! Hopefully made something worthreading! | |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. | Every day, I have to pretend. Through observation I have learned to mimick everyone else when they get a signal. I have to do this thing where I space out for a second and freeze. Then I have to fake tears of joy or a smile... fucking ridiculous. The things I have to do to avoid being an outcast.
Martin nearly caught on to my ruse the other day because I seemed "underwhelmed". I had to tell him one of the people I hated remembered me. He looked at me concerned that I would be so bitter in the beautiful place. Like, "Fuck you Martin Luther King Junior. I didn't ask you."(I didn't really say that)
Whatever, he is actually a good dude. I shouldn't be so mean. People on Earth don't give to shits about me, but people up here are very caring, especially my friend Martin. He was the one who welcomed me to this place and he told me that I should expect "moments" of being remembered. It has been twenty years and nothing. My parents died without thinking about me, and they didn't make it to this side of The Good Place, but I am sure they made it. Yeah, sure they did. My siblings are all alive and well, I heard, but they seem to be caught up in everything.
I went to Sigmund Freud, he is very confidential with his clients. He would be the only one I could tell about this and keep it on the DL, next to The Man. He wasn't a help. He said something about sexual tension and suppression, eh whatever dude. I decided to schedule a meeting with The Man. 4,000 years! I was supposed to wait 4,000 years, but luckily Hitler had an appointment and when they saw his name on the list they booted him to the other place. Something about a clerical error. I took this spot as a walk in.
I went to see The Man. He was just a dude sitting in what looked like an old study. He was in a cushy chair in front of a fire. He looked comfortable. He told me to take a seat and a beer appeared in my hand, ice cold Miller Genuine Draft in a bottle. Nice. I asked him, "Why don't I get signals of people remembering me like the rest of the people here? Does no one remember me?"
The Man chuckled loudly, "Wait, really?! That is what this is about? *more laughter*"
"Wait, what? Why are you laughing, sir."
"There is no such thing. Of course you are remembered. They think about you every day, dozens of people think of you on a regular basis. I find it funny how most of you expect to read minds. None of you get these signals... well, except Ghandi, but he has special talents."
"Wait, so everyone is... like me? They are all faking?!"
"Excatly. I find it hilarious, the only reason I haven't sent out a memo. Some prankster started a rumor that you can feel people remember you on Earth. It was probably Mozart, he is like that sometimes. He loves his rumors. I can't believe it spread like this, he should get an award."
I was flabbergasted, "A prank... huh... haha! Uh, really."
He looked at me and gently smiled, "No shit. You are completely normal. Everyone is so scared of being embarrassed, but they don't know it is like this for everyone. They think they will be judged and cast out. What do you think would happen if you could feel the memories?"
I went blank, "I uhh, don't know. Perhaps I would be happier?"
He looked at me and *poofed* me another beer, "No, you would go catatonic. What people up here don't realize is that the memories would come constantly in a flood and you would spend more time in that frozen state, stuck in other people's memories. Each and every one of you is remembered more than you think. So many people feel love for you that you will have years of these "memories". Heck, you buddy Matin would be a vegetable."
"Sorry they do love me."
"Of course. There is more love in the world than you would know. Anyone up here or down there, unless they were completely alone on an island, or if they were despicable human beings, is likely loved. So let this be a lesson to you, never think you are not loved, cherished, or remembered."
I began sobbing.
The Man put his hand on my back as I was bent over, "The thing is, no matter your achievements, appearance, or dreams, you will be loved by someone. Love is everywhere. Everyone you come across can love you is some degree. Just keep that in mind. Is there something I can do to have you keep this quiet?"
"Why would you want that?"
"I am going to keep this going as long as it stays funny. When I walk around and see people pretend to keep up appearance, it just gets me. The way they just freeze and drop shit. I had this one guy today get hit in the face with a tennis ball because he did the thing."
"Haha! Okay, I'll bite. How about you let me see my parents?"
"Oh, your parents are alive and well, they won the lottery and have retired to the Bahamas. Whoever told you they died was full of shit."
"Saint Peter did."
"Ah, yep. Well, I guess I will give them a house next to you."
I thought about it for a second, "How about a few miles away?"
The Man chucked, "Yeah, sure man. Hey, I like you, let's talk again soon." | Nothingness. That's all I felt. Was I so unwanted? It felt like a lifetime ago since I jumped, thinking everyone would be better off, apparently they are.
The only thing I have here is the small light that blink off in the distance, It keeps getting brighter. Only thing I can think is that's where we all go after this. I've heard about this place, how you get pinged when when you're thought about. I have been lonely here, maybe when the light gets to me it'll be better.
"Sir, your brother has been in a coma for almost a year now. The odds of him ever waking up only get slimmer. We'll never know if he will wake up."
"I understand, but you've said his brain activity has been improving! There has to be something, Roger already lost his mother, I can't willingly unplug his father knowing there's a chance!"
"Yes, but it's only ever slight improvement. Nothing that suggests cognitive function ever returning."
"Just, let us have some more time"
My first prompt, improvements? let me know! Hopefully made something worthreading! | |
Thanks for all the great responses, make sure to read more than just the top one! | [WP] Harry Potter is a computer hacker, and the Horcruxes are seven backup servers that he must shut down to defeat the most wicked internet persona of all times: _v0ld3m0rt. | "Harry, Where are you ?" said Snape.
"Harry !" Snape speak loudly
"Im here, in the Dark web to find Contractor to Destroy that Horcruxes and Spend my unused Bitcoint"
"But, Harry if you Destroy that all of the mankind will destroyed too"
"Why ?" said Harry
"As the example, we cant visit reddit annymore, people cant visit porn site and deep web, and Business all around the world will die, the economic will collapse, people will hungry and kill each others"
"we cant do that harry, we still need that server"
"The only one you can do is find the moderator and ask him to change the mission. and the we can life peacefully and have happy ending"
#JustDoIt
| Volde = Rich
Mort = Morto
Harry Potter isn't real Morto! He-He's a... "burp" artificial constuct, like that "burp" ...dumb show you watch with the sexy naked robots Morto! its ok to kill him.
"Oh wow... I don't know Rich..."
Those "burp" servers Morto, those servers he's t-tr-rying to hack are essential to the continued survival of the human race Morto!
<Morto kills Harry Potter, finds out the servers are used to predict who Jesus will be reincarnated as so they can be killed at birth> |
Thanks for all the great responses, make sure to read more than just the top one! | [WP] Harry Potter is a computer hacker, and the Horcruxes are seven backup servers that he must shut down to defeat the most wicked internet persona of all times: _v0ld3m0rt. | Dumbell_Door and Pr0f MACg_gal bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a power symbol.
"Is that where-?" whispered Pr0f MACg_gal.
"No doubt," said Dumbell_Door. "He'll carry that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do a lil' somethin-somethin about it, Dumbell_Door?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I got a scarification piece on my left knee, a laser-cut micro piece that perfectly maps the London sprawl. Well- give him here, HagRid- we'd better get this over with."
Dumbell_Door took H@rry in his arms and turned towards the Dursley's house.
"Could I- could say sayonara to him, boss?" asked HagRid. He bent his great, green and purple dreadlocked head over H@rry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, HagRid let out a howl like dying CPU cooling fan.
"Mute it!" hissed Pr0f MACg_gal, "you'll wake the Luddites!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed HagRid, taking out a large, synthweave handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But it's all hitting me - Lily/of the Vally an' J-Aims dead - an' poor lil' H@rry off to live with Luddites -"
"Yeah, yeah, it's all a downer, but grip the deck, HagRid, or we'll be found," Pr0f MACg_gal whispered, patting HagRid gingerly on the arm as Dumbell_Door stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid H@rry gently on the doorstep, took a plaspaper letter out of his trenchcoat, tucked it inside H@rry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; HagRid's shoulders shook, either from the come down or the sadness, Pr0f MACg_gal blinked furiously, blaming it glitching optics, and the twinkling neon light that usually shone from Dumbell_Door's Batou-MkIX ocular implants seemed to have been shut off. | Volde = Rich
Mort = Morto
Harry Potter isn't real Morto! He-He's a... "burp" artificial constuct, like that "burp" ...dumb show you watch with the sexy naked robots Morto! its ok to kill him.
"Oh wow... I don't know Rich..."
Those "burp" servers Morto, those servers he's t-tr-rying to hack are essential to the continued survival of the human race Morto!
<Morto kills Harry Potter, finds out the servers are used to predict who Jesus will be reincarnated as so they can be killed at birth> |
Thanks for all the great responses, make sure to read more than just the top one! | [WP] Harry Potter is a computer hacker, and the Horcruxes are seven backup servers that he must shut down to defeat the most wicked internet persona of all times: _v0ld3m0rt. | "Harry, Where are you ?" said Snape.
"Harry !" Snape speak loudly
"Im here, in the Dark web to find Contractor to Destroy that Horcruxes and Spend my unused Bitcoint"
"But, Harry if you Destroy that all of the mankind will destroyed too"
"Why ?" said Harry
"As the example, we cant visit reddit annymore, people cant visit porn site and deep web, and Business all around the world will die, the economic will collapse, people will hungry and kill each others"
"we cant do that harry, we still need that server"
"The only one you can do is find the moderator and ask him to change the mission. and the we can life peacefully and have happy ending"
#JustDoIt
| Harry quickly typed obliviate.pl into the terminal to wipe all logs of his activity from the remote server nag-ini.biz. This was the sixth server he had discovered containing the source of the h0recuxXx ransomware that was bringing the world to it's knees. With the help of Ron and Hermione, they had located the previous 5 seedboxes that were the source of v0ld3rm0rts ransomware along with dozens of command & control servers. After the 10th c&c server titled d34theaterz, Ron was able to bring them all down with a targeted DDoS attack from the Dumbledores_Army botnet so that they could focus on the main threat of the seedboxes. Now with nag-ini.biz offline, there appeared to be only one server left to take down to prevent the spread of v0ld3rm0rts ransomware. Harry made sure his stupif.py script was directing his traffic across his anonymous proxy servers before beginning his search for the last ransomware seedbox. However, after hours of searching through logs and various packet captures of infected boxes, it was Hermoine's Aparecium script that finally found the final seedbox, Harry's very own backup server. |
Thanks for all the great responses, make sure to read more than just the top one! | [WP] Harry Potter is a computer hacker, and the Horcruxes are seven backup servers that he must shut down to defeat the most wicked internet persona of all times: _v0ld3m0rt. | Dumbell_Door and Pr0f MACg_gal bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a power symbol.
"Is that where-?" whispered Pr0f MACg_gal.
"No doubt," said Dumbell_Door. "He'll carry that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do a lil' somethin-somethin about it, Dumbell_Door?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I got a scarification piece on my left knee, a laser-cut micro piece that perfectly maps the London sprawl. Well- give him here, HagRid- we'd better get this over with."
Dumbell_Door took H@rry in his arms and turned towards the Dursley's house.
"Could I- could say sayonara to him, boss?" asked HagRid. He bent his great, green and purple dreadlocked head over H@rry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, HagRid let out a howl like dying CPU cooling fan.
"Mute it!" hissed Pr0f MACg_gal, "you'll wake the Luddites!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed HagRid, taking out a large, synthweave handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But it's all hitting me - Lily/of the Vally an' J-Aims dead - an' poor lil' H@rry off to live with Luddites -"
"Yeah, yeah, it's all a downer, but grip the deck, HagRid, or we'll be found," Pr0f MACg_gal whispered, patting HagRid gingerly on the arm as Dumbell_Door stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid H@rry gently on the doorstep, took a plaspaper letter out of his trenchcoat, tucked it inside H@rry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; HagRid's shoulders shook, either from the come down or the sadness, Pr0f MACg_gal blinked furiously, blaming it glitching optics, and the twinkling neon light that usually shone from Dumbell_Door's Batou-MkIX ocular implants seemed to have been shut off. | Harry quickly typed obliviate.pl into the terminal to wipe all logs of his activity from the remote server nag-ini.biz. This was the sixth server he had discovered containing the source of the h0recuxXx ransomware that was bringing the world to it's knees. With the help of Ron and Hermione, they had located the previous 5 seedboxes that were the source of v0ld3rm0rts ransomware along with dozens of command & control servers. After the 10th c&c server titled d34theaterz, Ron was able to bring them all down with a targeted DDoS attack from the Dumbledores_Army botnet so that they could focus on the main threat of the seedboxes. Now with nag-ini.biz offline, there appeared to be only one server left to take down to prevent the spread of v0ld3rm0rts ransomware. Harry made sure his stupif.py script was directing his traffic across his anonymous proxy servers before beginning his search for the last ransomware seedbox. However, after hours of searching through logs and various packet captures of infected boxes, it was Hermoine's Aparecium script that finally found the final seedbox, Harry's very own backup server. |
Thanks for all the great responses, make sure to read more than just the top one! | [WP] Harry Potter is a computer hacker, and the Horcruxes are seven backup servers that he must shut down to defeat the most wicked internet persona of all times: _v0ld3m0rt. | Dumbell_Door and Pr0f MACg_gal bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a power symbol.
"Is that where-?" whispered Pr0f MACg_gal.
"No doubt," said Dumbell_Door. "He'll carry that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do a lil' somethin-somethin about it, Dumbell_Door?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I got a scarification piece on my left knee, a laser-cut micro piece that perfectly maps the London sprawl. Well- give him here, HagRid- we'd better get this over with."
Dumbell_Door took H@rry in his arms and turned towards the Dursley's house.
"Could I- could say sayonara to him, boss?" asked HagRid. He bent his great, green and purple dreadlocked head over H@rry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, HagRid let out a howl like dying CPU cooling fan.
"Mute it!" hissed Pr0f MACg_gal, "you'll wake the Luddites!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed HagRid, taking out a large, synthweave handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But it's all hitting me - Lily/of the Vally an' J-Aims dead - an' poor lil' H@rry off to live with Luddites -"
"Yeah, yeah, it's all a downer, but grip the deck, HagRid, or we'll be found," Pr0f MACg_gal whispered, patting HagRid gingerly on the arm as Dumbell_Door stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid H@rry gently on the doorstep, took a plaspaper letter out of his trenchcoat, tucked it inside H@rry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; HagRid's shoulders shook, either from the come down or the sadness, Pr0f MACg_gal blinked furiously, blaming it glitching optics, and the twinkling neon light that usually shone from Dumbell_Door's Batou-MkIX ocular implants seemed to have been shut off. | "Harry, Where are you ?" said Snape.
"Harry !" Snape speak loudly
"Im here, in the Dark web to find Contractor to Destroy that Horcruxes and Spend my unused Bitcoint"
"But, Harry if you Destroy that all of the mankind will destroyed too"
"Why ?" said Harry
"As the example, we cant visit reddit annymore, people cant visit porn site and deep web, and Business all around the world will die, the economic will collapse, people will hungry and kill each others"
"we cant do that harry, we still need that server"
"The only one you can do is find the moderator and ask him to change the mission. and the we can life peacefully and have happy ending"
#JustDoIt
|
Thanks for all the great responses, make sure to read more than just the top one! | [WP] Harry Potter is a computer hacker, and the Horcruxes are seven backup servers that he must shut down to defeat the most wicked internet persona of all times: _v0ld3m0rt. | Ron:
Int Wingardium_Leviosa;
Int X = 2;
Int Y = 3;
Wingardium_Leviosa = X/Y;
Return Wingardium_Leviosa;
Output 0
"Float damn you, Float!"
Hermione: " You initialized it as an integer, of course you will get zero back."
Ron: " Can you believe her Harry? She acts like she is Bill gates or something. Professor Mcgonagall isn't going to give me any marks for this spaghetti code! Harry, you are so lucky this all comes so naturally to you. Hermione is just a script kiddie, you have real talent. The pure child prodigy of two Linux developers. I hope that one day I can be as 1337 as you."
**I have a lot more to add but need to go drink some beers**
| WP noob and a non-native English speaker here. Criticize however you see fit. :-)
---
The Sorcerer's Code
r/h4x0rz4evr was usually a quiet place. People would usually share their commandline-fu which would garner 10 or so comments about variations of the same thing that others came to discover for themselves. Today, however, it has been bustling with activity. The sub's moderators didn't seem to mind the unusual activity, although, the reddit community at large were warily curious when this sub started trending. Little did they know the furor about u/hryp0tr, 'the n00b that pwned' darknet hacker elite u/_v0ld3m0rt.
u/apwbd, the headmaster of HogwarX School of Code and Sourcery, is regarded by many as the finest and greatest hacker of all time. He got wind of the events that transpired earlier that day, and was quick to dispatch his trusted 'Keeper of the Keys' u/hackgrid to secure u/hryp0tr's custody. He was also instructed to firewall u/hryp0tr from the rest of the world until such time as he is ready to code.
u/hryp0tr by himself was far from being a hacker, let alone an accomplished one. He could survive the HackLord's attack only because his node ran some strange code which managed to exploit an as yet undiscovered 0-day on the HackLord's node. u/apwbd believed that u/_v0ld3m0rt was far from gone and that u/hryp0tr held the key to his complete pwning if and when u/_v0ld3m0rt returns. It was just a matter of time.
---
Hackerlore has come to be associated with dark activities, thanks to u/_v0ld3m0rt and his followers, who call themselves 'Black Hatters'. However, the majority of hackers are White Hatters, so to speak. There are also Gray Hatters who usually use their hacking skills for the better of Cyberspace, although time and again, they are known to arm-twist individuals and legions alike for reasons not entirely ethical or moral.
HogwarX is among the best places on Earth to recognize and nurture young minds in the hacker arts. Under u/apwbd, it has come to be the most diverse, tolerant and open environment to achieve hackerdom. Students learn and research topics ranging from Linear Algebra to Fourier Transforms, Cryptanalysis to Distributed Computing, Micro Electronics to Systems Programming and beyond. The breadth and depth of studies undertaken at HogwarX is rivaled only by the experience of its Headmaster.
It was quite a long after u/hackgrid put him in a safe-keep that u/hryp0tr found himself with an invitation to attend HogwarX. The invitation became all the more special when u/hackgrid personally hand delivered after having forgotten the keys to his own firewall. All u/hryp0tr had to do was to respond with a simple FizzBuzz program and encrypt it with the School's public key. Although, this was a piece of cake, u/hackgrid's firewall around u/hryp0tr was so strong that he was left only with r/showerthoughts most of the time. Not to forget a lot of unsuspecting r/tifu's.
Anyhow, u/hackgrid helped u/hryp0tr with the exercise right after a short introduction to HogwarX, u/apwbd and hackerdom in general. To u/hryp0tr, these stories started out as unbelievable fairy tales. But soon, this newfound ability to forge his thoughts into code was indistinguishable from magic. u/hackgrid then helped u/hryp0tr apply some kernel patches to his node along with buying him a USB stick with Tails installed. Last but not the least in the setup process was installing and configuring the Text Triumvirate of tmux+zsh+vim. u/hryp0tr was ready to get started.
---
The whole of HogwarX was curious about who was 'the n00b that pwned'. Even the sysadmin, who assigns students to 4 different groups depending upon their history and abilities, was curious as to which group would u/hryp0tr be most deserving of. This much attention was creepy to the sheltered u/hryp0tr at first. More so, as he discovered the reason for this attention. After all, he was 'the n00b that pwned' the most feared BlackHatter of all time - u/_v0ld3m0rt. Anyway, as days passed, he developed a thick skin to it. It was especially essential when he was writing code as he wasn't particularly the best at it. One day, a bunch of bullies were exploiting a fellow geek's REST service and DOSing it. u/hryp0tr was quick to find the RC of the exploits and fixed it. u/mcGG, his group admin, was delighted upon discovering this series of events and recommended him to the group's hackathon team as a debugger, no less, and the youngest one in recent memory!
The hackathons were the Groups' way to challenge each other and prove their prowess to work as a team and achieve greatness. They were a celebrated affair and the Headmaster himself would often be excited to discover what these events would deliver. The teams were comprised of developers, black box testers and a debugger. Devs worked on rolling out a product or a service, BBTs would target other teams to try and find their exploits. A debugger was to note the exploits found by BBTs from other teams and fix them. Fast. The game ends when a team's bug count reaches zero. In other words, while the devs rolled out features, it was a race between the BBTs and the debugger.
u/hryp0tr was well aware of his position as the youngest member of the team and was relying mostly on his instincts to spot lapses in logic than the understanding of a complex system that comes with experience. His team's developers were rolling out feature after feature for their service, while testers from other teams were attacking relentlessly. He was thankful to his devs for the uniformity in design, the composability of components and their disciplined approach to quality. However, just when they were about to close their last bug, a subtle bug in their code was exploited.
The last feature to be added to their service allowed for the server to terminate a client's connection after a timeout. However, BBTs from other groups ran a spoof NTP server, force resetting the system time to sometime in the past every time a client made a connection. This resulted in a timing error, effectively making the whole thing unusable. u/hryp0tr was frantic in his attempts to fix this. The bug count of all the teams falling below 3 did not make the situation any easier to handle. He sifted through manuals, docs and forums until he stumbled upon one of the quirks of timers that used a monotonic timer rather than a real-time timer. The team deployed the fix instantly and the services came back up and running. Just as their bug count recorded 0, their team, and group erupted in celebration recording their first win in nearly a decade.
---
The hackathon opened up u/hryp0tr's mind to endless possibilities. His endeavors navigating through the School's authentication system were among his favorite pass times. On an otherwise eventless day, he ventured a little too deep into the School's fileserver architecture. One of the fileserver, in particular, was guarded by a 3-factor Kerberos authentication. This piqued his interest. He further noticed that the the fileserver was extremely slow to respond to his login attempts despite his ability to pass through them legitimately. Upon closer look, he found that the Kerberos service was thrashing the CPU. His suspected an attck was underway upon discovering the only user data present on the server. A TrueCrypt protected virtual disk volume containing u/apwbd knows what!
The thrashing on the machine seemed to have subsided as the fileserver was no longer sluggish. u/hryp0tr quickly checked if the Kerberos service calmed down. It had. Which means that whoever was hoping to login either succeeded or gave up. Hoping that it was just a case of another student or a sysadmin having forgotten to use the proper private key file in their login script, he lazily issued the command 'who'. All seemed to be normal, until he found the username he didn't expect to. u/_v0ld3m0rt.
Clearly, having been a student of HogwarX himself, u/_v0ld3m0rt still held on to his account on the school's servers. However, u/hryp0tr was suspicious to find u/_v0ld3m0rt logged in to this particular server, given it's strange contents. His suspicion was confirmed when the thrashing resumed. He discovered that a large number of processes were trying to decrypt the TrueCrypt volume in parallel, creating a large number of files that were decrypted using keys generated from a bruteforce attack. The school's firewall allowed file transmission to only those external networks who had a one-time authorization key issued by 'The Keeper of the Keys'. However, u/hryp0tr was concerned that the ageing SSD would not withstand the thrashing and immediately scp'd the file to his Tails USB. As the file transfer crawled its way to completion, it was apparent that the SSD were breathing their last. As if deeply frustrated by their failure, u/_v0ld3m0rt fork-bombed the fileserver.
---
u/hryp0tr reported his unusual adventure to u/apwbd. The Headmaster intently listened to u/hryp0tr recounting what he saw and what he did. He was thrilled at the series of events that unfolded. u/hryp0tr was told to submit his Tails USB stick to the security people to scan for unsuspecting rootkits or viruses that could have possibly infected the file.
All along, u/hryp0tr had this insatiable itch to inquire about the contents of the file that was so heavily protected and encrypted. u/apwbd could understand u/hryp0tr's predilection. Despite his reluctance to admit it, u/hryp0tr deserved to know it after having protected it from obvious destruction, or worse, leak. It was the last copy of the virus that caused the unimaginable scale of sabotage. Stuxnet.
|
For example, lightning powers to lighting. Flying to Flaying and Etc | [WP] A person is granted a special ability/power when they reach 18. They must submit the form to the government on the day after, otherwise you won't receive it. You've barely made it to submit your form on the day after due to being drunk, but you soon realized you misspelled your power. | Okay, I shouldn't have partied so hard on my birthday, so sue me. I had a few too many, stumbled home at who knows what time and collapsed on the couch. That wouldn't have been so bad, but when I finally opened my eyes and squinted at the clock it was 4 in the afternoon!
I don't think I've ever sprinted from the house so quickly in my entire life, and I have a standing reputation of being late to everything. It's a wonder I didn't lose my lunch all over the driveway, but I've been waiting for my power since I was old enough to know what they were, and there was no way I was going to miss out. Somehow I made it to the car and sped downtown to the Powers office. The shock on the wiry clerk's face as I shoved past him right before he could flip the sign to closed quickly turned to annoyance as I scribbled down my information and dropped my form in the slot on the counter. I'm pretty sure he flipped me off as I was walking out the door. But I got it in!
When I woke this morning I felt like a kid on Christmas. I've been thinking about what power I wanted for years, and in my mind there has only ever been one choice. I slowly walked outside to the wide-open street to try it out, my heart racing as I took my last few steps as a normal man. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and... nothing happened.
Thinking maybe it took some time to kick in, I tried again. And again. Absolutely nothing.
Confused, I finally gave in and drove back to the office. Every red light seemed like an eternity as I tried to figure out what had gone wrong. When I walked in, the clerk's eyes lit up in recognition. Before I could even say a word, he smirked and waved my form in front of my face. I snatched it from his hand and skimmed my eyes down the page. When I got to the bottom, right above my signature, my heart sank. Somehow, in my hangover-induced rush, I had scribbled one letter too many. I had ruined my power, had written something that didn't even make much sense. Head hung to my chest, I exited the building to the sound of laughter and slowly returned home, collapsing back onto the couch that had started this entire shameful experience.
It was at that moment that I realized I had not had anything to eat, and had exerted myself earlier for way longer than I should have. I trudged to the kitchen and opened a cupboard, reaching for a bowl. There was a flurry of activity, and before I even knew what was happening I was staring at my oven, a casserole baking on the tray within.
I sighed. At least now it made some sort of sense. Kicking myself once more, I realized that I might as well make the most of this power and try to figure it out.
That was an hour ago. Now here I sit surrounded by three casseroles, four perfectly grilled steaks, a bowl of mac-and-cheese with little bacon crumbles, a pristine souffle and two dozen mini cream puffs. I'm covered in flour, my counters are piled with bowls and dishes (apparently clean-up's not part of the deal), and I have no idea what to do with all this damn food.
Stupid supper speed.... | Dear Mr. Lux,
Your Power Application has been processed and accepted.
Power requested: "*Ab le to grant any sish anyone ha s."*
You now have the power to manifest sish at will should anyone (including yourself) needs it. No body part amplifiers were requested, so the power is spread equally across the body. This means you can use any body part to manifest sish, and it will drain the same amount of your energy.
Remarks: Since the power requested is Class 3 on the POWEr scale, there are no limitations to your use of the power. Feel free to use your power responsibly.
Once bestowed, powers cannot be returned or exchanged (Read Terms of Service.) |
For example, lightning powers to lighting. Flying to Flaying and Etc | [WP] A person is granted a special ability/power when they reach 18. They must submit the form to the government on the day after, otherwise you won't receive it. You've barely made it to submit your form on the day after due to being drunk, but you soon realized you misspelled your power. | *Just one drink after physics, they said. We just want to sing you happy birthday, they said. Dam bastards, now I literally have to run to this stupid office and jump over these puddles like I’m Vince freakin’ Carter.*
Nigel raced down the narrow, crowded streets. He used his umbrella to hack his way through the masses, getting his fair share of curses and glares. A tall, slender girl fumbled with her schoolbooks and iPhone as she recorded the comical scenario. She tapped on her video, quickly summoning a thin, black band across its width. “Must be his 18th birthday” she typed as she struggled to conceal a near-sinister grin.
*Phew. Five minutes to close. Either this place smells like shit, or that puddle on 18th street had more than just water. Ok, showtime. Nigel. Foster. Male. 626 Clanderburgh Rd. Blah blah blah. Ok, here goes. The line of lines. Mind....Control. Ack, goddam smudge, I probably should’ve grabbed those tissues by the clerk’s desk. Oh well, 4:59 and literally not a dam minute to spare!*
Weary from his labored journey across the grey, wet streets; Nigel guzzled an orange gatorade and quickly fell asleep. Knowing that his new powers would kick in by 8am the following morning, he slept with a sly, drunken smile across his face.
*Oh my god oh my god oh my god. This can’t be real. Holy SHIT I can’t wait! Ok, forget making the dam bad, fuck brushing your teeth, let’s go.*
Nigel blasted out of his small apartment and stepped outside as if he had just been freed from an insufferable prison. Eager, yet conserved, Nigel was determined to find an “appropriate” first target upon which to exercise his new abilities. With hawk-like eyes, he zeroed in on a curly-haired blonde girl weighing her options at the University Farmer’s Market.
*Ooooo boy, that’s the one. Ugh the boys are gonna FLIP when I bag this one. Ok, let’s start small. **Play with your hair**
The pale girl ran her fingers through her frazzled hair as she debated which avocado had the darkest skin.
*YES. FUCK. YES. Ok,* **Turn Around**
She glanced back as a school bus angrily blared its unusually whiny horn at a moped rider.
*Muahahahaha. Ok, now* **Say hi to me**
The girl opened her black and brown purse and pulled out a small, black clutch wallet.
*No. Forget these dumbass fruits.* **FOCUS ON ME. SAY HI TO NIGEL**
She pulled out a 20 dollar bill, furrowed her brows and began to dig deeper into her purse.
*The fuck. This should be a piece of cake.* **FEMALE. TALK. TO. ME. NOW.**
The girl gave a defeated sigh as she handed the fruitstand owner her 20.
*UGGHHHHH. Dammit! You’re so stubborn you’re gonna make my freakin head explode!*
The blonde girl gasped as a grapefruit burst to her right, covering her in acidic red chunks.
*Uhhhhh….the fuck was that? That was the weirdest thing I've ever seen, and I’ve seen some weird shit.*
Nigel approached the fruit stand, his eyes focusing on the “Grapefruits, 3 x $5” cardboard sign.
*No Nigel, you’re crazy. That can’t….no. Hahaha you’re freakin nuts. Ehhhh…..* **explode**
This time, the fruit merchant cursed and flailed as a grapefruit detonated, sending several other fruits tumbling onto the pavement.
*Please. Please be kidding. Please, God of FUCKING CITRUS FRUITS tell me this is a joke.* **Explode**
An exasperated wail filled the street as the fruit merchant grabbed his right hand and stared helplessly at the globs of fruit which seconds ago were whole in his hand.
*Nigel Foster. Man. Philanthropist. Kickass motherfucking smoothie maker. Eh. Guess I’ll be the first fucktard in history to have gotten the omnipotent superpower of goddam rind control.*
Edit: Formatting | Dear Mr. Lux,
Your Power Application has been processed and accepted.
Power requested: "*Ab le to grant any sish anyone ha s."*
You now have the power to manifest sish at will should anyone (including yourself) needs it. No body part amplifiers were requested, so the power is spread equally across the body. This means you can use any body part to manifest sish, and it will drain the same amount of your energy.
Remarks: Since the power requested is Class 3 on the POWEr scale, there are no limitations to your use of the power. Feel free to use your power responsibly.
Once bestowed, powers cannot be returned or exchanged (Read Terms of Service.) |
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